This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Kori Cioca, a speaker with Peace Is Loud, an organization that helps survivors and advocates use public platforms to drive policy change, and her daughter, Shea Cioca-McDonald. It has been edited for length and clarity.
This story contains references to sexual assault and suicidal ideation.
When I joined the Coast Guard, I was excited. I loved boot camp — the way the military bearing was squared away, standards were upheld, and professionalism and respect for one another was maintained at all times.
However, when I arrived at my first posting on a small Coast Guard station, everything was drastically different. It was the little things I noticed at first, like how they used first names, not rank, and it felt like the people on board took zero pride in grooming and uniform standards. The culture was toxic; men would openly read pornographic magazines in common spaces, for example.
That culminated in 2005, when I was violently sexually assaulted by one of the men above me in the chain of command.
During the attack, he hit me so hard that he dislocated my jaw — an injury that still causes me pain 20 years later. Since then, I’ve dealt with immense pain, both physically and emotionally.
Finding out I was pregnant saved my life
Despite all the trauma, I found moments of joy. After leaving the boat station where I was attacked, I moved out of state to Michigan, where I met my husband in the Coast Guard.
We got married on Friday the 13th in 2007. Many people said it was bad luck to get married on a Friday the 13th, but I wasn’t scared. Nothing could touch what I’d already been through.
However, despite my love for my husband, I was suicidal. I actively had a plan to overdose on pain medications. At a doctor’s visit during the same time, I took a urine test, and I found out I was pregnant.
I couldn’t kill my baby. When I heard Shea’s heartbeat for the first time in 2007, it was like my heart started beating again, and I came alive. I couldn’t fight for myself, but I would fight like hell for her. She truly saved my life.
Telling my daughter about the assault helped her understand me
I gave birth to Shea’s brother four years later. As they grew, I knew they could see the lasting impact of my attack. I hadn’t told them about it, but it was impossible to hide my visits to pain doctors and therapists. I’m also hyperaware in all situations and dislike crowds.
Once we were in PetSmart, and a dog barked. The unexpected noise made me jump and scream. Shea put her arms around me, and we laughed together, which diffused the tension.
As Shea grew older, she came to recognize that my behaviors — like wariness around men — meant that there had to be more to my story.
When she was 14, I told her about the assault. It came up unexpectedly, on a trip to the gas station. She was old enough to understand the fullness of the situation, and it would help her piece together who I am.
We have a very open, close relationship. It was important to me to be transparent with her. My 13-year-old son, however, still doesn’t know about the assault — he’s too young right now.
Telling Shea about the assault shaped her life, too
Shea says she was completely heartbroken for me when she heard about the assault.
She understood the shame I carried about it, even though I shouldn’t have. She told me that she never wanted me to feel ashamed and didn’t want shame to exist between us.
Today, Shea is 17 and entering her senior year of high school. She wants to be an advocate for survivors of sexual assault and is exploring options for how to do that.
Shea is already so good at supporting others. Recently, private pictures of another student were shared around the school, where Shea is a member of the marching band’s color guard.
The photos were shared without that student’s permission. The girl in the pictures was so remorseful for taking them, but Shea told her, “Don’t you dare think this is your fault.”
My daughter is becoming the advocate I wish I had
Shea tells me she wants to change how people talk about sexual assault, down to the jokes that people are willing to laugh at. I tell her she has her work cut out for her.
Yet, I’m so proud she’s willing to take that work on. Shea has become the person I wish I had in my corner after I was sexually assaulted.
This story came together with support from Peace is Loud, which helps amplify the voices of women and nonbinary activists around the world.
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