Working through Title IX complaints was not always easy, and I should also note here that I feel guilty for even saying that: yes, sexual misconduct is "icky" to deal with, to read about, to talk about. Yes, I was horrified by the answers to questions, uncomfortable with the embarrassment felt by everyone in the room; by the nervousness, by the looks cast by parents on their sons or daughters. While reviewing these files, gave me goosebumps or stomach aches, how lucky was I that my only involvement in these instances was from within the confines of my office. To have read about these acts, or heard second-hard, rather than to have experienced them myself. Working in this field is "not always easy" in the same way watching ASPCA commercials "isn't easy" or hearing about the devastation of global hunger "isn't easy." The mere fact that it isn't easy, is exactly what makes it our responsibility.

Over a year ago, a young woman was sexually assaulted. In a state of unconsciousness, she was violated; to be awoken several hours later in a hospital bed in merely a sheet, rather than the beige cardigan she had left her home that night wearing. Over a year ago, this young woman had to tell her sister, and father, her boyfriend, and her mother that she was the "unconscious intoxicated woman" they were reading about in the news.

For the past year when it came to this case, we - the public, have been exposed to a single theme: potential.

It was the perpetrator's potential that took us through his journey to one of America's top universities. It was his potential that was deemed, just this week, of having merited a mere six-month sentence.

In the case of Brock Turner, the anecdotes of his parents about snacks and swim lessons, about his first time attempting the backstroke, and about his subsequent success and athletic heroics... I found them to be disgusting, yes, that the parents of this young man, could not love him enough to let him face his own decisions. I found it disheartening; the fact that they were seemingly effective in personalizing his experience, and diminishing his horrific acts. But, unfortunately, what I found to be the most upsetting was that I was not at all surprised.

While every story is different: alcohol, no alcohol, long-time friend, roommate, ex-spouse; school, in my home, at the party; "I've known him for years" or  "I told her 'no'" the combination of details are always unique and distinct. Each experience, each story changing forever the lives of those on "either side of the v."

From the hallowed halls of institutions of higher education, to the juvenile courtroom, when sexual misconduct or sexual violence is at issue, while every story is different, the trials or hearings in at least one way, in my experience, have one major thing in common: The Good Guy Defense.

See, I understand. I get it. "BUT HE'S SUCH A GOOD GUY!"

Now, I don't mean to be exclusionary, or heteronormative... but in thinking about the case of Brock Turner, it strikes a particular cord, one that his attorneys played in full vibrato.

Brock Turner, All-American. Brock Turner, Stanford Student-Athlete. Brock Turner, a strapping young man, in a navy blazer and tie. Brock Tuner, Good Guy.

What makes sexual violence cases so difficult is that our justice system was not made for them. The adversarial practice within courtrooms was not designed to facilitate claims where there are rarely witnesses, where there is often very little, if any evidence. When he-said-she-said-he-said-she-said-he-said is the name of game, it's hard for either side to bring forward enough evidence to tip the scale. On a college campus, the scale gets tipped slightly less... (reminder: because it's not a criminal case, it's a conduct proceeding) but in a courtroom, a criminal conviction means the scale has got to fall completely, and without doubt. And here, that's exactly what happened. Twelve jurors found Brock Turner guilty on three separate charges.

In a system not made to recognize rape as a crime, and in a society that more-often-than-not believes what he said over what she said, The Good Guy Defense can weigh a lot more. But not here. Not this time.

What is the "Good Guy Defense," you ask?

When I leave these cases I always know more about the Brock Turners of the world. I know their hobbies, their interests, some have even quoted the Bible or great literary figures. I know their ambitions, and their dreams. In addition to hearing how the aggressors/respondents are perceived by the members of their community, I also always learn so much about how these individuals see themselves. As much as the world tells them they're important, they seemingly begin to believe it.

He played tennis, he was the philanthropy chairman of his fraternity. He earned a football scholarship. He was recognized for completing the greatest number of community service hours in his graduating class. He loved volleyball, and eating lunch with his grandmother. I learn about how he goes to church, or how he's wanted to be an Army ranger/fireman/teacher his whole life.

While I recognize and fully appreciate the need to shield the identities of survivors as much as possible, to protect what privacy we can, to preserve their mental health and wellness,  I also struggle with the biographical unbalance created when sexual violence is the call of a claim - whether in court, or on a college campus. Survivors of sexual violence are too often reduced only to their experiences as victims.

So often I walk away knowing every personal inflection that got the attacker up to this point in his or her life, and hardly ever do I leave the room knowing anything more about the victim (read: survivor) than that he or she was forced into an experience he or she did not want.

The truth is, I never leave the room knowing she was a concert violinist, or that she played three sports all through high school. I never hear her talk about her literary affections, or taste in movies. I don't hear about how she was elected class president, or how through high school she helped keep a roof over her family's heads or food on their table.

And while arguably, these things aren't relevant to the facts of the case. And while no, personal preferences or positive experiences shouldn't make their way into the courtroom, they outstandingly do. The truth is we have become so comfortable with the "Good Guys," looking to their swimming accomplishments and their potential, as a means of validating their character or self-control (or lack there of).

We need to explore why it's so easy for us to see the Good Guy and to ignore the Good Girls. When this young woman left the house in a beige cardigan, she wasn't attempting to play into the fetish imagery of a sexy librarian. She wasn't asking for it. She wasn't honored by the unwanted touch of a collegiate athlete, she was assaulted at the hands of someone who was actually not such a good guy.