Lived Experience of Sexual Assault Among Gender Diverse Individuals

Theoretical Framework

This research is grounded in Queer Theory, specifically, Sexual and Gender Script Theory. This theory promotes understanding of the wider social forces, which create and enable violence against queer individuals, and contends that both sex and gender must be critically understood as culturally constructed binaries (Butler, 2002). Queer theory posits that gender is constructed through repetitive acts and that those outside the gender binary are rendered unspeakable and unknowable, simultaneously invisible and hypervisible, subject to social ostracization (Butler, 2002). This societal narrative of the inferiority of sexual and gender non-conformity leads to the internalization of negative stereotypes. This internalization prompts changes in an individual’s sense of self, social acceptance, and sense of belonging, which leads to increased stress (Brooks, 1981). Queer theory thus provides the background for sexual and gender script theory, which asserts that sexual assault is understood from a socially constructed “script” of a “dominant, sexually aggressive” man and “subordinate, sexually pleasing” woman (Mortimer et al., 2019). Those outside the gender binary do not align with this script, and assaults by or against such individuals are rendered unthinkable. However, these assaults do occur, and the experience of gender diverse individuals challenges dominant gender scripts.

Queer theory and Sexual and Gender Script Theory informed our research study, encompassing design, methodology, and participant safety. Specifically, the decision to conduct research with gender diverse individuals who have been sexually assaulted is guided by the notion that not all victims of sexual assault are cis-gender women. Given that the stigmatized identity has silenced gender diverse individuals when seeking support (Mortimer et al., 2019), this theoretical perspective was critical in guiding a safe and sensitive process of uncovering the experiences of a dually marginalized population as both a gender minority and a survivor.

Recruitment

Prior to initiating recruitment, research ethics board approval was obtained from a post-secondary academic institution in Ontario, Canada. Recruitment occurred between September 2023 and December 2023 and strategically targeted individuals in Western, Central, and Eastern Canada. Participant recruitment included three strategies: (a) community engagement with agencies that support 2SLGBTQIA+ individuals and/or survivors of sexual assault; (b) social media advertising via Facebook, Instagram, and Reddit; (c) posters distributed through the advisory committee, listservs, and community agencies across Canada. Potential participants were invited to contact the research team via email. A research assistant screened all potential participants for inclusion and provided an information letter that outlined the study. Those who met the inclusion criteria were scheduled for an in-person or (in camera) virtual interview.

Data Collection

Data collection included one face-to-face (n = 3) or virtual (n = 15) interview with gender diverse sexual assault survivors. Two research team members were present throughout all interviews to ensure the emotional safety of participants, clarify or expand on information that was shared, complete consent forms, and collect demographic data. Research team members included both allies and 2SLGBTQIA+ community members with extensive clinical and content expertise. At the outset of the interview, the information letter was discussed, and details were shared regarding the purpose of the study, voluntary participation, risks and benefits, and the right to withdraw. Face-to-face participants signed a copy of the consent, and virtual participants provided verbal consent, which was recorded by the researcher.

Prior to initiating the interview, the research team and participants shared their pronouns, and participants clarified their current gender identity. Interviews were open-ended and semi-structured and included questions in four distinct areas including their experience of sexual assault (i.e., In as much detail as you’re comfortable sharing, can you tell me about the sexual assault?); the potential impact of their gender-identity on their experience (Did your gender identity impact your experience of sexual assault? Please explain.); their disclosure experiences (informal and formal; After you were sexually assaulted, did you speak to anyone about what happened to you? Can you describe who you initially disclosed to and what that initial disclosure was like for you?); and their experience with police reporting (Did you report your assault to the police? If yes, what prompted you to make that report? What was your experience with the police?) Following the interview, demographic data were collected, including current participant characteristics and characteristics at the time of the assault, perpetrator characteristics, interactions with formal/informal supports, and characteristics of the assault.

The average length of the interviews was 47 min, and all interviews were recorded and transcribed verbatim. Following each interview, researchers debriefed with participants, inquired about their emotional well-being, provided a list of virtual and in-person support services, and offered an honorarium as a token of appreciation for their time in sharing their story.

Data Analysis

Transcripts were entered into NVivo (14) for analysis (Lumivero, 2024). All members of the research team analyzed the data collectively using Colaizzi’s (1978) seven-step analytic method. This included an extensive review of recordings and transcribed data, extraction of significant phrases, a constant comparative approach, and an exhaustive description of the themes using participants’ voices. The research team engaged in ongoing discussions to ensure accurate interpretation of the data. Member checking was conducted by providing participants with 2 weeks to review the themes and clarify or verify whether the themes accurately reflected their experiences. Eight participants responded and verified the data as presented.

Reflexivity

This research evolved from previous research with sexual assault survivors, whereby gender diversity was a notable gap. To ensure reflexivity throughout the research process, the research team engaged in several strategies to mitigate bias and remain true to participant accounts. These steps included, (1) developing an advisory committee and focus group to consult on research design and process, (2) consistent with our research method of descriptive phenomenology, researchers engaged in bracketing (Van Manen, 1997) at the outset and throughout the research process, (3) the research team used open-ended questions to enable participants to share the experiences that were meaningful to them, (4) interviews included two researchers that aided in accountability and adherence to methodological rigor and bracketing, (5) the research team analyzed the data collaboratively, with communication throughout the process to ensure participant voices were at the forefront and any potential bias was mitigated, and (6) the research team refrained from using a theoretical framework in data analysis to mitigate bias, and maintain commitment to the lived experiences of participants (Dodgson, 2019).

Sample

Purposive sampling was used to recruit 18 gender diverse participants who experienced a sexual assault. At the time of the assault, participants ranged in age from 14 to 40, though most participants were adolescents between the ages of 14 and 20 (n = 11). The majority of participants were assigned female at birth (n = 14) and changed their gender identity an average of three times in their lives. At the time of the assault, participants represented diverse gender identities, including individuals who identified as non-binary (n = 9; including fluid, questioning, genderqueer, and agender), transgender (n = 8), and Two-spirit (n = 1). Their sexual orientation included bisexual/pansexual (n = 9), queer (n = 4), asexual (n = 3), gay (n = 1), and Two-spirit (n = 1). Most participants were White (n = 13), followed by First Nation, Indigenous, Metis (n = 3), Asian (n = 1), and multiracial (n = 1). Educational attainment varied, with the majority of participants completing college or university (n = 16) and high school (n = 2).

The majority of perpetrators of the assault were acquaintances (n = 10) or dating partners (n = 7), while one was a stranger (n = 1). All but one perpetrator was aware of the participant’s gender identity at the time of the assault (n = 17). Approximately half of the perpetrators were heterosexual (n = 10), while the remaining identified as members of the queer community. As reported by participants, the gender identity of the perpetrator included cis-gender men (n = 7), cis-gender women (n = 3), transgender (n = 5), and non-binary (n = 2). The initial disclosure of the assault varied, with most participants first telling a friend (n = 11), followed by a partner (n = 2), a doctor/nurse (n = 2), a colleague (n = 1), a teacher (n = 1), or an online community (n = 1). In most of the sexual assaults, alcohol was involved (n = 14).

Vulnerability: Isolation, Alienation, Rejection, and Power

Participants described various aspects of their gender identity that contributed to their vulnerability to sexual assault. For many participants, the sexual assault occurred during their teenage years at a time when they were still navigating their gender identity. Participants expressed feelings unsure of their sexuality and gender identity, and confusion about how to present themselves authentically. This left them vulnerable to individuals who took advantage of them. Identity-related challenges were compounded by limited previous healthy relationships, estrangement from family and peers due to a lack of acceptance of their queer identity, and the absence of queer-inclusive sex education to guide them in understanding sexual consent and healthy relationships. A gender non-conforming participant who was assaulted by a dating partner described the vulnerability they felt when others perceived their sense of confusion,

I was at the time a girl. Um, so, I really struggled. I didn’t have a sense of my gender identity yet, or my sexual orientation, fully. Like I just knew there was something “wrong with me,” and I feel like others noticed that about me, too. (004)

The perpetrator who assaulted them frequently made comments about how he could help them become more feminine, to “look like a girl should look” (004), and perform sexual acts typically associated with women. In this way, the participant’s identity expression left them exposed to others who exploited their gender fluidity for their own satisfaction.

Other participants felt targeted due to their sexual orientation and gender expression. Some participants were assaulted by friends or acquaintances who were aware of their queer identity, and they made sexual advances toward them to “taunt them” about their gender.

When I was in middle school, my best friend, who was a girl – she thought it was funny, I guess, to take her hand, it wasn’t much, but it did affect me a lot. She would just rub it up and down my thigh. And like she knew what affected me. And it happened for three years after I repeatedly told her I didn’t like it. I had just recently come out as queer. So, it was really hard for me. And then it made me kind of be like okay, I must be gay because I liked it. And then it was like, but I don't want to be gay, if that’s what it’s like. (005)

Several participants expressed a sense that their gender identity and sexual orientation were targeted by individuals who were struggling with their own sense of identity. In these instances, the perpetrator perceived the participant as more open with their gender identity and, thus, able to help them make sense of their feelings. Participants explained the sense of unity in the queer community and the desire to support others who lacked the knowledge or resources to openly express their gender, “with queer people, we want to be, like, taking care of each other, cause maybe we don’t have a lot of role models.” (009) However, the kindness they extended to others backfired on them, when they were assaulted by the individual they were supporting.

I think it [sexual assault] was a result of her being bi-curious and wanting to explore her sexuality and her knowing that I already figured out that I was queer, and being like, well, if you figured it out, maybe you can help me figure it out. She took advantage of that, and was like, you’re so open you must be able to help me figure it out, even if you don’t consent to it. (009)

Similarly, another transgender participant was assaulted by a perpetrator who was struggling with their own gender identity. At the time of the assault, the participant agreed to provide support by providing them with sex education and resources within the queer community. While trying to be supportive, the participant felt that the perpetrator exploited the relationship and used their openness and comfort with their gender as an opportunity to engage in a sexual experience.

I had come out as trans earlier, and I was much more comfortable with my sexual identity. I already felt, like, a gay guy. But she was still figuring a lot more out for herself and was actively trying to have sex as a way to figure out sexuality and gender. (014)

All participants identified the perpetrator’s power over them throughout the sexual assault. While some individuals were targeted based on their gender identity, others felt targeted based on the isolation they experienced from their families. Several participants expressed that their families did not accept their gender identity or sexual orientation, leaving them vulnerable. Without a support system, they had no one to turn to when they felt unsafe or confused about their sexuality and gender. Participants stated things such as, “so many of us get kicked out or run away” (004), or “the subtleties of parental rejection build over time” (007). A participant who was isolated from his family when he was assaulted expressed the vulnerability that is created when there is a lack of acceptance in the family.

I think that it’s important for folks to think about how, um, especially for young people, but not just young people, people who maybe aren't “out,” that I really do believe that people who are looking to prey on others, you know, a predator, they’re looking for things that isolate children from things. So, looking for children isolated from people who they might not have a safe person to tell essentially for some reason. (004)

Other participants spoke about the vulnerability they experienced due to the disconnection from their families and loved ones, as they did not feel it was safe to disclose their gender identity. For example, a participant explained how the perpetrator used their concealed gender identity as a source of power over them, “I knew she could use stuff, like she could out me to my parents. I knew she had that against me, and I couldn’t get away from that because she’d had text messages, so that’s why I felt threatened by her.” (007). This isolation from family left participants vulnerable to individuals who exploited and controlled their circumstances. A participant who was condemned at home for identifying as queer spent most of their days sitting for hours alone in a restaurant, where the perpetrator eventually approached them, groomed them, and ultimately repeatedly sexually assaulted them. They stated, “being queer, you can be easily manipulated into situations you don’t want to be in just cause people kind of have that power over you if you’re not out at the time and they know it.” (006)

Blurred Lines: Coercion, Forced Compliance, and Consent

All participants in this study, apart from one individual, were sexually assaulted by someone they knew. This included an acquaintance, a friend, or someone they were dating. Often, the nature of these relationships influenced how the victim responded to the assault. Though a minority of participants recalled verbalizing the word “no” when they were being assaulted, most refrained from saying “no” but stated that they did not affirmatively consent to sexual activity, and perceived that they were demonstrating this through their disinterested body language, lack of active participation, and attempts to create distance.

The context of the relationships complicated the participant’s initial perceptions of the assault. Since most participants were in some type of relationship with the perpetrator, the distinction between consent and assault was initially blurred. Participants made statements such as “I wasn’t sure myself at that point because it was a date rape kind of thing” (001); “I had almost like convinced myself that I must have said yes at some point if she did it. But I didn’t” (007); “I almost felt like it was just bad sex, and, like, well, everybody has a bad first time, you know” (010); and “I didn’t know if [I should] be less bad at relationships because I was like, not straight and trying to have a straight relationship. Or, if it was just because it was a bad relationship.” (018) Other participants felt that lines between consent and assault were unclear because they initially agreed to some sexual contact, but the sexual activity was either not what they wanted and agreed to, or they withdrew their consent after the initial contact, which was not respected. Overwhelmingly, a common aspect among many of the participants was their initial uncertainty about whether the sexual contact constituted a “true” sexual assault. Some participants felt that their experience was too minor to be deemed sexual assault, even though it met the criminal code definition, and they experienced it as a violation. For example, a gender fluid participant whose experience included unwanted touching, reflected: “I didn’t really fully understand that it was assault the first time it happened” (002). Another participant stated, “there’s still the part of me that goes, well, that wasn’t so bad [sexual contact], that doesn’t count. Like it wasn’t real. These things just happen, especially when you’re like, AFAB” [assigned female at birth] (018). However, as time passed, and participants struggled with processing what had happened during the sexual encounter, they disclosed to their friends, who subsequently labeled what transpired as sexual assault. For example, a participant who was involved in a consensual kink relationship with clear boundaries about what is sexually acceptable and what is not, stated, “I, disclosed it to another friend of mine and like, gave a very rudimentary, ‘oh, I called a safe word, and she didn’t listen’, and she continued. . . and so, she was the one that said, um, that’s assault!” (010).

Participants consistently expressed feeling coerced by the perpetrator to engage in the sexual act, stating things such as, “I think it’s [sex] easier to just, you know, go along [with it]”, (008) “it wasn’t like they were being aggressively forceful; it was more in the coercive nature. So, I was kind of participating but, like, really dissociated” (009), or “I was pretending that I liked it, but I just wanted it to stop” (008). Thus, while many participants did not explicitly say no, they also did not say yes, and either coercively complied, froze, or “went along with it.”

Participants had various reasons for “going along with it” [sexual activity] or “freezing” in response to the sexual assault, such as being fearful, having unclear boundaries about sex, lacking education and awareness of consent, and feeling “stuck” and uncertain of what to do. For example, a transgender man recalled that he did not verbally express that he did not want to have sex based on his newly embraced positionality as a queer person, but he clearly recalled that he did not consent, “no one had really been like, sexually interested in me since I came out as queer and non-binary. So, I remember feeling like I should be happy that someone wanted to have sex.” (014). Despite not wanting to engage in sex, he felt compelled to do so given that someone was taking an “interest” in him. Other participants emphasized their desire to protect other members of the queer community. An openly transgender man in a rural community was supporting an individual through their gender transition, and through that helping relationship, the participant was assaulted. They stated:

I felt very pressured to have sex, and like kind of coerced by the situation. It started out as actually just, that I was supposed to be like a supportive person to help them be comfortable with being trans, and then it got really murky and weird cause we both had really bad boundaries around sex. [It felt like] an expectation that was put on me and it didn’t feel consensual. (009)

Though this participant wanted to provide support, stating, “I think that vulnerable, queer people have a desire and a want to take care of each other” they felt that the person who assaulted them interpreted their willingness to assist them in navigating their identity as compliance to engage in sexual activity. Thus, their desire to be helpful ultimately led to victimization.

The relationships that participants had with the perpetrators who sexually assaulted them were complex. Though participants recalled being sexually assaulted either through unwanted sexual touching, fondling, oral sexual contact, or sexual penetration, the majority of participants remained in contact with or in friendships/relationships with the individual who assaulted them. Several detailed ongoing sexual assaults for months and/or years following the initial violation. One remained in contact with the perpetrator for nearly 2 years, stated, “they had really put into my head that being queer was bad.” (006) This led to them feeling stuck in the relationship out of fear that others would not accept them. Others remained in unsafe relationships due to threats of being “outed” to their loved ones. The ongoing relationships and continued unwanted sexual activity further complicated participants’ help-seeking as they feared that disclosing the assault to others would be met with disbelief, confusion, or judgment. As a result, many participants reported struggling in silence, trapped in the complexities of their trauma, identities, and societal pressure that hindered their ability to seek help.

Disclosure of Sexual Assault

The nature of sexual assault disclosure varied among participants. Many participants expressed feelings of uncertainty and confusion regarding the sexual violation, especially when the perpetrator was someone they knew and trusted. This confusion prompted them to refrain from initially disclosing the assault to anyone. In time, all participants eventually disclosed their experience to someone else, though this often didn’t occur until months or years later. The delay in disclosure was influenced by the uncertainty of what the threshold was for sexual contact to be considered assault, “I did not directly, like I didn't tell anyone for at least a few years, probably because it didn’t feel like enough to constitute as a significant violation” (003). This hesitation stemmed from the struggle to define the threshold for what constitutes an assault, particularly when it involved subtle or coercive behavior rather than physical force. The delay in disclosure was further influenced by the lack of safe spaces for queer individuals to talk about their experiences. For some, the absence of queer-affirming spaces in their communities meant that they had nowhere to turn for support. In some instances, participants also encountered professionals who lacked understanding of the queer community and their unique issues. “When you try to talk to doctors, they don’t actually have information. My doctor didn’t know anything about queer people, let alone queer sex. All that there was, was HIV and AIDS. So, you couldn’t actually get support.” (009). This lack of gender competent care not only made it difficult to seek help, but also reinforced feelings of isolation and invalidation.

An additional burden that inhibited disclosure included feelings of protection for the queer community. For instance, a genderqueer participant who was assaulted by another transgender female described their caution in disclosing the sexual assault due to fear that the disclosure would cast all transgender individuals in an unfavorable light,

There was definitely fear because I felt like I was just reinforcing harmful stereotypes by disclosing. . . Because it was a battle between not wanting to reinforce the stereotypes, and not wanting to admit I was raped by a woman. . . . I feared that I was going to be treated differently in my own community [queer community], and I didn’t know if I was being transphobic. I felt kind of pressure of both sides. Like, the internal pressure of the queer community itself, and not wanting to hurt somebody or, like, I didn’t know who I could talk to, and then the external pressure of societal views towards the queer community. I felt like it was my responsibility in a way to not say anything. (010)

Furthermore, they stated, “I didn’t want to be that token story where I was raped by a trans[gender] woman, and I was preyed on by a trans woman because she’s not a predator, because she’s trans[gender]. She’s a predator because she’s a predator.” (010)

Despite the initial trepidation in disclosing sexual assault, participants did eventually disclose their experience. Most participants initially disclosed the assault to a friend whom they perceived as understanding and trustworthy. When friends responded to the disclosure with support, participants felt validated that what they experienced was sexual assault. However, when friends minimized or dismissed the seriousness of the assault, participants shut down and decided that speaking to others would be misunderstood or unsupported. The dismissiveness of the initial disclosure prevented participants from acquiring the support they needed for healing.

Disclosure of the sexual assault to a formal support provider included disclosures to counselors/therapists, doctors, nurses, and teachers. The participant’s experiences demonstrate that disclosures to a professional were often inadvertent, whereby disclosing the sexual assault was not the primary purpose of the formal interaction. Most participants indicated that they were in some type of counseling or therapy for other issues unrelated to the assault, but despite having professional support, feelings of shame, previous experiences of transphobia, and the perception that formal providers lacked understanding of gender diversity made direct disclosure difficult for them. Participants were often subtle, and described disclosing the assault as “super in passing, not as a point of focus,” (001) or “I casually slipped in that I was assaulted” (010). A participant who was assaulted by another student in the classroom recalled being confronted by their teacher for their absence from class. They responded to the teacher with “there’s a reason. I’m never here” (014), possibly signaling an opportunity for further inquiry. Another participant who attempted to disclose to their physician during an exam stated, “I was trying to kind of do mini disclosures, but they did not ask me further questions about like, why?” (004) In their attempts to disclose, participants noted that the professionals they disclosed to did not pick up on their cues or chose to dismiss them. These attempts to reach out for help were missed opportunities whereby formal support providers could have played a critical role in validating their experiences, offering emotional support, connecting them to community resources, or assisting them with their healing or pursuit of justice. A participant who disclosed to her doctor recalled the missed opportunity for the provider to help, “the student health doctor at the university I went to, she didn’t ask me more specific questions” (004), while others stated, “she didn’t ask, and I didn’t say” (018) or “I just indicated something big had happened, and I just like felt the person didn’t wanna engage in the conversation. And so, I just stopped.” (001) Participants indicated that they hoped to be validated, but when others did not ask further questions about their “mini disclosures,” they became more guarded and refrained from making further attempts to discuss the assault with them.

Support and Acceptance

Despite the missed opportunities from formal support providers to recognize inadvertent disclosures or “mini disclosures” of sexual assault, most participants in this research eventually found the support they needed later in their lives. This support came from friends, partners, and formal support providers such as teachers, nurses, doctors, and therapists. Participants spoke of the value of being believed and having their experiences acknowledged, particularly the acknowledgment from others that the sexual assault was not their fault. They also felt empowered connecting with others who had similar experiences and could talk openly about the harm they experienced from being sexually assaulted. In addition, support was experienced when people they cared about stood up for them against the perpetrator and when affirming spaces were created. For example, participant 004 spoke about the support they received from a stranger who identified their vulnerability and provided them with a safe place,

There was a person who I met who perceived that there was something wrong, that I was like really traumatized, and she didn’t know what it was. But she kind of reached out to me and was like, hey something’s going on for you. I didn’t really talk about it, but I just said I didn’t know how to get out of a situation that I was in. And so, she kind of took me under her wing a little bit and helped me exit the situation without me describing in detail what was going on. She kind of became like an alternate spot that I could go because like home wasn’t very safe, but she was like, no you can come to my house. (004)

Most participants highlighted the value of support they received from members of the queer community, whether informal (friends) or formal (teachers, healthcare providers, therapists). They discussed the complexities of experiencing a sexual assault as a queer individual, including the intersectionality of their identity, the connection and acceptance in the queer community, and their disenfranchisement from their families and peers. These intersecting factors added an additional burden to the disclosure of sexual assault. For example, participants described the awkwardness of needing to get the morning-after pill from the hospital when embodying masculine characteristics or undergoing a physical exam that required revealing their identity to healthcare providers.

Therefore, having a member of the queer community provide support following a sexual assault meant that they did not need to explain their identity, as the 2SLGBTQ+ formal support provider simply understood without addressing it. For example, a participant who disclosed to their queer counselor outlined the ease of speaking with someone with lived experience,

I just didn’t have to explain my identity to her. It just like removed, I’d had counselors before who were always like straight, and cisgender and I always felt like I was having to kind of like translate things for them and they didn’t really ever fully get it. And removing that level of having to translate my experiences was really helpful with her. (014)

Another participant who disclosed to their counselor, who also identified as queer, echoed these feelings and stated, “the fact that he realized that just by being queer, everything is harder. He understood that being queer inherently made it difficult. And the first thing he asked was, how are your parents around this? And I was like, yikes!” (003)

Participants who received support from a member of the queer community made statements such as “they just got it” (002) or “I didn’t have to explain myself or my identity” (014). A participant who identified as a transgender male and received support from a queer counselor stated, “I remember that [queer counselor] being important because she wouldn’t like judge me for not being queer enough, because I’d had sex with a guy?” (014). Participants further expressed that the support they received from individuals within their own community was free of judgment, and fostered an unabated acceptance that the sexual assault they experienced was real and was a significant violation. They made statements such as “I was able to talk to him [2SLGBTQIA+ therapist] about things that other people might not fully understand” (002) and “they can just understand, like the intersectionality of it all better” (007). The importance of attaining support from a member of the 2SLGBTQIA+ community who thereby understands intersectional complexity is perhaps summed up best by participant 004 who stated:

The stories of sexual assault are like, boys experience this, and it impacts men in this way, and girls experience that, and it impacts their womanhood this way. I needed someone who could be like oh, your experience of girlhood is impacting your experience of manhood. (004)

Conclusion

This research provides a unique contribution to the literature on sexual assault as it represents the first-hand accounts of 18 gender diverse sexual assault survivors. This group is typically under-researched or aggregated in research with other members of the 2SLGBTQIA+ community, thereby omitting the nuances that make their experience of victimization unique (de Heer et al., 2024). Furthermore, marginalization and oppression of gender diverse individuals impede access to support and justice following sexual assault. A better understanding of the experiences and needs of gender diverse individuals who have been sexually assaulted may influence targeted support, inclusive education, and formal support providers’ ability to respond empathically to their unique needs. Recognition that sexual assault affects gender diverse individuals is an initial step in ensuring that they are provided with safeguards such as inclusive education, safe spaces, reduced isolation, and professionals who are knowledgeable about gender diversity, sexual assault, and the complexity of their intersectional experiences.