Meaning of “Second Assault”

During the second-wave feminist movement, there was a push to shift the language used around sexual violence. The word victim began to be replaced with survivor, a term meant to reflect resilience and strength. For many, it seemed to offer a sense of reclamation, a way to assert control after experiencing something fundamentally violating.

But language, like healing, is complicated. And deeply personal.

In conversations with various individuals who have experienced sexual violence, I've learned that the term survivor doesn't always feel accurate. For some, it feels too clean, too optimistic, failing to fully capture the long-term devastation that trauma can leave in its wake. At times, it can even feel dismissive, implying that something redemptive must have followed, that healing is linear, or that transformation is inevitable.

But healing isn’t guaranteed.

The concept of “post-traumatic growth” describes the potential for positive change after trauma, but research shows that such growth is uncommon without long-term support, safety, and connection. The reality is that many people, especially those harmed during formative years, live with lasting and deeply disruptive consequences.

That is why both terms, victim and survivor, must be allowed to coexist. Recovery is not binary. It does not move in a straight line. It does not look the same for any two people. And no single word can contain the full weight of gender-based violence, or the strength it takes to live through it.

The term second rape, now often called the second assault, emerged to describe what happens when institutions, systems, and communities respond to violence with disbelief, denial, blame, or silence. It refers to the trauma that follows disclosure: being shamed by a therapist, disbelieved by a doctor, retraumatized in a courtroom, or abandoned by those who promised protection.

That secondary violation, the betrayal by those who should have helped, is a trauma in its own right.

For many, the second assault is harder to speak about than the first. It is isolating, confusing, and often invisible. Yet it is common. And it is preventable.

When people impacted by gender-based violence are asked what they most want, the answer is often simple: acknowledgment. Not always from the person who harmed them, but from the world around them. Justice doesn’t always come through legal channels. Sometimes it comes from being believed. From being heard. From being treated with care.

Words matter. But they are never enough on their own.

We need better systems, deeper empathy, and a culture that does not turn away from pain simply because it’s hard to witness.

-Abigail