25/04/2026
I have deep respect for Gisele Pelicot, her courage, her bravery, her resilience.
Sadly the courts are only slowly catching up on how trauma affects survivours, and how trauma memory is different from non- traumatic memory.
Her case was different to most other cases of sexual assault, because there was extensive video footage, that spoke for itself. The sad truth for many victims of sexual assault is that it is their word against that of their perpetrator, and chances of sucessful prosecution are slim.
One aspect that is seriously to consider when going to court is the impact on one's own mental health and well-being. There is no easy answer which way to go, it is a very personal decision and journey.
If you are affected by trauma, (C)-PTSD, panic attacks, triggering, flashbacks, reoccuring nightmares... I encourage you to have some Havening sessions. Trauma is a complex topic, and there is no magic bullet, and if you experience panic attacks, triggering, symptoms of ( C)- PTSD, Havening has a lot to offer to break this visious reinforcing downwards spiral.
https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1JDNySXeCi/
The hair started falling out first.
Then came the blackouts. The exhaustion that felt like drowning. Gynecological pain doctors couldn't explain.
Gisèle Pelicot sat across from her husband and asked the question plainly.
"Are you drugging me?"
Dominique looked wounded. He denied everything.
She believed him. After fifty years together, why wouldn't she?
They had raised three children. Built a life. Retired to a village in southern France where neighbors envied their closeness. People called them a model couple.
But her body kept telling her something was wrong.
November 2020 arrived like a wrecking ball.
Police arrested Dominique for filming up women's skirts in a supermarket. Disturbing behavior. Illegal. But it seemed contained to that moment.
Then investigators opened his computer.
What they found shattered comprehension.
Thousands of videos. Gisèle unconscious in her own bed while Dominique violated her. And while strangers did the same.
For nearly ten years, he had been crushing sleeping pills into her meals. Once she lost consciousness, he r***d her. Then he invited others.
He recruited them online. A forum titled "without her knowledge."
Fifty men came.
Firefighters. Nurses. Journalists. Soldiers. Prison guards. Men with wives. Men with children. Ordinary professionals living ordinary lives.
They entered the Pelicot home. They assaulted an unconscious woman while Dominique filmed. He labeled every video meticulously. Then they left and returned to normal.
Gisèle remembered none of it.
She woke tired and confused. Dominique blamed menopause. He blamed stress. He held her hand during doctor visits and watched her suffer from the abuse he orchestrated.
The man she trusted was gaslighting her about violence he controlled.
When the truth arrived, her world ended.
Fifty years of marriage revealed as fifty years of lies. The person who should have protected her had destroyed her systematically.
France charged fifty-one men.
The law offered Gisèle protection. Anonymity. Closed doors. Hidden identity. Most victims accept that shield. No one would have blamed her.
She refused.
At seventy-two, she named herself publicly. She demanded transparency. Open courtroom. Press allowed. Public trial.
"Shame must change sides," she said.
Four months. She attended every session.
She watched footage of her unconscious body. She listened while men claimed they thought she was pretending to sleep. Some said Dominique's permission meant consent. Others called themselves victims of manipulation.
Not one acknowledged the truth. Unconscious people cannot consent.
December 19, 2024. Verdicts arrived.
All fifty-one convicted.
Dominique received twenty years. The maximum sentence. At seventy-two, he will likely die in prison.
Outside the courthouse, Gisèle spoke calmly.
"I wanted society to see what was happening. I never regretted this decision."
Then she addressed survivors everywhere.
"We share the same fight."
France erupted into conversation. The term "chemical submission" entered public awareness. Laws were debated. Cultural assumptions challenged.
International recognition followed. Time magazine honored her. Opinion polls named her among the most influential people of the year.
She wrote a memoir. A Hymn to Life. Published in over twenty languages. Her message remains clear. Survivors should never carry shame. They deserve peace. They deserve joy.
Her daughter Caroline founded M'endors Pas. "Don't Sedate Me." An organization raising awareness about drug-facilitated assault.
What Gisèle Pelicot did was revolutionary.
Sexual violence depends on silence. On victims feeling ashamed. Too broken for justice. Too afraid to be believed.
She burned that silence down.
After discovering nine years of systematic violation by the person she trusted most, she could have disappeared.
Instead, she stood in open court and declared: Look at what they did. The shame belongs to them.
Her testimony forced uncomfortable questions. Why did seemingly ordinary men believe they were entitled to an unconscious woman? How could husbands think they could grant consent for their wives' bodies? What does this reveal about how deeply harmful beliefs persist?
Gisèle didn't just seek justice for herself.
She transformed the conversation for millions taught their assaults were somehow their fault. Their burden to carry. Their secret to keep.
At seventy-two, she proved something powerful.
It is never too late to reclaim your story. Never too late to return shame to where it belongs.
Not on the survivor.
On the perpetrator.
For those who have ever wondered if speaking up matters, if one voice can shift the ground beneath an entire culture: Which moment in your own life taught you that silence protects no one except those who benefit from it?
