It happened a November morning in 1988. Nancy Ziegenmeyer was about to get out of her car and take a real estate licensing exam at Grand View College in Des Moines, Iowa. Suddenly, a man in a pin-striped suit yanked open the driver's door, shoved her aside, threatened to kill her, drove to a deserted parking lot, and raped her. Afterward, he stole her purse and wedding ring, telling her that he knew where she lived and if she went to the police, he or his brothers would harm her three children.

Ziegenmeyer went to the hospital, reported the crime, and returned home, where her husband tried to comfort her. She was inconsolable, saying, "The person I was [that morning] was taken from me and my family. I will never be the same for the rest of my life."

Police tracked down Ziegenmeyer's assailant, after he pawned her wedding ring. Ziegenmeyer wanted to do nothing more than to hide and talk to no one. but several = months later, she read an article in the Des Moines Register saying that victims of rape needed to come forward and tell their stories: "As long as rape is deemed unspeakable—and is therefore not fully and honestly spoken of—the public outrage will be muted as well," the editor, a woman, had written.

Ziegenmeyer thought about that a lot. She talked with her husband about it. They lived in a small town—Grinnell, Iowa—and she was concerned about how their neighbors would react. But she decided to meet with the editor. Ziegenmeyer agreed to tell her story to the Register on three conditions: Neither her children's names nor their photographs could be used in the newspaper; the writer of the article had to be a woman; and the story couldn't be published until after the rapist's trial.

The rapist was convicted and sentenced to life in prison without parole. And Ziegenmeyer's story was published, in February 1990, a five-part series entitled "It Couldn't Happen to Me: One Woman's Story."

"I walked over and picked that paper off the front step and I looked at the front page," said Ziegenmeyer. "What I realized was, there was nothing that could have prepared me for the feeling, the sick feeling in my stomach, that ‘Oh my God, this is on everybody's doorstep.' I thought, I'm going to shut the drapes, lock the door, turn the answering machine on, and I'm not going to talk to anybody.'"

But a surprising thing happened. The Register received no hate mail, no how-could-you complaints. Almost every reaction was positive—hundreds of letters admiring what Ziegenmeyer had done in speaking out. One example, from a woman who had been raped 11 years earlier and had told only one person about it: "I am in awe of your strength and courage. I hope that you are the first link in the chain of recovery. I think I never really believed that other people like me existed. Rape victims never have a name or face. You are helping me to find mine."

More women began to talk about their assaults. People were calling Ziegenmeyer a hero. The story spread, first around Iowa and then around the country. Discussions began about the incidence of rape (in 1988, an estimated 92,000 in the U.S.) and its aftermath. Ziegenmeyer spoke with dozens of other victims, helping them—and herself—to recover.

She gave up her real estate career (she was too afraid to venture into empty houses) and began giving talks about rape and about how the crime was handled. She became stronger and helped others to become stronger as well.

Still, Ziegenmeyer believes that the choice to come forward should always lie with the victim. The state of Iowa had guaranteed her anonymity when she first reported the crime. That gave her the courage to file the charge. The courage to speak out and help others came later.

Update:

Nancy Ziegenmeyer now runs a small child care center. She has given talks around the country to colleges and high schools and has appeared on national news programs. She published Taking Back My Life in 1992 and currently works for the Iowa Coalition Against Sexual Abuse. She is a living reminder of both the horror of rape and the ability to transcend it.

"I think society is ready to hear about sexual assault," says Ziegenmeyer. "They now have knowledge that it is not something that only happens to other people. But sexual assault is not something you completely get over. ... I still have flashbacks and nightmares. I will never completely get over that."