So, You Believe Survivors?

Author: Felice Upton | Connect on LinkedIn
Published November 26, 2025

So, you believe survivors. If there's a buuut...there let's talk.

Every once in a while, there's a national or local case where survivors bravely come forward to speak out about their abuse.

Do you know what it takes for someone to do that? I've been thinking a lot about this lately both because of the news but also the weaponization of the stories of survivors from all sides. When they come forward, I am always in awe of their bravery and heroism. This is not political, it is not a statement, it is someone being brave with their life and story in a way most will never ever have to be. So, the least we can all do is learn to be good allies and not be a part of the problem if and when someone comes forward.

It takes years and sometimes decades of carrying a truth that feels too heavy to speak. It takes waking up one day and deciding that staying silent costs more than the risk of being disbelieved. It takes knowing you'll be questioned, scrutinized, torn apart in public, and deciding your truth matters anyway. You've seen others ridiculed and yet you still know you have to come forward.

Survivors come forward knowing they'll lose things. Privacy. Relationships. Sometimes jobs. Sometimes safety. They do it knowing that many won't believe them, that they'll be asked why they didn't say something sooner, why they didn't fight harder, why they didn't leave. They may be ridiculed, othered, their abuser may get empathy publicly. They will be torn apart and those of us who either participate or remain quiet for our own safety are complicit in creating the societal conditions where this continues to occur.

They come forward anyway. That kind of courage should be met with belief, not doubt. With support, not interrogation. With "I believe you. I stand with you" and commended for their bravery.

Instead, the cycle is really hard for those of us who have also survived. In fact, it's maddening to watch people risk everything to do the right thing, to tell their truth, and then be met with resistance or disbelief.

The story is old. And I've been thinking a lot lately about how to help people who may not really understand how, what, or why their response matters and how they can be allies.

I think we must start with the self-protective part of our society, which is led by fear. It starts with the way we feel the urge to "other" to figure out how it wouldn't, couldn't, shouldn't be us or those we love.

We have to really start by believing.

Someday I hope that when survivors come forward whether in national headlines or in our own communities we just say: "I believe you. I stand with you." No questions. No doubts. Just belief.

But we're not there yet. And I want to help us get there in whatever small way I can contribute and lately that has been through writing.

Understanding our first instinct.

When someone we know or respect is accused of harm, something happens in us. It's visceral. Our minds race to make sense of something that doesn't fit our understanding of the world.

We might think:

• "They don't treat me like that."

• "Why are they just coming forward now?"

• "That doesn't sound like the person I know."

This isn't because we're bad people. It's because we're human.

Our brains are wired to keep us safe. When we learn that someone we trusted caused harm, it threatens our sense of security. If we missed the signs, what else might we be wrong about? If it happened to them, could it happen to us? If someone we admire is capable of this, how do we trust our own judgment?

So, we protect ourselves. We create distance. We find reasons why the survivor must be different from us, less careful, more vulnerable, somehow complicit. It's not conscious cruelty. It's fear.

But here's the truth: that fear understandable as it is, causes real harm. It isolates survivors. It protects perpetrators. It ensures that the next person stays silent because they've seen how the last one was treated.

And we can choose differently.

What survivors actually need.

Survivors don't need you to have been perfect in every past conversation. They need you to be willing to grow. Here's what that looks like:

Believe first, process later. When someone tells you they've been harmed, your first response matters more than you know. "I believe you" can be life changing. Your questions, your doubts, your need to understand are yours to work through, not theirs to manage.

Understand that both things can be true. The person who harmed someone can be the same person who was kind to you, mentored you, made you laugh. Harm doesn't erase good, and good doesn't erase harm. Survivors aren't asking you to rewrite history. They're asking you to see the whole picture.

Stop asking "why now?" and start asking "why not sooner?" Survivors don't come forward when it happens. They come forward when they feel safe enough, strong enough, supported enough. Sometimes that takes years. Sometimes it takes seeing others believed first. The question we should ask isn't about their timing it's about what we created that made it unsafe to speak sooner.

Your discomfort is not their responsibility. When you learn someone, you care about caused harm, you might feel betrayed, confused, sad, angry. Those feelings are real and valid. But the survivor isn't responsible for managing your emotions about it. Find someone else to process with a therapist, a trusted friend, someone who isn't the person who was harmed.

Use your relationship for accountability, not cover. If you're close to someone accused of harm, you have power others don't. You can have honest conversations. You can say, "I care about you, and I need to understand what happened here." You can refuse to make excuses. You can help them take responsibility. That's what real friendship looks like in hard moments.

Remember: survivors are everywhere. In every conversation you have about a high-profile case, survivors are listening. Your colleagues. Your friends. Your family members. They're watching to see if you're safe. They're deciding whether they could ever tell you, their story. Every dismissive comment, every "but what about," every defense of the accused tells them: not here, not you, not safe.

What this moment asks of us...

Right now, survivors are coming forward knowing the cost. They know they'll be questioned, scrutinized, disbelieved. People will scrutinize their emotional reactions and analyze in ways they are not qualified for. They're doing it anyway because silence has its own cost, and they've decided truth matters more than comfort and to protect others in similar situations. They like the generations of survivors thrust into the limelight want to believe that this will make a difference and change things for others.

What they need from us is simple and profound: belief.

Not just words. Not just hashtags. But the actual practice of believing which means examining our own fears, sitting with discomfort, choosing the survivor's safety over our own comfort.

This is hard work. It asks us to:

• Question our assumptions about who causes harm

• Sit with the reality that we might have missed signs

• Accept that our positive experience doesn't negate someone else's trauma

• Risk relationships by holding people accountable

• Examine our own complicity in systems that silence survivors

But this is the work of solidarity. Not the easy proclamation but the difficult practice.

How to start

If you're reading this and thinking, "I want to do better," here's where to begin:

Educate yourself. Understanding trauma, power dynamics, and why survivors respond the way they do can transform how you show up. These organizations offer incredible resources:

• RAINN - Comprehensive resources on supporting survivors and understanding sexual violence

• National Sexual Violence Resource Center - Research, tools, and training for creating trauma-informed communities

• Know Your IX - Understanding survivors' rights and institutional accountability

• Futures Without Violence - Tools for creating policies and practices that center survivor safety

• 1in6 - Resources specifically for male survivors and those who support them

Practice in small moments. You don't have to wait for a national case. Every day there are opportunities to practice belief when a colleague mentions workplace harassment, when a friend shares something uncomfortable, when someone trusts you with their truth.

Examine your responses. Notice when you feel the urge to defend, to question, to create distance. Get curious about it. What are you protecting? What are you afraid of? That awareness is the first step to choosing differently.

Create safety in your own spaces. Whether you lead an organization, a team, a family, or a friend group you can build a culture where people know they'll be believed. Where disclosure is met with support, not suspicion. Where accountability is expected, not exceptional.

Speak up. When you hear someone questioning a survivor's story or defending accused behavior, say something. You don't have to be perfect. Sometimes it's as simple as: "I'm choosing to believe her" or "Let's focus on supporting the person who was harmed."

A Vision for What's Possible

I dream of a world where survivors don't have to be perfect victims to be believed. Where coming forward doesn't mean risking everything. Where "I believe you" is the immediate, automatic response. Where we acknowledge how fucking brave all of it is.

We're not there yet. But every person who chooses belief over doubt, who sits with discomfort instead of creating distance, who holds people accountable instead of making excuses—every one of you moves us closer.

The survivors coming forward right now are doing the hardest part. They're telling the truth at great personal cost.

All we have to do is believe them.

Not because it's easy. Not because it's comfortable. But because it's right. Because they deserve it. Because the next survivor who needs to speak is watching how we respond to this one.

That's what solidarity looks like. Imperfect, uncomfortable, brave, and absolutely necessary.

And every survivor who finds the courage to speak deserves nothing less than our willingness to meet them there. Here if you need to talk and need a safe space to do so! For all the survivors out there, I ended a talk with this years ago and believe it to my core. This is your story, and you are the f@#king hero of your story. Much love.