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I don't know if what my brother did to me can be classified as sexual abuse. I was staying over at his house. It was late at night, and we were watching a movie. At some point, he asked if he could initiate some cuddling. I actually agreed, since we are really close and both enjoy physical affection. While we were spooning, he snuck his hand under my shirt. He didn't say anything, and I didn't say anything. As the night went on, he alternated between different caresses, kisses on my head or the side of my face, and words of affection. I idly stroked his arm back because I felt awkward just lying there. He eventually asked "is this okay?" in reference to his hand inching up my stomach. I was giving him the benefit of the doubt and still thought the action was platonic, plus it felt nice, plus I am a timid person and have a hard time with confrontation, so my brain thinks saying "no" to people is provoking them, so I said "yes". I didn't really want to say it I, though. I don't think I wanted to say "no", wither. I don't think I wanted to say anything at all. I was tired. We both were. His caresses smoothly progressed to the point he was caressing the underside of my breasts. That's when I started really questioning his intentions. He asked "is this okay?" again. I said "yes" again. When the movie ended, I got scared. I had been using it to distract myself from what was happening, and I was afraid that now that there was no distraction, he would shift his whole attention to me and try to initiate something; so I sat up. He lightly squeezed the underside of my breast as I did so, maybe on purpose, or maybe as a reflex. When he realized I was genuinely pulling away, he took back his hands, said: "I'm sorry. Your brother's a creep", and got up to take a shower. I think that's the moment I started freaking out. It's what confirmed my suspicions that his touches really had sexual intent behind them. I had been trying to gaslight myself into believing they were innocent affection, but those words were forcing me to face the reality of my situation. I remember running my mouth non-stop about random topics when we were having breakfast because I was afraid he was going to bring up what just happened and would want to have a conversation about it. I didn't want to talk about it. I wanted to pretend it never happened. I still try to. But it haunts me. He and his wife (who had been sleeping peacefully in their bedroom through the whole night) left early in the morning for their honeymoon (I was there to house-sit, and had come the night before to hang out with them before they left). Once I was alone, I quietly went to their bed to sleep (with their permission and insistance, since there were no other beds in the apartment). As I tried to fall asleep, I still could feel his hands on me, like a phantom touch. I broke down right there. I felt guilty, and disgusting, for not having stopped it and for having enjoyed it too. I felt like maybe I was the creep, and maybe I was the one turning this interaction into something inappropriate. The following weeks, I tried to suppress my feelings. Some days before Christmas, I was on a plane with my mother, about to start our holiday vacation. I was close to my period and my breasts felt sensitive. That triggered something in me and I suddenly teared up right there, in public. That vague ache reminded me of the feeling of that one squeeze he gave to my breast. My mother noticed me about to cry, but I lied and said that's just because I'm close to my period and feeling gloomy (I had been struggling with depression for a while, which she knew.) During the trip, I would get random flashbacks to that night, sometimes even accompanied with feelings of nausea. I felt like I was making my brain overreact somehow, since I hadn't been raped and I shouldn't be traumatized for touching that can barely even be considered intimate. When we got back home, I did something I'm not sure whether I regret it: I talked to him about it. I sent him a long text (he lives in another city, which actually made me feel safer about confronting him) which I barely remember anything about, except that it mentioned "that night" and how I had been upset by it. I broke down while typing it, and it probably wasn't very coherent. My brother sent me many short replies in quick bursts when he saw it. He apologized profusely. He said "I don't know what's wrong with me", "I'll get psychological help", alongside many things I don't remember. That had me freaking out a bit. What did he need psychological help for? Was he admitting he's got urges he can't control? But I didn't say anything related to that. I was afraid of accusing him, and I made sure to clarify I was also to blame for not setting down any boundaries. We were both replying to each other without thinking. We were panicking, and full of adrenaline. I was scared of losing him. He was the only connection I had in the city we both lived in (very far from our hometown, where our parents and my friends all live). I didn't want to upset him, because he's a very sensitive person and I already felt guilty for how I was reacting to it. We somewhat resolved the issue over text. Except we didn't. At all. I pretended we did, but I was still plagued by doubts and paranoia. More than the touching, what haunted me were his words: "I'm sorry. Your brother's a creep." They shook me to my core. All I had wanted was to be in denial about what happened, but those words wouldn't let me. The story goes on to this day, but I don't want to write too much about the aftermath of "that night", since I'd be writing for too long and I want to focus on whether it was an instance of abuse. At this point, I feel a little more grounded and able to accept that what happened had sexual undertones. I am still full of shame and guilt. I did consent to some of the touching. I'm not certain I wanted to, but it is something I did. That would usually make me think this is a consensual encounter and that I simply regret it now, but there are many factors that also contribute to my belief that this could potentially be an instance of abuse too. First of all, my brother was 38 at the time. I was 20, which yes, is an adult, but still; he is my much older brother. He was already nearly an adult by the time I was born. He's been a figure of authority my whole life, even though he likes to pretend he's not. He's a little clueless when it comes to what's appropriate or not in social contexts, but I do think someone his age should know better than to sneak his hand under his little sister's shirt and go up her body so much his fingers actually brush against her areola. Secondly, I am neurodivergent, though I hadn't told him at the time. However, when I did tell him, he said he already had suspicions. Regardless of that, I've always been quiet and withdrawn, so it upsets that he initiated touching under the guise of innocent affection and then expected me to be able to express my discomfort when it escalated without him specifying it was going to. I don't think his form of seeking consent was productive at all either. He only asked me if two specific touches were okay, and only after starting to do them. He didn't ask for explicit permission for anything but the cuddling at the start. What I want to say is that I was vulnerable. I am young, inexperienced, autistic, and he has always been an emotional support and almost parental figure to me. I don't know how he can be so naive as to think he doesn't have any power over me. Maybe he does know that, but wasn't thinking at the time. I still don't get why he would touch me like that. I find a little solace in thinking that maybe I didn't have any control over it after all. But I don't know. Maybe I did. I am an adult after all. And I do believe he would have stopped if I had told him to. But I definitely never gave any enthusiastic consent. I feel betrayed. I feel lost. I feel angry. I feel sad. I've been avoiding thinking about it for months. Tonight, it all came back to me once more and I broke down again. I truly don't know what to do. I don't want to tell anyone close to me what happened because I am ashamed. I certainly don't want to tell my parents. I kind of want to cut ties with him, but at the same time I don't because I truly believe he is remorseful about it and I don't want to make him sad. I can't help being naive. I don't know if that's comforting, or embarrassing.

As an only child, I had no one to look up to really as a kid. But I always looked up to my Dad. Even though he was never really around due to work (although Mam worked more than he did and still found lots of time to spend with me), I still idolised him. He was my hero. He would always say 'Dads know everything - remember that', so lying to my dad (even little white lies) were pointless. Though when I hit 13 I began to realise he actually DID know everything. He knew what myself and my friends would talk about, he would know exactly where I was and who I was with without even needing to ask me, and I would always wonder why. In reality he had my phone tracked and could read all my messages. Now that I have been through the court system and he has been imprisoned for the abuse he inflicted upon me, I can confirm that he was in fact grooming me from the age of 13. About a month after my 18th Birthday, began the horrific 7.5 year abuse that I suffered. My Dad, masked for the first 2 years as a stranger, blackmailed me into performing sexual acts with strange men in our home - the one place I should've felt safe. When I finally realised it was him, I couldn't tell you how it then turned into just open ended abuse and rape from him. He would advertise us as a couple on hook up sites and in order to avoid physical beatings I would go along with it. I feared for my life so much that endless rapes and sexual assaults were easier - imagine that being the easiest choice - until you're in it, you just don't know how you'll react. I stopped going out, I gave up my hobbies, whilst in college I gave up my part time job - he controlled every single part of my life. And if I even let my "everything is rosey' mask slip even for a second, especially in front of my Mam, well it just doesn't bear thinking about. Fortunately for me, once Mam did find out, he was gone out of my life within 30 mins. Unfortunately, he went on to groom and abuse others after that. He was convicted, and is currently serving his prison sentence - but the fear of him stilll remains.

The Story I Never Thought I Would Have to Tell It started at my job. He got a job where I worked, and at first, I would notice him walking by my desk. He would smile and wave at me. Eventually, he started talking to me. He was very handsome, charming, and attentive. He made me feel noticed. Very early in our relationship, he started talking about the future. He told me he wanted a family. He talked about getting married and building a life together. He even gave me a ring very early in the relationship. Looking back now, I recognize the first red flag: love bombing. But at the time, I didn’t know that. I thought I had finally met someone who knew what he wanted. Someone who was serious about me. Someone who wasn’t afraid to show me that he cared. There were flowers, nice dates, and little surprises left at my desk. He made me feel special, and everything seemed exciting and romantic. He had two children, around the same ages as my own children. We started spending time together as a family. We would take all the kids to the park and spend time together. Watching our children play made it feel like we were building the family he had told me he wanted. I believed him. He told me that he and the mother of his children were separated. Because he was bringing his children around me and including me in their lives, I never had a reason to believe that he was lying. But there was something I didn’t know. He was still married. And I had no idea that the relationship I thought was becoming my future had already been built on a lie. When Everything Started Changing Within about three months of our relationship, he told me he wanted me to move in with him. He started looking for a house for us, and eventually, we found one. It was a three-bedroom house, big enough for all of us and the children. I remember feeling excited. I thought this was the beginning of the family he had talked about from the very beginning. Then one day, everything changed. He told me, “My ex-wife lost her job and doesn’t have anywhere to live. Can she move in with us while she gets back on her feet?” It sounded like a question, but it really wasn’t. Eventually, he told me, “I can’t leave my kid and mother to fend for themselves. You can come live with us or not, but she is coming to the new house.” I gave in. I told myself it was temporary. I told myself it was about helping his children and that eventually she would get back on her feet and move out. He even arranged for the three of us to meet at a restaurant so we could talk about the living arrangements, rules, and expectations. She agreed to everything. She told me that she and him were no longer together and that this was only temporary. She needed somewhere to stay while she got back on her feet. So I believed both of them. I moved forward thinking I was moving into a home with the man I loved, and that his ex-wife was simply someone we were helping through a difficult time. I didn’t understand yet that I was slowly being placed into a situation where my boundaries, my comfort, and my choices were becoming less and less important. The Day I Moved In The day I moved into that house, I found out that she was in the master bathroom with him. I remember thinking, What is happening? This wasn’t what I had agreed to. This wasn’t the relationship I thought I was moving into. But somehow, he convinced me that this was just the situation we were in. He made me share a room with both of them. Eventually, I couldn’t do it anymore. I moved into one of the kids’ rooms with my children because I just couldn’t sleep in that situation. She eventually did the same. She slept with her children in one room, I slept with mine in another, and he had the master bedroom to himself. From time to time, I would still join him in the master bedroom. And somehow, in my mind, I kept trying to make sense of everything. I thought, At least he’s being honest with me, right? He had told me she was his ex-wife. He had told me they weren’t together anymore. He had told me she was only moving in temporarily because she needed somewhere to live. So I tried to believe what I had been told. I tried to convince myself that this was just an unusual living situation. I didn’t realize yet that I was already learning one of the most painful lessons of an abusive relationship: Sometimes the manipulation begins by convincing you that something completely unacceptable is actually normal. I was confused. I was uncomfortable. But I loved him. And when you love someone, sometimes you don’t want to believe what your instincts are screaming at you. The First Time He Put His Hands on Me Up until that point, he hadn’t physically abused me. There had been confusion. There had been manipulation. There had been things that didn’t make sense. But he had never put his hands on me. Then one day, everything changed. He went out with another coworker. Looking back now, I realize he was probably cheating on both of us—which, honestly, I can almost laugh about now because of how ridiculous the situation was. He came home late. Someone had apparently told him that before I met him, I had been involved with another man from work. It wasn’t true. But that didn’t matter. He came home angry and started yelling at me. And then he picked me up from one couch and threw me onto another couch. I was devastated. I cried and cried. I remember feeling shocked—not only because he had hurt me, but because I couldn’t believe the man I had fallen in love with had just done that to me. I started gathering my things. I was going to leave. But he wouldn’t let me. And somehow, just like so many of our fights after that, it ended with sex. Then he acted like nothing had happened. Like the screaming hadn’t happened. Like he hadn’t put his hands on me. Like he hadn’t thrown me. And I went along with it. Not because I was okay. Not because I had forgiven him. I was scared. I had already learned that fighting back or trying to leave could make things worse. So I did what I thought I had to do to get through the moment. Looking back, I understand something I couldn’t understand then: That wasn’t making peace. That was survival. When the Abnormal Started Feeling Normal Eventually, he found a bigger house in a nice neighborhood for all of us. By then, I had been with him for about a year. Somehow, I had become accustomed to the living situation. What had seemed completely unbelievable when I first moved in had slowly become my normal. And something else happened that I still have a hard time explaining. I had started to care about the other woman. Or, more accurately, I had started to care about his wife. We were living together. Raising children under the same roof. Sharing the same strange reality. Over time, I became attached to her in a way I never expected. Meanwhile, his family didn’t even know about me. At work, people knew there was something going on. But even there, he would tell people that we were just friends and that he was only helping me out. He had another woman there too. Sometimes I still think about how he managed to live this double—or triple—life right in front of everyone without seeming to feel any shame. I couldn’t understand it. Eventually, we moved into the new house. The house was bigger and in a nicer neighborhood, but the environment inside it didn’t become better. The emotional abuse continued. And the physical abuse became something that happened here and there—another slap, another incident, another time when I told myself it wasn’t that bad. Eventually, it became the norm. The house had to be spotless. I was constantly walking on eggshells, always trying to anticipate what might make him angry. There were cameras throughout the house. I felt watched all the time. And eventually, even the children began learning how to manipulate me. I want to be careful when I say that because they were children. They were kids. They were learning from the environment they were growing up in. And I didn’t blame them. Instead, I tried even harder to take care of them. I wanted them to be happy. I wanted everything around them to be peaceful. And, if I’m being completely honest, I was also trying to protect myself. I would make sure the house was clean. I would take care of the children. I would do everything I could think of to make everyone happy so that he wouldn’t find a reason to be angry with me. I was constantly trying to prevent the next explosion. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was no longer living my life. I was managing his moods. The Fresh Start I Thought Would Save Us After about a year in that house, he decided he wanted to start over. In a different state. Fifteen hours away from our families. Looking back, I can see how desperately I wanted to believe this was going to change everything. The way I saw it was simple: We’ll be away from his family. Maybe now he’ll finally see me as his girlfriend. Maybe now I’ll finally have a real place in his life. I thought maybe the problem had been his family. He wanted to maintain the perfect family image for his very religious mother, and I convinced myself that once we were far away from everyone, things would finally be different. What an idiot I felt like later for believing that. But I wasn’t an idiot. I was hopeful. I followed him. We all moved to another state to start over. But the new beginning didn’t look anything like the future I had imagined. We moved into a small apartment. I shared one room with two of my children. He wouldn’t even let me bring my other two children with me at first. I had to beg. And beg. And beg. Eventually, after so much begging, I was able to bring my other children. I started working at the same place again, and on top of that, he had me take an additional part-time job with his wife. I was exhausted. I was beyond tired. I was working, taking care of my children, trying to keep the peace, and trying to hold together a relationship that was taking more and more from me. My children kept me going. At that point in my life, they were the reason I got up every morning. When Control Became My Entire Life Once we moved to the new state, everything got worse. There were cameras. There was GPS tracking. He controlled my phone. We worked at the same place, so even work wasn’t really a place where I could have space from him. But the control didn’t stop there. He had complete control over my bank accounts. I was working, but I didn’t really have access to my own money. He would leave me just enough to buy groceries for the week. And somehow, no matter how much I worked or how much I did, it was never enough. He would tell me I didn’t do enough. I didn’t make enough. Nothing was ever enough. He would regularly take my phone and go through it. If there were messages, conversations, or anything that could make him look guilty, he would delete them. I became terrified of having anything on my own phone that might upset him. I knew he checked it, and I knew that anything he didn’t like could become a problem. So I learned to be afraid of my own phone. But there was something else he did that I will never forget. Sometimes everything would seem completely normal. We could be sitting together watching a movie. We could be eating dinner. For a few minutes, it could almost feel like a normal relationship. Then my phone would get a message from him. I would open it, and there would be extremely graphic videos of women being murdered by their husbands or partners—women being shot, stabbed, raped, and killed. I would ask him: “Why are you sending me this? What’s the purpose? We’re okay right now.” His response was: “Just so you know what could happen to you if you don’t act right.” That sentence changed something inside of me. He wanted me to imagine what could happen if I disobeyed him, made him angry, or didn’t “act right.” I became terrified. I remember thinking there was no way out. I started believing that the only way I would ever leave him was in a casket. That is how much fear he had put inside me. The First Time I Left Eventually, I reached a point where I called a domestic violence hotline connected with the District Attorney’s office. They helped me get out. I left. For the first time, I had actually gotten away. But I was only gone for about a week. He made promises. He promised that things would be different. He said he would get a place away from his wife. He said we would finally be together, just the two of us. He promised he would buy me a car. So I went back. And almost immediately, I regretted it. Because when I returned, I discovered that he had thrown away almost everything I owned. My clothes. My shoes. My children’s beds. Things that belonged to me and my children were simply gone. He had even sold the SUV I had been driving. And suddenly, the promise to buy me a new car made sense. He had taken away my transportation, my belongings, my independence—and then presented himself as the person who would provide those things back to me. The Threat Against My Brother After I came back, he did everything he had promised. He bought “me” a car. He bought me a new ring. He bought clothes for me and the kids. He even started the process of buying a bigger house. For a little while, things seemed okay. But it didn’t last. Eventually, the message changed. He began reminding me that I had left him. That I had hurt him. That because I had left, I was going to “pay” for it. I knew then that something inside me had changed. I told him I didn’t want this anymore. I told him I was going to leave. This time, I actually had a plan. My brother was coming to get me. For the first time, I thought I might really be getting out. But the moment he found out my brother was on his way, everything changed. He threatened to kill my brother. He told me that if I didn’t call my brother and tell him not to come, he would kill him and claim it was self-defense because he was on his own property. I was terrified. I called my brother and told him not to come. From the outside, it probably looked like I had chosen to stay again. But inside, something had already changed. I had made my decision. I knew I didn’t want this life anymore. I knew I wanted to leave. But at that moment, I stayed because I was afraid of what he would do to my brother. I wasn’t staying because I wanted the relationship. I was staying because someone I loved had just been threatened. And that was the moment I understood something I had been struggling to understand for years: He wasn’t trying to make me love him. He was trying to make me afraid to leave him. I stayed that day. But mentally, I was already gone. The Day I Finally Escaped After that, I started planning without him noticing. I began using the computer at work to look for information and figure out how I could get away. My manager at the time helped me. Little by little, I reached out to my family back home. We made a plan. Quietly. Carefully. He had decided that we needed a bigger house, and we were in the process of moving. Because we were moving, he had taken down some of the cameras. For the first time in a long time, I had a small window where I wasn’t being watched everywhere I went. I knew I had to take it. One morning, I woke up and acted like everything was completely normal. I followed our normal morning routine. I talked to him like nothing was wrong. The kids went to school. He left for work before me, and normally I would leave about an hour later. But that morning, I had a plan. I packed only what was absolutely essential. My important documents. A few necessities. Everything I could fit into a small backpack. I couldn’t take much. I couldn’t risk him noticing that anything was missing. Before my children went to school, I spoke with my oldest daughter. She did not have a phone. So I made sure she understood exactly what she needed to do. I told her that when the school bus dropped her off, she was not to go inside the house. I told her to take her backpack and only the most essential things she needed and leave. I would be there. Then I went to work. I left my backpack with my manager. Then I walked in front of his office so he would see me and believe I was at work. I went back to the main office. I handed my phone to a coworker and friend. She hid my phone and walked around the warehouse with it so he would think I was still at work. My manager gave me a burner phone so I could contact my family. Then my friend drove me to a parking lot. A family friend was already waiting for me. She had driven about five hours from another state to come get me and my children. Everything had been planned around one thing: He couldn’t know. And by the time he realized I was gone, I was already far away. I had no phone. He couldn’t call me. He couldn’t message me. He couldn’t track me through my phone. He couldn’t threaten me. When the school bus dropped my children off, I was already there waiting for them. They followed the instructions I had given them. I wasn’t leaving my children behind. I was taking them with me. For the first time in years, there was silence. I was finally away from him. I was finally out. And for the first time, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a very long time: safe. Staying Gone Leaving him was only the beginning. For months afterward, he tried to find ways to reach me. Emails. Text messages. Messenger. Different phone numbers. Any way he could find to get a message through. I had blocked him everywhere I could. Sometimes he would even send me money through Cash App just so he could attach a message to it. He was constantly trying to find another door into my life. Before I left, I had read that one of the most important things you can do with someone like him is to block them and not give in. So that’s what I did. I didn’t respond. I didn’t give in. I stayed away from him as much as I possibly could. It took a long time. But eventually, it worked. The messages stopped. The attempts to reach me stopped. And slowly, I started becoming free. Learning How to Feel Again Today, I am free. I am happy. I have my family around me. I have friends. I have people who love me and support me. I have a life that feels normal again. But getting physically away from him didn’t mean I was immediately okay. For months afterward—maybe even a year—I felt almost nothing. I didn’t feel sadness. I didn’t feel sympathy. I didn’t feel love. I didn’t feel like myself. I was completely shut down. Numb. Emotionally, I had already died long before I physically escaped. For so long, survival had been the only thing that mattered. Get through the day. Keep the peace. Protect the children. Avoid the next explosion. Make it through another night. I didn’t realize how much of myself I had lost just trying to survive. When I finally became safe, my body was safe before my mind was. It took time to feel again. It took time to laugh again. It took time to trust people again. It took time to understand that I was allowed to have a life that wasn’t built around fear. But eventually, I started coming back to myself. And now I understand something I wish every woman living through abuse could understand: Survival is not the end of your story. Survival is what gets you to the other side. I truly believe that if I had stayed, I would not be here today. Maybe I would have been physically killed. Maybe I would have eventually died emotionally and never found my way back. In some ways, I already felt dead inside. But I survived. And today, I am surrounded by people who love me. I have my children. I have my family. I have my friends. And I have myself again. For the first time in a very long time, I am not living just to survive. I am living. And if another woman reading this is somewhere in the middle of her own nightmare, I want her to know this: You are not stupid for staying. You are not weak because you went back. You are not responsible for what he did to you. You are not responsible for his choices. And you are not beyond saving. There is a way out. It may take planning. It may take time. You may have to leave more than once. You may be terrified. You may not know where you’re going to go or how you’re going to rebuild your life. But please don’t give up on the woman you were before the abuse. She is still in there. I know because I found her again. And if you’re reading this and you’re still in it, I hope you believe me when I tell you: You deserve to live. Not just survive. Live.

My name is Survivor and when I was around age 3, my father started raping me. My mother helped hold me down. He was raping her, and she offered me up in her place. This continued until age 23, maybe 24, shortly before my wedding. By the time I was 6, he was raping other members of my family too. He’d come into my room at night and would throw my nightgown up into the headboard and then I’d have to wait my turn in fear and naked shame while others were raped. We had a large waterbed and I still remember the bed rolling up and down, up, and down, up, and down like on a boat. Once done, he wiped me down roughly with a red shop rag he used in cleaning the garage. It allowed him to keep the rag around to smell it and hold it close with no one questioning why it was so dirty with red stains. Most of the time, my dad was friendly and polite. But once he turned into the monster no one did anything to stop him. He never did these things when he was nice. Only when he was the monster. But he used the nice times to make it easier to attack. He would lull you into a false sense of safety and peace which really made you question your intuition and gut instincts that this was a bad man. This made it easier for him to sexually assault other children and adults. As I got older, my parents controlled the narrative of our lives, every aspect was carefully controlled. Like my mom knowing how to force miscarriages. The first abortion forced on me was when I was 15. I don’t know how I managed to make it to adulthood. I continue to remember more and more of the abuse by other family and church members. And other things my dad did within the church where he was pastor and then later deacon. But I still can’t talk about those memories. I think my dad felt like anything he did was inevitable, therefore, never his fault because he couldn’t control himself and when it happened God would forgive him, so it was all right. I know this because I overheard him grooming another family member to do the same things when he was 11 years old. Males in our family were groomed to be abusers too. I was groomed too. To always be the abused. Forced to keep silent, I learned quickly what happens to people who stand up to my dad. They die or get assaulted. As you can imagine, I had terrible anxiety growing up about being sexually assaulted and worked hard to fade into the background. I thought that might help. I thought it mattered what I wore, color of my hair, how much I weighed. It’s taken years and it will probably continue to take years to unlearn the lies I was taught. The worry made me constantly ill with one thing after another-- I got cancer when I was 32 and before that incapacitating vertigo and motion sickness. My parents met while working down in Texas for an independent fundamental Baptist preacher. Lester Roloff—an Independent Fundamental Baptist preacher who opened homes across the country for “troubled” children, teens, and adults. He liked to say he was saving dope fiends, whores, and hippies. I believe many of the children in the homes had already experienced abuse growing up and Lester Roloff homes should have been a safe place to heal. Instead, the kids met caretakers like my parents. My mom was in a charge of the 16 and older home and my dad flew around the country raising money and preaching the party line: men were akin to gods and women were lower than dirt—their only worth was in being a virgin and then baby factories once married. Very masochistic and minimizing of abuse of any kind, my parents ate up the evil rhetoric being preached from the pulpit My parents eventually took their brand of abuse from Lester Roloff’s out into the churches and communities where we lived-from Texas to Washington and eventually into Alaska. He disappeared in a plane over the waters near Anchorage in 2006. The events surrounding his disappearance were always very suspect but intense pressure from my family kept me quiet. Every day for almost three years straight, a family member called and reminded me talking about “our family issues” was causing generational sin to 4 generations. The pressure to keep quiet and do what my family told me to do was so significant I would have rather died than disappoint them. It wasn’t until I set out to heal from all the trauma, that I found out my dad faked his death. I had always been told since he was gone, there was nothing to be done for what I experienced growing up. But let me tell you, knowing he’s still out there perpetrating on other children and men and women really compelled me to come forward. I finally felt free to start talking. Getting past the pressure to stay silent was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Harder, even, than fighting cancer. I have spent many years in intensive CBT, EMDR and Polyvagal therapy learning how to process my wounds in a healthy way. I had pushed for criminal and civil suits against my perpetrators but the Texas statute of limitations don’t allow for justice to be done. So now, I spend my time now speaking on panels, podcasts, and community platforms about the intersections of trauma, faith, and advocacy. One of the biggest honors of my life has been sharing my story and advocating for Trey’s Law on the Texas Senate floor in Spring 2025. Forcing a sexual assault victim to keep quiet is what allowed people like my parents to continue their mistreatment for so many years. I will do what I can to make sure justice isn’t minimized by NDAs and Statute of Limitations. My efforts connect me with survivors, true crime audiences, mental health communities, and faith groups seeking to understand and confront abuse. I invest my time in mentoring survivors, creating resources for healing, and building digital tools to expand access to supportive materials. Because living a life whole and healthy is what I really want for me, all the victims and their families. We make our own opportunities to heal.

my brother SA'd me multiple times. he never raped me, though. he once forced me to kiss him on the mouth as a "game" of some sorts. he would also smack my ass, call me a slut, and shame me for everything. before he got on medication, he would beat me up. he's on medication now, but he's still terrible. he got mad at me and said he would gangrape me. he never did, but it was still scary. i hate him, and he says i'm a bad person for hating him. he also denied ever SAing me. sometimes i feel like i'm delusional or something. i don't know, i'm just tired of living with him. i can't wait for him to move out.

At the age of four, my mom used to take me out to the trunk of her Jeep and beat me for 20-30 minutes at a time. She would hit me, pull my hair, and scream profanity at me. The physical abuse lasted until I was 11-years-old, and she only stopped once CPS got involved. My dad knew; he did nothing. At the age of 6, I got sexually molested at school by another female. My mother told me it was not molestation, and that I was just "playing around." At the age of 11, I was sexually abused by the neighborhood boys. They were in their mid-teens, and would touch me inappropriately, rub their penises against me, and tell me inappropriate jokes. At that same age, I was also dry humped on the face by multiple boys who I considered friends. At the age of 16, I was raped by a 26-year-old man. He groomed me beginning at the age of 14-years-old, and convinced me he was a safe person. At that same point in my life, I was raped by a 23-year-old that I had known for two years and considered safe. He took me to a room where we could "be alone" then proceeded to force himself on me. I was crying and telling him to stop, but he didn't stop. I dated him for three months after that, and he continued to pressure me into sex and emotionally abuse me. Starting at the age of 14-years-old, I began getting harassed online. I stupidly gave out my phone number and address to someone I had trusted, and they were posted on 4chan (a public image board). I was harassed daily: I received death threats; I received threatening phone calls; I would receive calls to my school. I then found out that the person I trusted killed a girl in his home city, and that they had proof I was going to be the next victim. At the age of 17, my step-dad physically assaulted me and almost broke my wrist. He put a cigarette out on my head, strangled me, and threatened me. My mom watched, holding the phone, and told me it was my fault for "not leaving when [she] told [me] to." The only help I got was from a neighbor who saw me run out of the house, covered in blood. That same year, I was kicked out because I refused to lift the restraining order off of my step-dad, and my mom gave me an ultimatum. I refused and went to live elsewhere. At the age of 18, I moved in with my first serious boyfriend. He was abusive and cheated on me multiple times. He would call me every name in the book and threaten to harm me and break my belongings. I did not get away until I was just turning 19. At the age of 20, I moved in with my dad. My step-mom was jealous of my dad and I's relationship and physically assaulted me and kicked me out on my 21st birthday. My dad did nothing again. At the age of 21, I developed life-threatening bulimia and anorexia and began drinking heavily to self-medicate. My fiance helped me through these disorders and saved my life. I am now 24-years-old and have many stable and healthy relationships--both in friendship and love. I am also receiving help via medication for C-PTSD, GAD, and major depressive disorder. I began therapy recently, too, and am learning to confront my traumas and move on. It's hard, and there are many things I remember each day that send me into a panic, but I want to heal and reclaim my innocence, power, and self-worth.

Hello! I don't know how to go about this at all, but I know I need to put it out there. I am a lesbian over 21 years of age, and I experienced rape and sexual assault by my last lesbian partner. I apologize if this is long, but if anyone reads this, it's greatly appreciated! I met my ex last January, and we texted for about a month before we had our first date. the first date went well, nothing concerning. The second date, which was 2-3 days after our first one, was where it all started. I didn't mind that she kissed me first, but I got nervous when she told me she wanted to take it to the backseat. She started to grope me and to palm me through my clothing before eventually trying to get her hand in my jeans. I stopped her and told her I wasn't comfortable doing any of that yet. Her response was "Oh, but eventually you will want to, right?" and to that I said "yes, but not right now." She continued anyway. That's the moment I look back on and wish I had left. I stayed. Maybe a date or two pass without her doing anything concerning again before there's another incident. We are in her car outside her workplace for an event we chose to go to. There are people on the street. She starts making out with me, to which I feel icky about bc people can probably see us and it's not appropriate. This time she starts to palm me through my skirt again, and at this point I kind of don't remember much other than me saying that I was scared and nervous, and it doesn't seem safe, and her coercing me. Before I know it, she has her hand down my underwear and is raping me. we didn't go to the event. we left and she told me next time she could find a secluded place. she never did. and that's where it all started. over the next 5 months she would rape me in her car every single chance she could. every single time I told her I wasn't comfortable. I would wear tight underwear, but she would still do everything to do it. if she didn't, she would get mad and stonewall me. but there was never once where it wasn't attempted. the worst night was maybe a month after it all started. again, in her backseat. it was in a fairly public parking lot, she tried to cover the windows with clothes, but it was still obviously visible. she made me lay down and take off all my bottoms and completely spread open. it was so humiliating. she then proceeded to violently rape me so bad and painful I was crying and holding on my screams bc I didn't want to bring attention to the situation or possibly get in trouble. I told her I was comfortable and that I wanted to scream but she just threw a cloth over my face so I wouldn't focus on it. after I had to put my clothes back on and I ruined them. I was in pain for maybe up to a weel after or a bit more. now I wish I had gotten evidence of that night, but I have none. In total I think it happened around 14 times. the same care situations in public that I hated. during the relationship I was blinded to an extent, and I didn't realize it counted as rape until after we broke up. At first, I had accepted what happened but now I have a new partner. my new partner coincidentally works with my rapist ex. ever since finding that out I feel completely distraught and suffocated by what she did to me. Not only that. before finding out they worked together they sat next to each other and were becoming friends. so my ex told my current gf how I am a terrible person and that she's afraid of me. they don't speak anymore. I don't know I just feel suffocated by it all. she also has a new gf. I wish I could tell her new gf to be careful, but I'm scared. in my community there's so much stigma around rape and homosexuality. I don't think I could ever safely publicly come out with my story as much as I want to. she completely changed my life. it's like I don't know how to be myself anymore and I feel like I'm going insane.

As I write this story to you, please note that this sexual harassment case is still in progress. It began in December of 2022 when I worked as a contractor for a company named Contractor. I do IT work for Company. The first week I was there, I was touched sexually by a coworker named Name. I froze and I didn't know what to do, Name positioned his hand onto my waist and began to slide his hand upward, fondling my breast and, It made me feel violated, it made me feel disgusted. I informed my recruiter Recruiter about what had happened that day. I typed him and email and of course he informed me that he believed me and that Contractor did not tolerate sexual harassment. They told me that they would "talk" with this co-worker. A few months went by but, Name was still making sexual comments to me, and now in September of this year, he began to blow me kisses and winked at me two times. I finally informed a female coworker privately about what was going on and she informed me that this male coworker has gotten away with sexual harassment many times now. I am the third person who has come to HR and has reported what has gone on. My female coworker informed me that she had been sexually abused since July 2022 and no action has still been taken. That is when I decided to take matters into my own hands, I decided to contact a sexual harassment attorney and has recently filed a case with EEOC for sexual harassment and discrimination. When I go to work now, I instantly feel nauseous and full of anxiety. I have decided to contact a psychologists to help me cope with the high anxiety and not being able to sleep at night. You might be asking yourself, "Why didn't you just leave?" well, because It was a job and I have bills to pay. I asked myself the same question many times. Luckily my contract will be with Contractor in December of 2023. It was not myself, who went to HR the second time. It was my female coworker who sent an email with me and she had a conversation about what was going on between Name and I in the workplace. That Name was still sexually harassing me, blowing kisses at me and winking at me, along with other sexual comments. There was one time I was in my cubicle and I was organizing it before going home and Name came up to me and asked me what I was doing. I told him that I was organizing my cubicle, I didn't want seem like a slob and he replied with "Yes but, you would be a cute slob." He would intentionally come over to my cubicle and place each of his hands on each side of the cubical and ask me what I was doing. He would intentionally make me feel uncomfortable and afraid. Luckily I have had enough sick leave saved up, so I have taken sick leave for myself periodically. Once my female coworker reached out to the HR department of both Company, both HR departments tried to call me and email me multiple times. I refused to answer them because I knew in the back of my mind, they weren't on my side. They didn't believe my story about Name the first time so, what would make them believe me the second time? On October 2, 2023, Person of Companycalled me and asked me "Well, what do you think we should do about Name?" and I said out of pure honesty. "Fire him, he needs to be held accountable." and Person laughed at me on the phone, and he said to me "Okay, well. We will talk to Name." and I knew right then and there, they didn't believe me. What they didn't know, is that I had already typed up everything for documentation and was one step ahead of HR because I knew, they weren't going to take me seriously once again so, that is when I took action to contact a sexual harassment attorney. Ever since I have taken this action, HR of both Contractor and, Company have been trying to email me and call me to try and negociant. They didn't believe me two times now, and they laughed at me when I was telling them what should be done about Name. This experience for me, has been frightening and very emotional. I have cried a lot, I haven't slept and for almost a year I have not told my family about the ongoing sexual harassment. I have reminded myself that I am strong and that I will get through this, and that there are resources out there to help me. To this current day, I am still waiting to hear back from the EECO, and hopefully hold Contractor accountable for Name and what he has done to multiple women. I am sharing this story because I need other victims out there to know, YOU! have a voice and you ARE! capable of taking back your self dignity. I took this situation into my own hands because I know, that I am not helpless and that I am able to speak up and not tolerate sexual harassment in the workplace. You deserve respect, you deserve to take back your dignity and you deserve to be heard. Stand up, for what is right and what you believe in. I didn't want to take action but I am thankful that I gathered up enough courage to reach out and take back my self respect for myself and to prove to these two companies that I am NOT! a "play toy" I am a young woman who deserves to be treated with respect. I am not sure if I have touched anyone emotionally by revealing my true story to you. Sexual harassment in the workplace can feel very intimidating and that you feel you won't be believed but sometimes, you need to step up and take action for yourself, and to speak out and share your story so that others don't fall victim to sexual harassment in the workplace like I did and my female coworker. You have a voice and there are resources and that is what men forget. Ladies, we more capable and powerful than what men take us for and it is time we take back our self-respect. Thank you, for taking the time to read my story. A Survivor Of Sexual Harassment In The Workplace - Survivor

He and I met on date. I was 17 and he was 19. I had just gotten back to Australia after living in America for a year when I decided to text him that I was back. We had been talking on Snapchat for a few months so he invited me out for a walk to get coffee. Our first meeting went well and we started hanging out regularly. During the course of our year and a half relationship, moments turned sour. “What else are you into?” he asked while we were having sex. “I don’t know. What about you?” I replied. “Slapping.” I was taken aback, but since I had feelings for him I wanted to impress him. Big mistake. “You want to slap me?” I asked hesitantly. “Kinda.” “Okay. We can try it.” So he slapped me across the face. It stung but I didn’t show it. “You like that?” he grinned. “Yeah.” I didn’t but I was too caught up in my feelings to say that. “You can slap me too if you want.” I never consented to slapping again; he never asked. Some time after, I refused to give him a kiss so he grabbed my hair and pulled me towards him. I pulled away and he slapped me. I kissed him so he wouldn’t do it again. I felt scared when he did that because he hadn’t asked to slap me and he did it because I had refused him a kiss. Similarly, another time he was asking for a kiss when I was on top of him. I laughed and pulled away. “Please.” He begged. “Nuh uh.” I giggled. “Please?” He asked again. I shook my head as he puckered his lips. I kissed him everywhere on the face except his lips. He didn’t say anything after that, just looked at my necklace and grabbed it, ripping it from around my neck. We stared at each other for seconds before I laughed so I wouldn’t cry. He said something about it being cheaply made. He offered to buy me a new one but I said I’d fix it at home. I learned later that it was too damaged to be fixed. That shocked me. I was going to cry but I put on a brave face for him because I didn’t know what he would do if he saw me cry. I was scared when he reached out to grab it and he pulled me forward as I tried to pull away and it broke the necklace. Another day we were curled up in front of the TV when I blurted out: “What’s your weirdest kink?” He thought for a moment before answering. “Blood,” he said. What was I supposed to say to that? I went along with it because I was curious and I didn’t expect it to go as far as it did. “Huh. Want to add more?” I asked, indicating the scars of self-harm on my arm. Stupid answer. Was I trying to impress him? Maybe I thought it was hot at the time? He chuckled. “Don’t have a sharp enough knife, I’m afraid. But when I get one, would you like to add some to me?” “Only if you want me to.” A moment of silence broken only by the TV. “How about you?” He asked. I was staring at the TV and distracted from the conversation, kind of hoping if I disappeared into the video that was playing the conversation would end. “Huh?” I eventually answered. “What’s your weirdest kink?” “Similar to yours; I like knives.” Again, I was trying to impress him. I was thinking about the time a guy I hooked up with name gave me a hunting knife because I said I sold mine. “I have a knife.” He had a pocketknife that he opened packages with. “I know. Want to give it a try?” “Do you want to?” “Sure.” No. Why did I say that? He got up, retrieved his pocketknife and returned to the bed. We made out, got undressed and soon enough, he slipped inside me and brought the blade to my throat. Maybe he asked where and I said hold it against my neck? I dunno, just not near my tits. That’s really funny now because I have my nipples pierced. He had his eyes closed and was focused on our lips and he accidentally poked the side of my neck. That hurt. I pulled away from his kiss to hold his hand as he held it. I was worried because I thought he should’ve been paying more attention so I wouldn’t get hurt. I didn’t mention it until the next time we hung out. The next time(date 2), he begged to cut off my underwear. I said okay, as long as he didn’t bring the knife near my throat again. He started hacking away and once there was a giant hole, he gave up and pulled them off before positioning himself between my legs and thrusting. He brought the knife to my throat. Thinking he had misheard me, I asked him to put it down. Through kisses, he asked why and I explained that he had poked my neck last time and I wasn’t interested in that happening again. He promised it wouldn’t and we kept going. I felt annoyed that he didn't move the knife when I asked him to but he kept kissing me so I was distracted by that. I think I asked him to put it down again after that. Perhaps not, I really don’t remember. I did try to push it away but he wouldn’t move his hand so it ended up being me pushing and him holding it in place. I stopped fighting against him but I kept my hand there. This was really frightening. I didn’t want the knife there and he wouldn’t move it. He asked if I wanted to top and I said sure so we switched positions and when I was settled, he handed me the knife. As I went to put it down beside us, he took my hand and assisted me in holding it against his throat. Full on holding my hand with the knife in it against his throat. This was uncomfortable and disturbing because I wanted to put it down. I kissed him and told him I wanted to put it down and finally he gave in. When we were finished, I told him again that I didn’t want the knife near my throat because he poked me before. He shrugged and said, “oh sorry.” I don’t understand why he didn’t respect my initial no, I figured it was because of that old saying that everyone thinks at one point or another. ‘Boys will be boys’. When I asked him to stop, he should’ve stopped. Instead, he put me in an impossible situation where I had a knife at my throat and a man on top of me who refused to remove it. He made me complicit by putting the knife in my hand. I went to his house again after that and his hand tried to go up my shirt but I stopped him. I said, “No sex; just kisses.” “Just kisses?” He asked. I nod. “Okay.” He said. We kiss every few minutes while taking breaks to watch TV. His hand kept running up and down my hip and thigh. I took his hand and placed it on my thigh, telling him to ‘stay’. We kept kissing and his hand slowly trailed along my thigh and down to my butt, squeezing and stroking gently. I didn’t want him to do this. I wanted to kiss, cuddle and watch TV. He continued to escalate. I moved it back to my thigh and told him to leave it there. He tried to put his leg between my thighs like he’d do when we were naked before sex and doing a bit of foreplay. “Move your leg.” “Sorry.” He grumbled. His hand kept moving so I rolled over and put his hand on his thigh. “Stop touching me.” My turn to grumble. He asked, “Why?” “Because you’re making me horny.” “Good; be horny with me.” He said as he started kissing my neck and pressed his erection against my butt. “Not today. Don’t feel like it.” I moved my legs up and wiggled forward so my butt and his erection were inches apart. He stretched and moved his thighs so they were pressed against the back of my thighs and his erection was back against my butt. Every time he asked again or moved so he was touching me it annoyed me and made me uncomfortable but I gave in because he kept asking and I figured I’ve had sex with him before and he’s not taking no for an answer so why don’t I just give it up to him? I rolled back around to face him and we kissed again. “Please, I need you.” He begged against my lips. I’m sure his boner wasn’t comfortable. So, I gave in. “I need you too, pretty.” “Can we fuck?” He asked. “Okay.” I did not want to have sex with him. I was just there for kisses and cuddles. I gave in because he wouldn’t stop asking. His hand went under my shirt and bra and he pulled both up. I removed them for him and he removed his own before settling back down with his thigh between mine. “Grind for me.” He commanded. “But I want you to fuck me.” “I will. Grind first.” I tried to protest but he started kissing and sucking on my nipples and instead, I moaned. I didn’t want to grind. I just wanted to get sex over with. But he kept telling me to grind and he started grinding so I couldn’t really do anything else. He started grinding so I followed and grinded against his thigh as we made out. As I got closer to orgasming, I said, “Please stop.” He paused and asked, “Why, baby?” “‘cause I’m gonna cum.” He continued to grind even though I had stopped. This was frightening because my body was like yes I want to orgasm but my mind was like no not like this. “Good girl,” he moaned. “Cum for me.” “But I’m wearing pants—“ Valid reason for stopping, again not sure why he pushed through. “Shhh, that’s okay.” He took hold of my hips and guided me along his thigh, causing me to orgasm. My face was hot with embarrassment and I hid in his neck. When he stopped, he asked, “Did you cum?” “Mhm.” I nod against his neck. I had which frightened me even more because I didn’t want to but the friction against my body forced me over the edge. “Good girl.” No break, no warning; his hand wormed its way into my pants and underwear and he began to finger me. This is another example of how he refused to respect my boundaries and coerced me, wearing me down until I said yes. He would play games when we were done, logging onto Discord to voice chat with his friends. When he was in the middle of a game, I overheard him say, “how to give a bitch Stockholm Syndrome”. Again, I brushed it off as him being edgy. I realise now how disturbing his mindset had to be to say something like that. I told him I don’t beg for anyone. The next minute, we were undressed and he was rubbing himself against me, instructing me to beg or he wouldn’t put it in. I tried to resist, but he pinned my hands until I gave in. This was terrifying because I had just said I didn’t beg. I didn’t want to beg. I was stuck underneath him until he forced it out of me by rubbing my parts. He slapped me then he would say, “you’re such a desperate slut.” I replied, “only for you.” And then he kissed me. Once he even told me that he was researching psychological warfare, and when I asked what that was, he said, “manipulation tactics.” Which truly highlights his mindset. I thought I might be pregnant and I sent him a text about it, expecting comfort and emotional maturity. What I was met with was a photo of a gun and cleaning supplies. This startled me because I was expecting him to have some maturity but instead he met me with a threat. Before I went to university, I joked about him getting together with an old lady to keep him company since our town is basically a retirement village. He said nah, he’s going to scout the high school for a 17 year old. With all the bad times stacked together like this, it’s easy to see the toxicity. However, it wasn’t all just bad times. He drip-fed me affection to keep me hooked on him, so that every time I tried to leave, he knew I’d come back hoping for the good version of him. We were watching a show when a scene depicting criminals getting shot at when I had a thought of what if one day it’s late at night and I’m at home with our future kids and he’s out somewhere and something bad happens to him but I can’t help him? A tear fell down my cheek and landed on his bare chest. I froze. I knew he felt it but I wasn’t sure how he’d react. He gently kissed the top of my head, changed the channel to ‘channel’—a YouTube channel we always laughed at while we watched. I felt good inside when we had moments like this. That kept me coming back. I knew he could be decent and kind to me but he just chose his own desires over my comfort a lot of the time. We were at his house in his new room and he kept trying to engage in intercourse with me. I told him no, that I just wanted to cuddle and watch TV. He got grumpy at that and told me “if you’re not going to have sex with me, you can leave.” I got up, started grabbing my stuff and he asked where I was going. I said I was leaving and all he said was okay. That response was so dry that I decided to stay. I climbed back onto the bed and he kept asking, “can I touch you?” I kept repeating, “it’s probably dry.” Without warning, he shoved his hand down my pants and started rubbing me, moaning about how wet I was. I didn’t want to lose him. I care about him so much and the thought of just because I didn’t want to do something like sex would lose him was too overwhelming. I didn’t want to lose him and him saying that put a lot of pressure on me to have sex with him. We started having sex because he wanted to and I didn’t want to get kicked out. His bed was too squeaky so we moved to the floor. I asked him to pass me a pillow and he dropped it on my face. Then he came over, stood above me and started waving his dick around over my face and squatting lower. This was horrifying. Why was he squatting over my face? I still have flashbacks about this where I can see everything going on up there. I asked him what he was doing multiple times and he was just grinning without responding. Finally, I crawled out from under him and asked if he was about to take a shit on me. He replied that he was just going to get me to suck him off. I didn’t agree to any of that. This, again, was horrifying. I didn’t want sex that day. I was visibly stalling sex that day by saying we should go to the wall (didn’t work I was too tall) and then the floor and when I ended up on the floor I had one of the worst and most absurd sexual experiences of my life. It wasn’t all bad. We were eating Domino’s BBQ chicken in bed when a drop of sauce fell onto my breast and he pointed it out. “Lick it up.” I grinned. “Ew, that’s gross.” He grimaced. “You weren’t complaining ten minutes ago.” He nodded. “True.” He licked it off. Some time later, he made a joke about getting me BBQ sauce for my birthday. I brought a pair of handcuffs over to his house and he put them on himself and got stuck in them. I had to help him out. Another time I was tickling his feet and he grabbed me and put me in a headlock with his legs and tried to fart on my face. This happened more than once. Christmas came rolling around and he asked me what I wanted for Christmas. Excited, I told him to surprise me and I went shopping for him, buying a bunch of items I thought he’d like including a music note necklace, a dragon-skin bauble, dice, fidget toys, incense and an incense stand. Of course, his favourite expensive chocolates too. When I gave him his presents, he had nothing for me. I saw a cat statue on his desk and he said it was for his ex-girlfriend. He never got me anything. One time he just stood in the corner, pointing the knife at me and smiling. I told him he was being creepy and he put it away after standing there for a few more seconds. His ex called and he stepped out of the room, coming back to tell me that her dog had humped her leg. He showed me a video on website of a vagina turned into a crack pipe and asked if he could do that to me. I made a deal with him that if he got sex, I had to get at least 10 minutes of cuddles afterwards. Sex usually lasted about an hour. Sometimes when we cuddled he would fully wrap me up in his arms while I laid on his chest. Other times he would throw a lazy hand over my waist. Most times he would get me to spoon him (him as little spoon). Although, one time we were half asleep and I was cuddling him when I rolled over and he rolled over to spoon me and I don’t think I’d ever been happier with him. The third time we used the knife he wasn’t responding to any of my texts so I texted him, “fuck me with a knife against my throat.” He finally responded and told me to come over. I did and he told me to go get the knife while he stepped out of the room. I did and it wasn’t in the spot he kept it. I climbed back on the bed where I was before he left the room and felt a hard object under the pillow. I looked and there was the knife. He slid it under my pillow before he had left. That confused me. Why ask me to go get it? He got two bottles of cold water and brought them in, giving me one and putting a pill in the other right in front of me before shaking the bottle and drinking it. He put the bottle next to mine and I don’t know if they got jumbled up while I wasn’t looking. I asked him for a brush when I was at his house. He got one and tried to brush my hair. He messed with my part so I got the brush and told him he ruined it. Silly moment. He liked choking. Sometimes he would direct my hand to his throat. I asked him once if he’d like to choke me to see how long it would take me to black out. He agreed and his hand was wrapped around my throat for about five to ten minutes before he stopped because his hand started cramping. I was trying to be someone he’d accept. Early in our relationship, he mentioned that he had a stalker before. A girl. I wonder where she is today. Once he wanted to have sex while I was on my period. I didn’t have tampons so we agreed that the next day when I came over I would bring some because I was staying the night. I got to his house but I forgot the tampons and my pajama pants. I called Mum and she brought them down for me. name and I had sex after he put towels down. It was normal I suppose, a bit drier. We showered after. The next time I was on my period he didn’t want to have sex again. I sucked him off and that continued until one day we had period sex again and he got two garbage bags for my tampon. Another time we were at my house and he wanted me to make out with him while he jerked himself off. Usually I swallowed his semen when he was about to finish and he’d let me know. That time he didn’t tell me after I asked him to and instead, cleaned himself up with toilet paper and didn’t give me an explanation. Later into our relationship, I asked if he still saw a future with me like he said he did. He said, “not really anymore.” I asked why. He replied, “you’re not my type.” I asked what his type is. He said, “alternative.” I tried to leave him. A lot. I left his house and said, “see you never.” He replied, “that’s what you said last time.” On my bed, watching the TV that I bought because he made a comment about my lack of one. We were making out and his arms were around me. He trailed a hand up and down my body. He kept asking through kisses, “sex?” I kept saying ‘maybe’ at first and then I said, “can’t we just hang out and not have sex?” He kept asking. I didn’t want to have sex with him, I just wanted to cuddle and watch TV. He replied, “but you make me so horny.” “We have sex all the time, I’m trying to just be friends here.” “But sex would feel so good right now.” He continued to pressure me in subtle ways like that, asking over and over again. We kissed. His hands explored my body. My hands stayed in his hair mostly. He kept grinding himself against me, pushing his boner against my thigh. He rolled over, positioned himself between my legs and asked me to grind with him. I caved. Feeling him against me made me aroused and I gave in. I didn’t want sex in the first place. This hurts to think about because I always gave in after he continued to touch me. I liked kissing him and I tried asking him to keep his hands still but if I moved them to my thigh he’d trail them to my butt and if I moved them to my hips he played with my boobs. I just wanted to watch tv and kiss. But because he was now on top of me and his dick was pressed against my privates, I gave in. We did and afterwards we pulled our clothes off and went back to making out. We had sex. It was lasting a while. name said he was going to finish and then didn’t twice. I suggested that we take a break. He didn’t listen and kept going. “Should we take a break? It’ll be ten minutes, baby, and we can go back to it.” He shook his head. “I’m almost there.” I waited like twenty more minutes for him to finish, watching the tv over his shoulder while he thrusted into me. Luckily, I asked him to move his head and I positioned my deaf ear to face it towards his moans while my good ear was positioned towards the TV. “Have you finished?” I asked. A few times. He shook his head and I asked again. “C’mon, let’s take a break. Ten minutes of watching TV then we’ll go back to it, I promise.” He still didn’t agree, I had to ask a few more times after that. When he reluctantly agreed and climbed off, he laid next to me on the bed. He started stroking himself while I was watching TV and he told me to touch myself. I asked ‘why?’ And he responded, “because it’s hot.” I did it for two minutes and then stopped. He started touching me. I pushed his hand away after a little while. “Do you want head?” He asked. I nodded and he pulled me down to the end of the bed. He was alright but I pulled him back up to get him to fuck me so it would be over with. He positioned himself as we made out back on top of me and we continued having sex. He finished and without bothering to pull out he fell asleep on top of me, taking a nap and drooling all over my hair and cushion. I asked him to come to the town’s show with me. He called it a shit show. When I asked if he’d come to the local event with me, he said that it’s even worse than the show. He wouldn’t go to lunch with me unless I begged and paid for both of us. He refused to meet my parents and he’d sneak in and out of my house, one time even hiding under a blanket when I was saying goodbye to my aunt. He used to drop tissues on my face when he finished, telling me to clean up. When I was on top, I did the same to him. He just smirked and dragged the tissue across his face, making a funny face every time the tissue passed over it. That made me giggle and he told me to keep doing that because it felt good. Mind you, he was still inside me at the time. He never said we were dating, always that we were ‘friends with benefits’ or ‘a situationship’. He swiped right on my sister’s social media handle and pretended it was a joke. He hooked up with my friend while we were seeing each other. We walked down to restaurant once because they forgot his drinks so we walked down. Sometimes he would be getting a tissue or passing me something and he would randomly thrust into me to see me gasp. I called him handsome and he said ‘actually I prefer pretty’. So I started calling him pretty boy. He sniffed his fingers after fingering me and said he was testing the pH levels. He said his ex had BPD. Later said he got diagnosed. When I was on my period he asked if he could touch himself and i said yes then the next time he’d just whip it out without asking. He asked me to sit on his face. I giggled and said no id crush you. He says I wouldn't and stuff I refuse again. He tells me he’s not gonna come around much anymore. We kissed and I asked him if he just wanted a break for a while. He said yeah and I asked him if he was gonna come back. He said maybe. He asked me to sit on his face again. I again refuse. He used to blow vape smoke into my open mouth. I asked him why he kisses me if we’re just friends he said because it’s fun. I told him he was good at making out and he said I was average and I have thin lips. He made these funny noises the first time we had sex and he just came and I started laughing and he’s like you’re the first person to laugh at that. He stopped during the middle of sex to watch his dick go in and out because “it looks like a piston.” We were listening to song and he came over, kissed me and grabbed my arms saying “your arms look like little cigarettes”. I started singing the next part of the song. We laughed. I was high on weed most of the times I went down there. He knew, we brought it up occasionally but he didn’t slow down when it came to sex. He finally left me after I tried to commit suicide, told him I went to the hospital when really I was scared and hid in my room. I told him I lied and he freaked out, sending me a message that said, “my point is whilst you were idealising your own death I was stressed like a mf and everytime you declined my help it didn't make me feel really all that good, then you lied to me about getting help you made me feel like shit.” I wouldn’t stop messaging him, trying to get him back and understand why he treated me the way he did. He got an AVO and is actively using it against me. I can’t talk to him to ask him to explain this even though I want to. I tried to contact him before and he reported it. I just need to understand what happened because this is really overwhelming me on a daily basis.

I went out with friends but left early as I was drunk and tired and I asked someone for directions to find my Uber when another guy asked if I was going to uni and said I was pretty which was fine but he then asked if he could have a kiss. I didn't know what to do so I stepped towards him and then he put his arm round me and I felt like I had to kiss him but I didn't want to. I tried to face away from him hoping he would just kiss my cheek but he didn't so I turned my head and he kissed me and I feel gross and want to throw up every time I think of it.

For me, my story entailed a male friend getting into my bed when i told him not to and forcing me to ‘cuddle’ with him, while he grabbed at me. He had been telling me all night how he missed his girlfriend, particularly her body & “that” part of their relationship. I felt horrible, i was uncomfortable and scared that he might do more. He didnt. But still even years later i feel uneasy when i think about it & how creepy he really was. He ignored me when i said no. He took away my autonomy that night. So dont feel like your story isnt worthy just because it “could have been worse”. Every experience is valid ❤️

HE picked me up the first day in the shiniest white Toyota I’d ever seen. Hallucinating halos of light around him, I knew in my heart: this was the man I would marry. Almost 15 years older, but so handsome, so experienced. We seemed to have everything in common—intellectual passions (both personal and professional), unbreakable bonds with our widowed mothers, and a shared dream of building an all-American family home. Cruising through the crisp mid-October air, we swapped thoughts and expectations before arriving at Orlando’s downtown library. I’d never even dated before. He, meanwhile, had recently lost out on a girl named Name. After attending a free 3D modeling class, we drove home through the area. Admiring the street art and neighborhood history, Name 2grinned widely. He talked endlessly about books, so our biweekly “dates” shifted to Barnes & Noble. Marriage dreams swirled through my mind; I thought I was in heaven, Ignorance is bliss. Or in this case—a kiss. Her name was Name 3 Emphasis on the DIE. At first, she didn’t look harmful. A government employee and the grandmother of my future children, Provider Name seemed overjoyed when Name 2 told her I’d proposed. She served me huge slices of homemade pistachio cake during what should have been one of our cozy courtship nights at home. On weekends, we both did laundry and cleaning. Even after I returned from an emergency psychiatric stay, she hugged me. Told me she loved me. Promised I was safe. “What’s mine is yours,” she said. Food, water, shelter, family, a bed—even help looking for work. She was like… a mother-in-law to me. Somewhere in that 4 month bloody scuffle - my hymen snapped, and someone forced me to fellate them repeatedly. I thought it was my fiancé on top of me when it happened. But he wasn’t my fiancé. Which means she wasn’t my mother in law either…

I'm a male survivor, primarily of female abuse. I'm a little nervous - wait - no I'm actually scared to share here since it's mixed-gendered. I found a wonderful website specifically for men, but I've never had a positive experience elsewhere. Hoping to be supported by both men and women. I've been waking up crying in the morning a lot lately and having dissociative episodes. And I can't keep wondering again if I'm even still a man. Did I have a right to say no? Anyway I don't know what else to write, but thanks for reading this.

I grew up homeless and in foster care in two separate states and was trafficked for many years: I want to impress upon people that true equity begins with giving people the resources and space to share their lived experience. Redistributing power to the Survivors allows them to influence better evidence based practice forward, lets them know they are not alone, gives them places to heal, and the opportunity to take something negative and oftentimes, horrific: and shine a light on a new path for children who are currently struggling with their own victimization. Survivors have the expertise to provide solutions that work in real time to protect children.

I was sexually assaulted between the ages of 18 and 19 by my then-boyfriend. I remember when it first started, I didn't even think of it as sexual assault, only that I knew I didn't want to and always felt upset after it happened. There was one specific event that made me realise what I was experiencing was not normal. I remember repeating "no" to the point of almost yelling and trying to push him off me with all my strength. He had a grip of my jumper which ripped when I eventually broke free. I didn't know what to do, so I did nothing. I went to dinner with his family that evening and cried in the bathroom. To this day, I still haven't told anyone and I wonder if he even understands the gravity of what he had done.

I grew up in an abusive home. My father always tried his best, but his negative emotions always got in the way. I’m 20 now. I was in a relationship for almost one year recently with a “Ryle”. I new I didn’t want that for the rest of my life. I deserved better. Yet, I stayed silent. I knew this movie would change everything for me and it did. I finally left him and as hard as it was, it was the best thing for me and for my future. I believe you have one life, why would I let it go to waste on someone like that? Thank you for this movie.

I'm still angry. My boyfriend of 4 years raped me in January. We had talked about kids. Marriage. Our future together. I trusted him with my life. He knew that, and I often wonder if he used that. He gave me an edible and encouraged me to drink. I figured he would want nothing but the best for me, so I obliged. Like I said, I trusted him with my life. I blacked out. I remember about 5 minutes of the entire 4 hour ordeal. I remember saying I was dizzy and wanted to sleep, and he told me that the only way to not get sick from drinking (which was a big fear of mine) was to have sex. I was so intoxicated I couldn't hold myself up. I fell flat on my face a few times. It was 4 hours. 4 hours long of him taking advantage of me being unconscious. Due to some health issues, I couldn't have sex with him when conscious, so I guess he invited himself to it when I wasn't conscious. I'm still upset. But that's the thing: I am upset about the situation, but I don't hate him. Too many people keep asking why I continue to keep up with him after what he did. It isn't that black and white. I support people forgiving their abusers. I support people not forgiving their abusers. Right now, he's still in my life because he lives nearby and he's going through a lot and I try to help where I can. But I also am fully aware of my own limitations and what I can handle. I am helping him from an emotional distance. I hate what he did, but I don't hate him. I haven't cut him off yet, and I don't have to. Stop trying to fill in the ending to my story, and let me write it myself.

I was a prudish teenager in the '80s, an introvert who wanted friend but only on my terms (they had to respect my boundaries, and I had many). It was only in my twenties, while I was working with more liberal people, that I made a conscious decision to cast off my old, narrow way of relating to people because my barriers had become walls. So I opened up more, made myself vulnerable...and attracted perverts. Older men, bosses, colleagues and contacts (I worked in industry). I still had enough boundaries to prevent actual rape, but I would not push them away as forcefully; I would make light of it when a man put his hands on my hips or made some inappropriate comment. This went on for years. I had a a few boyfriends in my twenties including one I stayed with for three years and loved (I still love him but don't want a relationship with him and have to keep enforcing psychological boundaries - he was never a sex pest but he wants to be friends and gets upset when I don't want to meet him). Being an introvert, and possibly Aspie (I have yet to find the courage to look for a diagnosis) I have always felt like an outsider, and in relationships always felt as if I was playing at being "sexy". In my forties, the men who breached my sexual boundaries (with inappropriate comments and the occasional arm around me as I sat beside them on a work assignment) were men my own age and slightly younger; I was still attracting men in the same age group: 40s. They would obviously want to take things further, but I would always put up that barrier...and I noticed that after I rebuffed a man I'd lose a work opportunity. I was frozen out of the cliques in my profession (I don't have family in my industry and I did not go to university so I didn't have the underpinning network to fall back on). I dealt with this by developing a tough, jokey exterior; desperate to prove that I was "not a prude", I merged my career with a rather tarty image (I cannot go into details here without possibly revealing who I am or, worse, narrowing it down - which would not be fair to others who might not want their stories told). At first, it actually helped my career and social life; suddenly I was great craic, a youthful looking middle-aged woman who was happy in her own skin, free-spirited - and "great craic". The men who used to flirt with me would also mock-boast "I'm a prude"; they had respectable wives / partners (indeed many of these women were my colleagues). Eventually, it was time for this middle-aged disgrace to be managed out of the industry. It didn't happen all at once; my mentors and good contacts retired or died (these were the people who never abused me). There were various reasons: cutbacks, personality differences, my political views were at odds with my bosses' views, and there were new people looking to fill my role. I adapted by finding a mosaic career, doing a few courses and muddling through. Now I see my former colleagues (the flirts and their partners) getting on with their careers; I am on the outside, looking in. But I was always on the outside. And I have no doubt that my story is very common (a bit like me, some would say!).

I have been married for 14 years. Within this last year I have come to realize that my marriage is not "normal". I was told early on, by my husband, that he was a narcissist. I quickly dismissed him and said he was nothing like that. Now... Idk. He is very controlling, but we have no sex life. I have to ask to be intimate and 99% of the time the answer is no. This is the confusing to me. I thought narcissist liked sex. As soon as we were married the sex stopped. I know I am in an unhealthy relationship, but I am just now realizing this. For 14 years this has been my life and I just accepted it. Now I am confused and scared of what the future will be. I am so devoted to him. I have been trained to be this person and I don't know who I am outside of it.