When I walked onto UNCW's campus for my orientation, I was flooded with different emotions. This was the beginning of my new chapter. I could decide how my life would look. If I wanted to, I could create a whole new me. A subject that most people find overwhelming actually enticed me. Every session seemed to conclude with the same message of encouraging every student to come to Wilmington with open minds and hearts, not only to broaden their horizons academically but to invite new friends of different backgrounds and various cultures into their lives.

As they introduced the district attorney for New Hanover County at one of our last sessions of the day, I grew wary. My orientation leader had mentioned that his speech was heavy and that it would contain some material that was meant to scare us straight. I was almost instantly relieved when he got up on stage. He wasn't trying to scare us, but simply giving us the reality of what would happen in "his county." The district attorney gave us numbers, facts, and figures that pretty much blew by me because they didn't apply to me. I'm not bringing my car the first year, so I can't get a speeding ticket. I'm not stupid enough to drink and drive, so there goes that one, too. Then, he got to what my school calls "sexual misconduct."

He addressed every male that was in the auditorium and asked, "Do you know what it feels like to wake up and have hands all over you? Try prison, because that is where I'll put you if you assault someone who cannot consent." He proceeded to tell everyone in the room that someone who is under the influence of drugs or alcohol is unable to consent. I was stunned. So many people blame the victim, what they were wearing, their makeup, or what they may have drunk. I was expecting to have to stand up in a crowd full of people and defend victims everywhere, but my thoughts were coming straight out of the district attorney's mouth. As he was wrapping up his speech up, he commented on the Brock Turner case by saying, "The maximum sentence for a case like that is seven years. If you do that in my county, you will get seven years."

The next day, we were separated by gender and brought into auditoriums to once again have a discussion about sexual misconduct. My expectations from the day before had been lifted significantly since hearing from the district attorney. All you hear about in the news is how colleges try to sweep rape and sexual assault of female students under the rug in fear that it'll give them a bad reputation (surprise: trying to make the assault disappear makes your university look even worse!). Of course, the second that a member of CARE gets onto the stage, she diminishes any idea that UNCW might be the same way by reminding us that CARE has been on campus for over ten years and takes any sexual misconduct seriously. The woman explained how CARE advocates for us, from giving advice, to assisting with restraining orders, to riding to the hospital with you and holding your hand while you get a sane examination. I was so filled with pride in this moment. My boyfriend, who is also attending UNCW in the fall, told me later that night that his orientation was about how no matter what, rape wasn't OK.

One in six women will be sexually assaulted. You are more likely to be assaulted than you are to get shot in Russian Roulette, which is one in eight. These demographics left me scared that college would leave me helpless if I was ever in an abusive relationship, was being stalked, or was being harassed -- that there was going to be no one from the school in my corner. One hundred percent of the people at my orientation took a stand against sexual misconduct, and Wilmington instilled prevention into everyone's minds. Though I walked onto campus the day before excited to see my dorm and sign up for classes, I left consumed with even more pride for my school than I could have imagined possible. Every school should actively seek to protect their students against sexual assault and provide care for victims the way that UNCW does.