I was six months free of an abusive relationship when I got the text. It was from Beau, a coworker.
"Someone sent me nude pics of you," he wrote. I'd spent the entire morning trying to figure out what I was going to eat for lunch, not realizing my naked photos had already been sent to half a dozen people. An overwhelming sense of shame overtook me as I told him to prove it. He replied with a photo: It was definitely me, and I was definitely naked. Below it, the original sender had written: "Forward these to everyone you know."
It wasn't the sight of my own skin that embarrassed me, but the idea that my older brothers, little nieces, best friends, and work colleagues might find out these photos existed. I could hear them all asking the same question: What were you thinking?
There was no doubt they'd come from William*. Even though I was 25 years old, he was the only guy who'd ever seen me naked, much less had a photo of it. He introduced himself on my first day of work and complimented a bracelet I was wearing. When he asked me to dinner a few weeks later, I said yes without hesitation. I didn't realize he would eventually become so jealous that I'd need his permission for every article of clothing I wore or person I spoke to.
I stayed with William for 11 months, during which his jealousy turned into an obsession. He was convinced that every man I encountered wanted to sleep with me because I radiated "slutty vibes." He had a set of rules for me to live by, though he failed to let me know what they were until I'd already broken them. When I didn't remove my clothes as soon as I walked through his front door, he shoved me so hard that I broke a bookcase. He was quick to remind me that he'd never actually hit me, but even though he didn't use his fists, there were still bruises.
The abuse escalated in the final months of our relationship. William would tell me that if I ever betrayed him, he would kill me. When I finally got the courage to break things off, he accused me of sleeping around. He began following me at work. He'd show up at my home in the middle of the night, banging on my door and yelling that if I didn't answer, he would make me regret it.
I eventually moved and changed my phone number, but I still worried about running into him at work. Even though William's office was in a different building, he liked to pace in my hallway when I was the only one there. When I reported this to security, they installed a panic alarm near my desk. I never expected that his attack would be one of humiliation.
Just after Beau texted me about the photo, I called human resources to file a complaint. Four days later, they sent one of their investigators to get my story. Even though I knew this was the sort of thing William would consider a betrayal, I told the investigator everything. We sat in a tiny conference room with a tape recorder as I answered his questions and repeatedly affirmed that William was the only one who'd ever had the photos.
When I finished, he said he hoped I'd "learned [my] lesson to not send nudies."
William was interviewed after me, and even though everything was supposed to be confidential, the investigator came to my office afterward and shut the door. He said he believed me, but there was no way they could prove William had done it. According to William, I'd sent the photos myself because I was so desperate for male attention.
"He has a point," the investigator said. "If you didn't want everyone to see them, you shouldn't have taken them in the first place."
He told me he'd be finishing his report that evening, but it didn't look good. There was nothing HR could do about William.
"If I were you," he added, "I'd buy a gun."
Within two days, the entire company had either seen my naked photos or heard about them. It was the most exciting piece of gossip they'd had in years.
I knew I had to find my own proof, so assuming he'd sent the pictures from a prepaid cell, I began calling every single phone company I could think of. When the automated answering system picked up, I would type in the number Beau had given me. After seven failed attempts, one of the companies finally recognized the number and asked me to verify the account by answering a security question.
"What's the name of your dog?"
"Zola?"
"That's correct. How can I help you?"
He'd been stupid enough to set the account up with my real information. Within minutes I was able to access phone records online. The first five calls and texts were from William's personal cell phone number. You could see where he'd sent photos from his own phone to the prepaid phone.
He was busted.
After I showed everything to my employer, William was fired. I assumed the worst was over, but one year later, I was subpoenaed to testify against him in his wrongful termination lawsuit. HR had known about this for eight months but failed to let me know I was their key witness until the week before.
The hearing stretched out over two weeks. William hired a young female attorney who built an entire case on portraying me as a promiscuous man-eater. She had no actual information to pull from, other than William's insistence that I'd slept with half the office, including Beau and the HR investigator. He'd also told her that I'd been disciplined for my "slutty wardrobe," which was easily disproved with a review of my personnel file. When the judge told her to make an actual point with her accusations, she began shaming me for sending the photos in the first place.
"You're an educated woman," she said. "Why send something so incriminating to someone you claim was abusive?"
To further my humiliation, she placed a document in front of me.
"Please identify for the court what you're looking at."
It was a full-page printout of my naked body. She wanted me to be ashamed, but all I felt anymore was anger. This was a private photo I'd taken for a specific person while in a committed and trusting relationship. Why should I have to defend my actions?
In the end, the judge ruled against William's claim that he'd been wrongfully terminated. I would never have to work with him again, but it wasn't a total win. My coworkers still thought of me as a wanton temptress and were not afraid to openly side with William, whom they believed to be a victim of my seduction. They speculated that I'd only been hired because I slept with my boss and called all of my professional success into question. It took about a year for people to stop staring at me in the hallways.
Before this happened to me, I thought revenge porn was something only celebrities had to worry about — and unfortunately, as we saw this week, they do still have to worry about these violations of their privacy. In a way, I was lucky that William coupled this with stalking and harassment, because that was enough for me to obtain a restraining order. Without other examples of abuse, sharing someone's naked photos is not necessarily illegal unless they're underage.
No one should be surprised to learn that people enjoy getting naked and having sex, but if a woman documents this with a photo, it's considered permission for the world to humiliate her. We need to stop responding with "What was she thinking?" and start asking, "What sort of asshole would do that to her?"
It's been two years since my naked photos went viral and one year since I had to face William in court. Many people have told me to find a new job and start over in a place where no one has ever heard this story, but that feels way too much like letting him win. I don't feel like I should change my life or be ashamed, because despite what any courtroom or break room has to say, a woman's sexuality is not a weapon to be used against her.
*The author has changed her ex's name as well as some identifying details about her workplace.
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