By: Anaya Parker
Enthusiastic consent. I first heard the term in my Human Sexuality class with my professor, Matt Tolbert, and it was the first time I truly realized that what had happened to me wasn’t consensual. I blamed myself because I had said “yes.” But looking back, the tears in my eyes and the trembling in my voice told a very different story: one of fear, not desire.
In a recent email to the Accent, Tolbert explained the concept.
“Enthusiastic consent refers to sexual encounters where both individuals are equally enthusiastic, excited and engaged in the encounter,” he stated. “This goes beyond verbal consent, which can sometimes be given while under coercive pressure. So, it guards against coercion in sexual encounters as well as any ambiguity in understanding the desire of each individual to enter a sexual encounter.”
Ideally, according to Biblical principles, such encounters should occur within a marriage relationship. Tolbert explained that consent — though just as important in that context to avoid abusive scenarios — may function differently.
“In some relationships, such as long-time married couples, ‘enthusiastic’ consent may not be a threshold necessary to meet for a sexual encounter. But it is a good position to take for most situations.”
When I used to think of sexual assault, I imagined someone screaming “no” while the aggressor ignored their cries. But that’s not what all assaults look like, according to experts. While the fight response does happen, many survivors instead freeze or fawn – trauma responses that are less understood.
According to SimplyPsychology, freezing during an assault may appear as going silent or feeling trapped in your own body. Fawning can appear as agreeing or playing along, with the intention of minimizing the danger. Survivors often go silent or even agree, not because they want to, but because they’re scared of what will happen if they don’t. When someone does not feel free to say “no,” there is no true “yes.”
The “Red Zone,” the first few months of college, is known as the period when about 50% of campus sexual assaults occur, according to Purdue University Center for Advocacy, Response & Education. It’s a vulnerable time, full of change and exploration. Students are learning who they are, testing new boundaries and, for many, encountering situations that blur lines of safety and consent.
It was during that time, September of my freshman year, that I found myself in a situation far too common. I’ve struggled to label what happened to me as sexual assault. Like many survivors, I told myself, “It could have been worse.” I also believe the perpetrator didn’t fully understand what he was doing. He convinced himself that he was helping me, that I’d start liking it, that it was okay because I wasn’t saying “no.” None of that excuses his actions. Intent does not erase impact. He made choices I will always have to live with.
In my case, it was not rape, but inappropriate touch. The young man was a fellow student I was simply friends with, and I truly believe he did not have malicious intent.
The truth is, people who commit assault often aren’t monsters hiding in shadows. Sometimes, they’re people who genuinely like you, who think “a little push” is harmless. That’s what makes education about consent so critical. Violent assaults are real, but so are the quiet ones, where fear replaces choice.
Initially, I filed a Title IX report for sexual assault on campus, but like many survivors, I ended up dropping my case shortly after. According to an article by the Accent published on Jan. 18, 2023, a total of 42 Title IX reports were made in 2022, but 36 of those cases were dropped by the complainant. Dennis Negrón, vice president of Student Development, explained in a recent email to the Accent that some of those cases did not to rise to the level of a violation.
“Only 10 percent went to hearing,” Negrón explained.
However, a case being dropped doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. Cases may be dropped for a variety of reasons, including self-blame, insufficient evidence and re-traumatization during the reporting process. The process of reporting and going to court is lengthy and potentially equally as traumatic as the assault itself.
According to the Rape Crisis Center in Texas, 70% of survivors know the person who assaulted them. It’s not a stranger in a dark alley, but someone they trusted: a classmate, a partner, a friend or a family member. These are not random attacks; they happen within relationships where safety should exist.
I strongly believe that misunderstanding consent is one of the most dangerous gaps in our culture today, especially in religious communities, where open conversations about sex are often rare or discouraged.
A study published in Violence and Gender vividly illustrates this distorted understanding. Researchers found that 31.7% of men said they would force a woman to have sex if there were no consequences, yet only 13.6% said they would “rape” a woman under the same conditions. This difference in language matters. This small but striking study reveals how people often separate “forcing sex” from “rape,” even though they are the same act.
This study, though small (86 participants), highlights a broader issue: Many people still imagine sexual assault only as violent attacks by strangers, rather than recognizing that coercion, pressure and the absence of consent are also assault. This confusion doesn’t only apply to perpetrators; it also affects survivors.
According to the National Sexual Violence Resource Center, over 90% of college sexual assault survivors never report their assault. Some fear not being believed; others don’t realize that what happened to them “counts.” They, too, have internalized this misunderstanding.
It’s also important to recognize that sexual violence isn’t limited to one gender or type of person. Though most cases involve male aggressors, women can also commit sexual assault, and men can also be victims. At its core, sexual violence is a human problem rooted in power, silence and a lack of education.
I often wonder what might have been different if the young man and I had both understood what consent really meant. Consent is necessary for more than just intercourse, including everything from kissing to touching. It should be enthusiastic. It should be free of coercion. It should be given willingly, in safety and mutual respect. But we must always remember God’s original intent for such activities to occur within the context of marriage.
Consent is not just a word; it’s a language of care, respect and freedom. The better we learn to speak it, the fewer people will have to grapple with trauma in silence.
My hope is that conversations about enthusiastic consent don’t end in classrooms, but that they begin there, and keep going, in dorms, in churches, in friendships and in relationships. Because until everyone knows that “yes” must be free, enthusiastic and safe, we still have work to do. And that work begins with listening to survivors and examining our own internal beliefs.
