Why a TV Show Felt Personal
When I watched I May Destroy You in the summer of 2020, I wasn’t yet grappling with the trauma of being spiked. The show’s unflinching honesty about sexual assault, consent, and the messy aftermath spoke to a universal truth: the line between a night out and something devastating can blur in an instant. Michaela Coel uses Arabella’s story not just to tell a tale of harm, but to invite viewers into a process of understanding, questioning, and, eventually, healing. For many, including me, the series became a mirror and a map—a way to recognize signs of spiking in real life and a guide to seeking support.
From Fiction to Reality: Recognizing the Experience
The most powerful part of the show is its insistence on naming what happened. Spiking is not a vague threat; it’s a concrete violation that alters memory, autonomy, and safety. Watching Arabella piece together what happened—through fragmented memories, unreliable nights, and a search for accountability—helped me name my own experience in a language I could share with others. The show doesn’t sensationalize; it documents the emotional terrain that follows. That honesty validated my own feelings of confusion, fear, and anger, transforming them from isolated shame into a legitimate response to harm.
Understanding Consent Beyond the Moment
Coel’s storytelling emphasizes that consent is ongoing and contextual. It’s not just about a single interaction but about how power, drink safety, and choice intersect in the hours that follow. This reframing was empowering for me. It encouraged me to trust my instincts, seek resources, and insist on safety without downplaying the complexity of the experience. It also underscored the importance of talking about consent with friends and partners in clear, non-judgmental terms.
Healing Is Not Linear, but It Is Possible
The journey depicted in I May Destroy You is not a tidy arc of recovery; it’s messy, imperfect, and ongoing. That realism helped me accept that healing wouldn’t be instantaneous or linear. It encouraged small, practical steps: documenting what happened, contacting support services, and setting boundaries. The show doesn’t pretend there’s a quick fix, and that honesty was comforting. It reassured me that seeking help—whether through friends, professionals, or communities—does not erase the pain, but it can help rebuild a sense of safety and agency.
Finding Community and Validation
One of the most healing aspects was realizing I wasn’t alone. Slivers of shared experiences—stories of university life, nightlife, and the fear of reporting—showed up in the comments, essays, and conversations sparked by the series. This sense of community can be a lifeline when the stigma of being spiked feels suffocating. I May Destroy You created a space where people could speak openly, support one another, and demand accountability from institutions and individuals alike.
The Power of Art in Advocacy
Beyond personal catharsis, the show functions as social advocacy. It challenges audiences to confront gaps in safety, reporting, and cultural narratives around sexual violence. For me, engaging with the show translated into tangible action: learning about reporting options, advocating for campus resources, and supporting friends who may be navigating similar experiences. Art becomes a catalyst for change when it translates pain into practical steps and collective awareness.
Moving Forward with Resolve
My experience of being spiked remains a part of me, but it no longer defines me. I May Destroy You offered a blueprint for naming the harm, seeking support, and rebuilding trust in myself and others. If you’ve ever questioned your own experience or felt unsure about how to talk to someone about it, the show’s message is clear: your voice matters, your story deserves to be heard, and healing is possible, even when it’s hard.
