Part of the Scars of Service Series
Yesterday you heard about my sexual assault while I was in uniform.
You heard about the horrifying behavior that surrounded it.
Today I want you to hear another survivor’s story.
Before I do that, I’ll say the obvious again: this piece contains difficult material. Trigger warnings are often overused, but in this case it feels appropriate. The truth of military sexual trauma is not comfortable, and stories like this are not meant to be.
But they need to be told.
A Chance Meeting
I met this man years ago at a Veterans Day lunch hosted by our company. We were the only two Army veterans in the room, so naturally we gravitated toward each other. Shared experiences tend to do that.
What I didn’t realize at the time was that we shared far more than our branch of service.
About six months later, the truth came out.
There’s an old saying among veterans:
If you want to hear the real story of someone’s service, buy them a couple drinks and ask them about it.
That wasn’t exactly the plan that night, but it’s how things unfolded. We ended up at a local watering hole, and the conversation turned serious. When he began telling his story, I stopped him for a moment and grabbed a piece of paper. I realized very quickly that this was something that needed to be documented.
He had never reported what happened to him to the VA. He had never filed a disability claim for the PTSD that followed.
By the time he finished telling his story, I was in tears.
That night I shared my own story with him as well. Over the years he has become one of the best friends I have ever had.
Before you read what follows, remember something I talked about earlier in this series: what basic training does to a person. You arrive as a civilian and are stripped of everything familiar—your identity, your autonomy, your sense of control. You are reshaped to function within the Army.
Now imagine that reality being shattered by something that never should have happened.
What follows are his words and his experience, shared with permission because stories like this need to be heard.
Paul’s Story
I grew up adopted into an already large LDS family. When it came time to serve, I wanted to serve my country rather than go on a church mission.
I was seventeen when I tried to enlist in the Marine Corps, but my parents strongly opposed that. They did agree to sign the paperwork allowing me to enlist in the Army National Guard.
As a recruit in the Guard, I was able to attend the one-weekend-a-month training—what everyone calls drill. Our state National Guard also ran a pre-basic training course designed to give recruits a head start before going to real basic training.
I liked it. I felt like I was learning something. The structure and routine seemed like something I could handle.
When my recruiter dropped me off to ship out for basic training, he mentioned hazing and told me something I would remember later.
“Boys will be boys,” he said. “Just keep your mouth shut.”
At the time, I didn’t think anything of it.
Several weeks into training, a recruit in our platoon was being discharged for falsifying information he had given his recruiter. Apparently he had enlisted to avoid criminal charges. Everyone in the platoon knew about it—nothing stays secret in a basic training company.
Someone made a comment about it.
The recruit being discharged believed I had said it, though it actually came from someone else.
From that moment on, I became the target.
Before everything happened, one of the soldiers shoved me into a coat rack.
The barracks had both a large communal shower area and a section with individual showers. Because of the earlier incident, I chose to use one of the private showers.
That decision didn’t protect me.
One evening the soldier who had shoved me earlier came into the shower area with four others. They forced me against the wall.
The five of them sexually assaulted me.
They used objects. They used their bodies. Among the things used were a plunger and an M16 rifle.
I eventually managed to clean myself up. My rectum had been severely injured. Later doctors determined I had suffered a rectal prolapse.
I was bleeding heavily every time I used the toilet. But I didn’t tell anyone. I was terrified of retaliation.
That ended when another recruit found me unconscious in the stall with the toilet full of blood.
I was taken to the hospital and spent fourteen days there recovering from the injuries.
The hospital stay was almost worse than basic training. I was repeatedly questioned and harassed about what had happened and why. Instead of support, I experienced suspicion and ridicule.
Basic training normally lasts eight weeks.
I was stuck there for eighteen months.
Between the physical injuries and the PTSD from the assault, I could not finish training.
During the Christmas break I was allowed to go home. One of the men involved in the assault threatened to kill me if I ever said anything.
I stayed silent.
I was terrified.
Eventually I went AWOL.
When I was finally discharged, life became extremely difficult. I had little support at home and struggled to hold jobs. It took years before the VA finally recognized my PTSD.
Why This Story Matters
Hearing his story all those years ago gave me the courage to begin telling my own.
For men, admitting sexual assault is particularly difficult. Cultural expectations about masculinity often silence male survivors.
Years later, when I was teaching a class on the prevention and management of disruptive behavior, I finally shared my story with my students during the section on sexual harassment and assault.
I explained why it had never been reported.
I explained that men can be assaulted too.
And people need to understand that.
But his story did more than help me find my voice.
He went on to create a foundation dedicated to helping survivors of military sexual trauma find support and resources.
His work can be found here:
He is also working with legislators across all fifty states to pass resolutions formally condemning military sexual trauma.
Not funding.
Not programs.
Just a statement acknowledging the reality of what happened.
Even that has proven harder than it should be.
Given the current climate surrounding sexual assault in our society, perhaps that isn’t surprising.
But silence has never protected anyone.
Stories like this—painful as they are—are how we begin to change things.
And I know two people who would always stand firmly against sexual assault: my dog and my mom.
Both of them had a very simple moral compass about that sort of thing.
And frankly, the rest of the world should too.