Know My Name: A Memoir

“I, to this day, believe none of what I did that evening is important, a handful of disposable memories. But these events will be relentlessly raked over, again and again and again. What I did, what I said, will be sliced, measured, calculated, presented to the public for evaluation.” 

Despite her belief that the details of the evening prior to her assault do not matter, Miller provides them for the reader. She takes ownership of these details and presents them in a simple and direct method. She also takes this opportunity to comment on the relentless nature of these investigations and examinations and the negative effect they have on survivors.

“Perhaps it is not the particulars of the assault itself that we have in common, but the moment after; the first time you are left alone. Something slipping out of you. Where did I go. What was taken. It is terror swallowed inside silence. An unclipping from the world where up was up and down was down. This moment is not pain, not hysteria, not crying. It is your insides turning to cold stones. It is utter confusion paired with knowing. Gone is the luxury of growing up slowly. So begins the brutal awakening.” 

Miller describes the moment of realization in the hospital room when she begins to understand that she has been violated. She connects this experience to the experience of most survivors. Referring to this moment as a brutal awakening, Miller hints at the grief and loss that accompany this moment.

“I suppose this was when Emily Doe was born, me but not me at all, and suddenly I hated her, I did not want this, her nakedness, her pain. It was Emily, all of this was Emily.” 

Miller recalls the moment she chose to dissociate and divide herself into Emily Doe and Chanel Miller. Emily comes to represent the overwhelming feelings that Miller cannot bring herself to confront. She expresses a hatred and disgust for Emily that she eventually understands to be a hatred and disgust for herself, which she must learn to accept and heal.

“We are designed to bend and fold, to comfort ourselves and each other. We have so many small parts that need tending to. After the assault, I felt this need to be touched, but wanted nothing to do with invade, inject, insert, inside, only wanted the intimacy of being wrapped up safely in something.” 

Miller distinguishes the difference between sex and intimacy. After the assault, Miller longs for intimacy that comforts her. She struggles to feel connected to her body and engage in sex, as it reminds her too vividly of the sexual assault. Even in moments of distress at the hands of another human, Miller seeks the comfort of connection.

“I don’t believe there is such a thing as an immaculate past or a perfect victim. Yet now I felt I was being upheld to an impossible standard of purity, worried that failing to meet it would justify Brock raping me. His attorney would simplify, generalize, and mislabel my history.”

Attempting to meet the standards of a perfect victim, Miller recognizes the impossible pressure placed on survivors. She feels the need to maintain this standard to gain the sympathy and validation of a society that views women who are not entirely “pure” as untrustworthy. Miller identifies the ways in which Turner’s attorney will attack her character in defense of her client’s defenseless actions.

“It was the only thing in my life I’d ever truly chosen. No one told me I could do it, except me. This would require trusting myself, fully for once.” 

Miller describes the significance of her choice to move to Rhode Island alone for the summer after her assault. She rejects the attempts of her loved ones to care for her and instead chooses to follow her own will in an act of bold independence. In the aftermath of her assault, Miller desires to take control of her own life and live for herself.

“Walking down the street was like being tossed bombs. I fiddled with the wires, frantically defusing each one. Each time I was not sure which wire would cause it to detonate, tinkering while sweat ran down my forehead. Women are raised to work with dexterity, to keep their nimble fingers ready, their minds alert. It is her job to know how to handle the stream of bombs, how to kindly decline giving her number, how to move a hand from the button of her jeans, to turn down a drink.” 

In Rhode Island, Miller becomes hyper-aware of the relentless harassment she faces as a woman. She comments on the burden society places on women to navigate these scary situations, asking them to accommodate the inconsiderate and potentially dangerous will of men. She compares this experience to war to capture the violent nature of these interactions for women.

“It felt like cutting off a large portion of hair all at once. A loss swift, irreversible. My name no longer mine, a secret I’d now have to trust everyone in the room to keep.”

Miller describes the moment she states her name openly in court during the hearing. Previously shielded under the name Emily Doe, Miller feels exposed in this moment and recognizes the danger she is placing herself in. Throughout her story, Miller’s anonymity serves as a shield that allows her some protection. By contrast, Miller’s memoir is in part an effort to reclaim her name and personhood for herself.

“The victim is you. Which meant there was a point in time I had been there, and the man in the suit sitting feet from me, had been running his hands over the bones of my bare hips, as I was pinned beneath the weight of him, my hair mopping the ground, his palm pressed against my exposed nipple, his mouth opening onto my neck. He is spreading my legs, worming his fingers into me. The reality of it all was too large, expanded too quickly, panic rising. I stared at the photo, fully aware now of the presence of him.” 

Miller testifies in the hearing and realizes in this moment the full weight of what she has experienced. No longer able to hide from her trauma, Miller comes face-to-face with her assailant and an image of herself from that night. These memories haunt her as she attempts to recover from the rape.

“Trauma was refusing to adhere to any schedule, didn’t seem to align itself with time. Some days it was distant as a star and other days it could wholly engulf me.” 

Miller describes the messy and unpredictable nature of trauma. While she strives to move forward with her life, Miller learns that she must be patient with herself and learn how to cope with her trauma. It is only through healing and allowing herself to be vulnerable that Miller finds peace.

“He had not been aware of my one rule: I decide what I am capable of. Whenever I am underestimated, I think, you mistake my quietness for weakness. If you can’t imagine me on a stage, I’ll get on one.” 

Miller meets some of her boyfriend Lucas’s rugby teammates and informs them of her plans to join the comedy club. She hears the doubt in one man’s voice and is inspired to prove him wrong. Eager to flex her independence, Miller demonstrates her bold nature that often leads her to push herself out of her comfort zone.

“Victims could ask for more. We could be treated better. Which meant my onerous experiences were not useless, they were illuminating. Being inside the system would give me insight; the more I encountered issues, the more I’d be able to see what needed to be fixed. I could convert my pain into ideas, could begin brainstorming alternate futures for victims.” 

Miller is inspired after listening to a presentation by a sexual assault advocate from a nonprofit. She speaks passionately about her knowledge of the backlog of rape kits and realizes in this moment that she can channel her pain into real systemic change for other survivors. Miller welcomes this guidance and feels hopeful about the future and her newfound purpose.

“I told myself that this was just one point in the long life I owed myself to live before I was swallowed up.” 

Miller returns to her hometown and visits the train tracks where many of her classmates committed suicide. Depressed, she contemplates ending her life. However, Miller still feels hope for the future and for the invaluable life that awaits her decision to live.

“Trauma provides a special way of moving through time; years fall away in an instant, we can summon terrorizing feelings as if they are happening in the present.”

Miller reads through the transcripts in preparation for her testimony in court the next day. She feels overwhelmed by the memories of her trauma and feels like she is experiencing her trauma once again in the present. She comments on the way trauma can propel victims back into their darkest moments in an instant and slowly learns how to navigate her emotions while staying grounded.

“Why is it that we’re wary of victims making false accusations, but rarely consider how many men have blatantly lied about, downplayed, or manipulated others to cover their own actions?” 

Miller poses a rhetorical question that calls into question the double standards that silence women and excuse men. She addresses how we instinctively work to poke holes in victims’ stories while unquestioningly sympathizing with men. She experiences this firsthand in her case; the media, the prosecution, and strangers on the internet assassinate her character but present Turner as a gifted athlete with lost potential.

“The friendly guy who helps you move and assists senior citizens in the pool is the same guy who assaulted me. One person can be capable of both. Society often fails to wrap its head around the fact that these truths often coexist, they are not mutually exclusive. Bad qualities can hide inside a good person. That’s the terrifying part.” 

Miller presents the harsh truth that rapists can often present as good people. She calls out society’s tendency to doubt that this occurs. Miller confronts the dangers of such thinking, which can result in disbelief of victims who come forward and protection of the men who rape them.

“Kicking and screaming is not a sign you have lost your mind. It’s a sign that you have stepped onto your own side. You are learning, finally, how to fight back. Rage had arrived to burn the timidness away.” 

A huge fan, Miller meets Margaret Cho in a comedy club in Philadelphia. She is inspired by Cho’s ability to channel her rage into her art. Preparing to write her victim impact statement, Miller likewise taps into the power of her anger to bring about real and necessary change. She speaks to other survivors in the second person and urges them to channel their own rage and fight back.

“What could I tell them? A system does not exist for you. The pain of this process couldn’t be worth it. These crimes are not crimes but inconveniences. You can fight and fight and for what? When you are assaulted, run and never look back. This was not one bad sentence. This was the best we could hope for.” 

Miller grapples with Judge Persky’s lenient sentencing of Turner and questions what message she can share with the other survivors who look to her for guidance. Miller experiences full disillusionment with the system that denies her justice. She does not seek to hide the truth from other victims and dedicates herself to exposing the realities of the justice system and its failures.

“Assault buries the self. We lose sight of how and when we are allowed to occupy space. We are made to doubt our abilities, disparaged when we speak.” 

Touched by the international acclaim for her published statement, Miller reflects on the effect sexual assault has on a victim’s self-worth. She recognizes the ways in which she doubted herself and her abilities due to the assault. The high praise she experiences reveals the false narrative she has come to perpetuate about herself.

“In my anonymity, I tried on their lives and watched as they tried on mine. They became young again, finally declaring what they deserved, reclaiming all that had been taken. Healing was possible in that empty space.” 

Miller reflects on the way her anonymous statement connects with survivors around the world. She witnesses the healing promoted through the sharing of her statement. This inspires Miller to continue writing and sharing her story with others.

“What I never say out loud is that rape makes you want to turn into wood, hard and impenetrable. The opposite of a body that is meant to be tender, porous, soft.” 

Miller explains the effect her rape had on her relationship with sex. She presents a raw and unfiltered glimpse into the struggles survivors experience with intimacy. She contrasts the “hard and impenetrable” barriers survivors put up to protect themselves with the “tender, porous, soft” vulnerability that sex offers.

“Privilege accompanies the light skinned, helped maintain his belief that consequences did not apply to him. In this system, who is untouchable? Who is disposable? Whose lives are we intent on preserving? Who goes unaccounted for? Who is the true disrupter, the one firing, the one fingering, who created a problem where there never was one?” 

Miller comments on the privilege that shelters Turner due to his race, gender, and class. She provides a scathing critique of the ways in which a system that purportedly protects survivors actually protects privileged white men like Turner. Miller uses a series of rhetorical questions that ask her audience to question whom the system serves to protect and who are the true villains in society.

“I thought, if I, as a survivor, am made up of the same fibers as them, if it is true we are built of similar threads, I am unshakable. Something in my chest seared that day, I felt like I could lift a car, climb a mountain. I was proud to belong to what being a survivor meant. The power they exuded.” 

Inspired by the bravery of the young gymnasts who testify in the Larry Nassar case, Miller feels strengthened and empowered. She also feels connected to this community of powerful survivors and begins to see the power she holds. Her description of survivors as “built of similar threads” connotes a deeper sense of connection that is irreversible and material in nature. Miller and her fellow survivors are united as one, which lends them some protection against the dehumanization of sexual assault and its aftermath.