Confession and sexual assault

I have not watched the testimony today, this amped up rerun of the Anita Hill versus Clarence Thomas scenario, having moved from mere harassment to assault, but all over my social media people are expressing that they are being retraumatized, remembering assaults they experienced in their lives. They speak of the 80s, but the 70s were bad too, and frankly, probably every era since the 50s when we decided chaperones were old-fashioned and women could take care of themselves. Maybe not. But rather than get into that, I want to reflect on my own lack of emotion while my mind does recall the times I had to fend off boys and men who wanted something I didn't want to give. Once I had to threaten to scream. Another time, I was trapped and just had to endure until morning. In all of these times, partying was involved. I believe I can look back (if I must) on these memories without pain not only because my meds are dialed in, but because I made a life confession when I joined the Orthodox Church. All my sins were forgiven. My sins, the crowds may ask with horror? How can an assault upon me be my sin? But I ask, how can anything in which I, a sinner, participated, not in some way involve my culpability. As I said before: I was seeking pleasure, a high, whatever, and I got more than I wanted. Even then I took it in stride: a price to be paid, a mistake I wouldn't repeat, nothing that horribly irrevocable. (I was never violently or painfully assaulted.) But I don't think healing from these memories can occur until we (and of course I don't mean include victims who were young children or victimized by family members) admit our own responsibility, admit that we were wrong about the whole sexual revolution/sexual freedom thing, that the license to pursue pleasure has not panned out. When we admit it, everything become much plainer and healing can occur.