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Last year I was gang raped. I have an ear ringing called tinnitus that has not stopped since. I have nightmares. I flew with my mom to a wedding overseas. I was excited. She would be busy with her friends and cousin and I would get to spend time with my awesome second cousin who is two years older than me. After the rehearsal dinner we went out. It was fun because I was not legally able to drink there even though the age was lower than in my province, but they did not check ID’s. I did not drink much because it was not my thing and I had a boyfriend but I was able to go to some bars then a club attached to a hotel. So much fun up to when we met two soldiers in uniform who were cute and separated us from her friends because of our looks. My cousin is stunning beautiful. They had a private room at the club and several soldiers were there and two prostitutes also. Those prostitutes definitely hated us being there. I wanted to get out anyway and the cute ones that invited us acted like they understood and took us out of there. We stupidly let them take us to their hotel room where they totally dropped the cute romantic act and made us strip our clothes to music. They showed us a gun they had in a drawer. I was terrified. They made us lay on our stomachs bent over the bed side by side and had sex with us that way. They switched like we were interchangeable before finishing in us with no protection. We held hands. I was crying while my cousin was trying to be strong and cheer me up. We weren’t allowed to leave and our clothes were hidden. Before took our phones we had to text that we were staying at my cousin’s friend’s house. Then they called two other soldiers, one of them a huge tall dark guy with body builder muscles. He was the worst to me. They made us dance and then we had to use our mouths on the cute ones that had lured us there while the other two had sex with us. I vomited and my cousin cleaned it up but then it started again. They had cocaine and made us sniff it off their parts and sniffed it off us. Another one came and I think it was just those five during the night but they kept raping us and making us do things even when we would pass out. I would like to have been more unconscious but cocaine makes you so awake. I want to remember less and think about it all less. We showered many times. The big dark one peed on me and in my mouth the shower. He did it more than once like I was his toilet. The other men even had to tell him to chill out when he was making me scream liking his fingers and pushing them in my arse, but not when he made me crawl around like a dog using my hair as a leash. I remember one of them calling their friends to tell them to turn all their t.v.’s way up to hide the noise in our room. They watched sports news on the t.v. They had me and my cousin kiss each other and stuff. I could not act like it was a fun party like my cousin did sometimes and encouraged me to do. She tried to take some of their attention away from me over and over. I love her for it but they did not leave me alone. My chest is something they were obsessed with. They did not care that I was obviously distressed and freaking out or that in my country I was three years below the age of consent. There I was the minimum. We woke up in the morning on one the beds together with only the two soldiers sleeping on the floor. The black one was gone! They had sex with us again and another man who was much older and who they called SIR came in and had sex with both us but mostly me. They cheered him on and my head was pounding and I was crying and it seemed to last forever. Finally we got our clothes back but they took us for brunch wearing their normal clothes. They showed me pictures on their phones that made it look like I was having fun and warned us how bad it would be if we said anything different than we had a nice party. A nice party in hell! Before that I’d had sex with only my 1 boyfriend ever. One night of hell and now my number was seven!! We had to start getting ready for the wedding right away and I was exhausted. My cousin hid me and I took a nap in my dress, hair and makeup until the last minute. I cried in the ceremony but not for the wedding. I was so sore in my vagina, muscles, and brain that I got so drunk at the reception I barely remember any of it. Just part of being on the plane home. I told my mom the truth when I got back and she got all crazy, so did my dad, and they tried to call over there and the hotel and such but there was nothing the police would do. I saw my dad cry for the first time as I told the whole story. My boyfriend could not handle it and dumped me. I go to group and do therapy. I take a pill everyday and now benzo’s for break through anxiety. I try to hide my large chest under baggy clothes where before I used it for attention. STUPID! My cousin does not seem to have the trauma I do or the nightmares. In her country they are done with secondary school up to two years before us and are more treated like adults sooner. I said mean things to her once because of it. She forgave me but we talk much less since I asked if she has gang bangs all the time. I felt terrible because she even let them have anal sex with her to lure them away from me. I could tell it hurt her so much but at the time was just thinking about my own survival. My childhood is OVER but I do not feel like an adult. Her advice is -Don’t let it get you so down-. Like I have a choice in this!! She went to a therapist ONCE because her mom made the appointment and does not plan to go back. Her life did not really change!! She works reception at a tech company and models on the side and still goes to parties and clubs and dates. How??? It is unbelievable how attitudes toward something like this can be so different in different countries. I am a victim now and I usually feel like it. Definitely damaged. Everybody at my school knows why. I am THAT girl. My new more mature boyfriend is understanding but I feel like a sad little burden to him. I am hypersexual sometimes now and can’t help it. It is a coping mechanism that happens to some victims of sexual assault. I did not ask for it. I worry my boyfriend can’t trust me because of it. I had an older guy friend who’s been my neighbor for years take advantage of me after I told him the story of what happened at his house. We had sex and then he felt guilty for being turned on by my rape story. He admitted it and asked me to forgive him. The sex helped me calm the ear ringing for just short time periods so I did it with him more than once a day for a bit until my dad started to suspect something and talked to him. Since then I don’t trust myself. I want to marry my boyfriend in large part just to protect myself and show him I love him and am loyal even though I am not sure I can be. I worry I cannot love like a normal person. I worry I push him away being too needy and wanting to marry him so soon. I need him more than he needs me. Is that the way it will always be in relationships for rape victims??? I work hard at school not to ruin my future. It is so hard to focus. My ears ring constantly. Thank you for listening.

raped and sexually exploited in a cult, by a bishop. After 10 years, while he had also occasionally sexually agressed other women, the organization received an official complaint by the daughter of a high ranking member, (so she was believed and acknolwdged - not like others before her) and the organization held a meeting to talk about it for 1 hour, many women came forth. and at the end of the meeting we were told not to talk about it to anyone, to protect the cult's public image! 8 years went on and I had no symptoms, although I was on anti-depressants. Then I began a romantic relationship and gradually went of the medication. I then also lost my mother to cancer. I started to have anxiety reactions and insomnia but my partner didnt see a need to talk about it. I was not sure what I was experiencing, and it made no sense that it was related to the previous long term abuse. My partner knew I had endured a lot but didnt want details - repeating that it was in the past. I pushed through, didint want to be handicapped by my past, didnt want to be damaged or limited. But after 5 years, my partner started another relationship with someone in another country, without fully disclosing their relationship. The culmination of his behaviour, my gut feeling that something was off, the fact that I wasnt sleeeping well for years, the increasing sexual intensity and high chemistry with my partner, and the fact that He also abused me (tying me up ordering me to silence, and sodomising me, and other abusing acts the last 19 months of our relationship) ... I lost my mind! I concluded I was deserving of abuse, that I was an horrible person, etc. Since then, 8 years have passed. I denounced the bishop rapist 5 years ago, nambe witnesses and 20 other victims and a trial is coming up where I will have to testify. Terrified. Alone, no family or friends. I have contacted over 100 therapists to seek support. 60% do not reply, those who do are often not qualified in trauma, or do not offer services covered by the indemnisation for victims. And the rest have waiting lists that I never get any news from. I have contacted all the women centres for victims of sexual assault in my city, without success. I have read, watched, healed best I could by myself. Rebuild from shame and the conclusion that I was deserving of abuse since my chosen romantic partner abused me while knowing I had been abused and not abusing his new partner. I am surviving, still chest pain, still isolated and only going to grocery stores. not confortable with cashier. I dream visualise, hope, write, that I will experience a healthy, supportive relationship before I die (I am 53) but time is passing by without much improvement. Alone. Watched documentaries like NXIUM, Playboy secrets, Scientology, etc and so much similitudes.

I'm hesitant to call it what it was because I'm not ready to admit that someone who I love and trust so much did that to me. I don't know why I didn't stop him. I never said yes to my best friend touching me while we were sharing a bed, but I never said no either. If someone else told me my story, I'd tell them it's not their fault and that they're so strong. Yet, I just feel weak and I've lost trust in myself more than anything.

When I was a little girl, somewhere between the age of 6 and 10, my cousin who was 5 years older, locked us up in the bathroom and forced me to put his penis in my mouth. I was afraid, I thought it was not a fun game and I wanted to get out as fast as I could. But he said that I had to do it, that it would be fun and that he wouldn't tell anyone. So I did. I remember the smell, I remember the shame and I remember knowing it was wrong and that I should tell an adult in my family. Weeks later, I told my godmother who told my aunt. They decided to keep it to themselves and made sure I was never left alone with that cousin again. Nobody talked to him, noone told him that it was wrong, no one asked why he did that, they did not ask me if I was OK and they did not alert my parents. Everyone was afraid of talking about it. So silence was key to everyone forgetting about it. Later in life, when I was 17 or 18, I was staying at that same cousin's place. he was now in his 20's, and he tooked me in his arms and rubbed his clothed body against my clothed body in a way that resembled sexual foreplay. I was stunned and didn't have the strength to say no. He let go of me eventually and went into another room. I was afraid to move. A similar feeling of wrongness and shame came over me and around that time I decided to start a therapy. I didn't know who to turn to but I was recommended a female therapist in her 40's by my OB/GYN. When I told her the first story, she said that it was just kids playing bathroom bambam. About the second story, she said that it was curious that I did not find the strength to say no. I agreed. It was curious. But that did not make me feel validated. If my own family didn't address this as an issue, and a professional therapist didn't think it was a bid deal as a kid and told me that as a grown up woman, I should just be able to say no, than maybe I had been giving too much importance to these experiences. Maybe they were not that bad. I could always think about way worse things that had happened to other people. Mine did not matter as much. I did not matter as much. In my late 30's, I finally told my mother what had happened. She was furious, sad and angry for a couple of days. She has never mentioned it again in the last 6 years. The worst is definitely not what actually happened. The worst is the silence and taboo around it that grew thicker every year. And yet it has shaped my sexual life, my relationships with partners and with family members. What has helped me for the last 15 years is to have the full validation from an amazing partner who is always ready to listen, allow me space to feel and reflect on what I consider now sexual trauma, for lack of better term. I feel understood and seen by him. Sharing this here I find also very helpful. Thank you for this space.

My highschool boyfriend. When I walk by the parking spot I still see it, I feel his hands and it makes me want to rip off my own skin. I remember crying and him not caring, I remember how forceful and adamant he was when he took my head and forced it on his lap. I remember him undoing his belt and taking off his jeans in the front seat of his car and telling me that I “owed” him. I remember crying. I remember gagging, sobbing, and just wanting to leave. He looked me in the eye, called me a bitch and kicked me out of his car. I didn’t tell anyone because he loved me and that’s what our love was like. He told me I didn’t know what love was because it was my first time being in love. He told me it was normal and that he was older and more experienced so he knew best, he was doing me favours. I remember realizing that real love isn’t being screamed at in the front seat of a car after having your head pushed down into someone’s genitals. Of course I wasn't done. I allowed this cycle to control me. I was too afraid to leave because I thought that nobody would ever want me if they knew what I did. In retrospect, it is what I had gone through. It is what I have survived. I still walk by that parking spot.

Abuse isn't always physical. Your trauma is real and valid. I am sharing my story of abuse in hopes that it will help someone who feels lost. Someone who was in the same situation as me, unsure if they should go to therapy, confort their abuser, report them, or any combination of those things - because they thought they were "being dramatic" or "overreacting." Your trauma is valid, your feelings are real and deserve space. When I was 20 years old, I got into a long-term relationship with a man who was very fun, charismatic, outgoing, charming. Everyone seemed to like him, and he had a lot of friends. We will call him Partner 2. A few months before meeting Partner 2, I was in a short-term relationship with someone (call him Partner 1). One day I felt something weird "down there" and went to the hospital, where I found out Partner 1 had given me three STDs, one which was not curable. I broke up with him because I found out he was cheating (which is how I contracted them), and went to get tested again for the same STDs. I took two more tests, both of which came out negative for all those STDs. With this confusion and conflicting results, I disclosed this information to Partner 2 when I met him so he could decide if he wanted to pursue a realtionship. He consented to starting a relationship under those circumstances, and we began dating. The red flags appeared in the form of alcohol abuse, where I would find him drunk out of his mind wandering the streets of our small town, wandering into traffic, as well as drinking and driving. He did many things to hurt me that weren't "abusive", but as we fought about those things, he got increasingly "fed up" and the arguments got worse. One example I will give is: on the day of my birthday, he left town. When I called him in the morning of my OWN birthday to ask if he wanted to get breakfast, he said that he was busy and that he had been "planning this weekend for months" (to go fishing with his dad). Obviously, I was hurt by this because he knew it as my birthday and chose that specific weekend to leave town. It is something that any couple would fight about, except he did things like this ALL THE TIME. As months passed he began to get increasingly comfortable saying horrible things to me while he was drunk (blaming it on the alcohol). Then he began being comfortable saying them while he was sober. Until about 1 year into our relationship, he was diagnosed with the incurable STD I had warned him about months before. That is when things took a turn, and he began physically abusing me. Now, when he would get drunk, he would say "you did this to me you b****, you gave me this disgusting disease", "you're a effing whore", "you deserve to die" and other things of that nature. The first time he "touched me" was a year and a half in. I remember very clearly, I did nothing to "instigate" a fight. He was drunk, and he thought I said something that clearly hurt his ego. He grabbed me and started choking me on the bed, and as I fell onto the bed my leg went up as a reflex and I kneed him in the stomach. He blamed the "fight" on me, saying that I kneed him in the stomach and he was defending himself. I took my things and left immediately, only to find he had followed me. He began choking me further, pulling my hair, and eventually picking me up and throwing me into a ditch. My parents came to pick me up as I called them crying, and they documented several bruises all over my body. The next day, he apologized and promsied it would never happen again. That he was "just drunk" and that I can't let anyone else know it happened or he wouldnt forgive me (again, blaming ME saying I started the fight). After that, the physical abuse escalated in frequency. One night he was drunk, he picked me up and threw me on the ground again. Another night he was drunk, he choked me on the bed at a party and went out to mingle and dance with his friends as if nothing happened. I always had bruises on my body. While in the beginning he would say "I will never do it again", it later became "you deserve it, you gave me this disgusting disease" and even telling me that he hates me to my face. He threatened me saying that if I told the police, that he would tell them I gave him the STD without his consent and that "it must be illegal" (I didn't know if it was, I was very young and unaware). One night we were invited to a house party with his friends in another town. We would have to take the train to go. Right before we left, I felt a lot of sudden urges to pee. I had to pee every 2 minutes. By the time we got on the train, I couldn't hold it anymore and I knew I had a UTI. I asked him if he could come with me to the hospital and he said "I don't really wanna miss this party" and I got off the train by myself. I got on a taxi to the nearest hospital, with the WORST case of a UTI I have ever seen - my pee was just blood. He didn't care, nor did he come to check on me after the party. I was VERY clearly not loved by this man. One of the worst nights, we went to ANOTHER party for one of his friends. His friend ended up wanting to meet us at their house after the club. "The after party". They gave me the address since he was drunk out of his mind, but gave me the wrong one. I was trying to tell him in the cab that we were at the wrong place, and he jolted out of the cab. I quickly ran up to him and said, "we have to go this way" and he was like "What did you say to me bit**?" and began assaulting me. He pushed me to the ground, and began choking me in the middle of the street. It went on for about 40 minutes, I recorded it. He kept saying over and over "you did this to me, you gave me this disease, i hate you". I ended up being able to become free from him, and when I caught up to his friends in the apartment building across the street, I said to them "he's been abusing me for months" as I was crying, and NOBODY CARED. It was a cry for help that nobody cared for. I ended uup going to the police station that night and reporting him. They asked me if I wanted to press charges, but I was too afraid because of what he had said before threatening me. Cops helped me go and get my things from his house the next morning. When the cops came into his house he was the charming guy all over again, saying to them, "Well, you know officer how these things are. Women sometimes get like this right?". His father, who KNEW he was abusing me, looked at me and said "did you guys get into another fight?" and I said "your son is an ABUSER." and walked past him. After that, it's a blur. I don't remember how or why we got back together, out of my own fear. I never pressed charges because he kept intimidating me. But eventually, I moved to a new town about 3 hours away. I kept in contact with him, he would visit me once a week, but was still abusive. Finally, one day, I met my now husband. On that very day I met him, I blocked my ex and never looked back. He made attempts to contact me, but he hated me so much that I think he didn't care if I left. It was always about his ego and the fact that "no one would ever fuck him with that STD". I am now happily married, and although it was a very traumatic experience, my husband is the most caring, patient, docile person I know. He radiates love and kindness. I hope whoever you are out there, whoever is reading this, I hope you find that too. I hope this helps put into perspective that abuse doesn't always involve punching or breaking noses, but it's also subtlties like neglect and name calling. All those things can escalate and lead to physical violence. I hope YOU get yourself out before it ever gets worse. Remember that your life is precious, and no one can take that away from you.

I can't remember the month I met him or the day he became a coworker. I just remember meeting him and thinking he was shy. I remember him having a friendly smile. Something about him made me feel safe. He was kind and patient and empathetic. I guess our friendship started when I needed someone and I was vulnerable. I've been happily married for over a decade. Even now, I've haven't spoken about what happened. I feel dirty. I haven't been able to write about what happened to me. For a long time, I blamed myself because I was high when it happened. I was so high that I couldn't feel anything. There are blank spots within my memory, but I do remember the first night. A few coworkers and I had decided to go out for drinks and play pool at a local bar. He offered to drive me home and we talked. It was nice. After a few hours, he picked me up again and we drove around the city. It wasn't long before the feeling on his hands were on my skin. I asked him to stop and he did for a while. He drove into an old church parking lot and we continued to talk. He knew I was married, but he wanted to kiss me anyway. When he leaned in, I told him no. I don't quite remember the rest of the evening but I remember reading the time and seeing 2:13am. I told him that I needed to go home, but he said I had to do something first. I thought he was joking. He placed my hand on his lower body. I pulled away and told him no. He said, "Please. It would feel so good and I really need this." I told him we shouldn't, but he was persistent. He continued to grab my hand and put it on his crotch. He said it would feel better if he was able to "take it out". I asked him to stop and he said, "Sorry." I was grateful he apologized. "I thought you wanted this, though. You got me hardd, so now you have to finish," he said. I kept saying no and he continued to be persistent. The only answer left was to say yes. Externally, I said yes but internally I was saying no. I figured if I could make the situation less unpleasant, it would end quickly. I laid in the passenger seat feeling his hands move from my upper body down to my groin. He asked me to turn around and bend over. I told him no. He said, "I'm almost done. Please.. I need this." Even after saying no, he was persistent. I should have walked away or called 911 or called my Mom. Anything to save me. But I knew if I did, it would cause chaos. I was located 30-45 minutes outside of town - it was dark out, and I was worried he was going to hurt me or kick me out. I feel guilty for allowing him to touch me. It's hard not to feel guilty even though I froze and did what I could to survive. I returned home confused about what happened and acknowledged that I had not consented to that encounter. I know what assault is. I didn't want this to happen and I said no. Yet, it happened anyway. I learned about sexual coercion a few months after. This continued for a few months. He told me that I was a cheater because I didn't walk away. I feel like a cheater. I feel useless and powerless because he told me I had no choice. I feel responsible for what happened, but confused because it was unwanted. All along I've been wondering what he took from me. He took my consent.

i was 14, this was 6 years ago, and it completely altered my life route, who i am, and where i’m going. i was dating a guy. within the first month he had assaulted me several times, hit me, etc. he used to tell me we fought because that’s what people do when they love each other. he used to come up behind me and grab me sexually without me knowing he was there. this all happened at school, it was incredibly dehumanizing and embarrassing. it got even worse from there. i tried to leave him, he would then send me videos of him burning himself, messaging me going into detail how he would kill someone and get away with it, sending me pictures of dead wild bunnies (my favourite animal that he killed), then he raped me. i ended up pregnant at 14 and was finally ready to officially leave. this baby was going to be my way out even if i didn’t keep it. he didn’t like that. next thing i know is he tries to kill me so violently that i had a miscarriage soon after. i couldn’t leave, i couldn’t live in that relationship. at one point months after he tried to kill me i told him he’s abusive. that’s when he left me. not sure how that made sense, especially that he cried over me saying that. but if it worked it works. i tried everything, he said if i started smoking he’d leave me, he just burned me with a lighter instead, he said if i cheated hed leave me, i just got beat, i tried to leave him and he tried to kill me, but me saying he’s abusive was too far i guess. i survived for a year. there are so many times i wonder if i made it all up, that’s what he said i did at least. sometimes i don’t believe i’m a victim. i have been diagnosed with CPTSD and have struggled with my self image, addiction, and relationships sense. i quit smoking this year, i’m very proud of myself. i graduated, have a good job, i’m in university and am so far away from him now. i’m happier. i’m in a happy relationship with a man who would never hurt, threaten, or even yell at me. i no longer receive anonymous death threats. i find myself very paranoid a lot, like someone’s watching me or going to hurt me, sometimes i have to remind myself it’s just him forcing his way into my head again. it still hurts, i lost a big part of my innocence during such a crucial time for my development. i was isolated, he had control over my social medias and even my phone, he cut off my friends and almost my family. but, i’m not her anymore. and i never will be again. i pity 14 year old me. i’ve always looked at her with such hatred and shame. but she was in pain. she was scared. i was scared. every day of my life, for a year and then up until the harassment stopped, which was another while after. but i lived, not only did i live but i thrived and came out on top. i hope this helps any other victims of extreme abuse. once you find a way out it’s so much better, even if you question yourself, want to go back, think you deserve it, etc. the way out will save your life. it’s so hard, and the work to even get better after can be even harder. but it’s worth it. i’m still fighting CPTSD, i will for the rest of my life, but it got better.

I was in High School and he was my boyfriend. I don't remember the amount of times he SA me, but I do remember how he did it. I remember the things he would say before he did it. The things he'd say during. And how quick he was to put the blame on me once he had finished. While I was enduring this abuse, I was perceived as a psycho girlfriend who was emotional and dramatic. No one questioned the bags under my eyes, the bruises and cuts on my body, my sudden weight loss, how uncomfortable I was in his presence, or the fact that another victim of his came forward. Instead they perceived me as the girlfriend who was an emotional wreck, an attention seeker, a drama queen. No one cared to look deeper. I felt failed by my peers, by my friends, by my best friend, by my teachers, and by the one guidance councillor I opened up to. I still feel failed by them. But there was one person who DID help me. She was a surviver also. A girl who opened up to me about her story in class one day. "Until it happens to you" began to ring true to me. I wasn't judged or questioned by her. I was accepted. I felt accepted. And so I want to thank her. Thank her for saving me, in a time where she also needed saving. For helping me understand something she didn't even understand herself. For having the courage to speak her truth, despite only knowing me for a short period of time. And for looking deeper. Please reach out to other survivors if you are feeling alone. The mutual understanding between survivors is a feeling unmatched. I love each and everyone of you, and wish you nothing but a safe and happy future.

I hate the word "victim"; "I was a victim of sexual abuse." I always found it hard to put myself in such a category. I felt like if I were to say, "I'm a victim", people would pity me; I pitted myself. The sexual abuse started when I was 7-years-old and stopped when I was 13-years-old. It took place in two homes where I thought it was safe, and it was done by two people who were supposed to love and protect me but instead caused me pain. Those two people whose only job was to love and protect me were my grandfather and my dad, and those two homes that were supposed to keep me safe were my home and a home I visited every weekend. My parents were separated, and I went to see my dad on certain days of the week, and most weekends, I went to stay with my grandparents; and that's when the abuse occurred. Still to this day, I clearly remember the abuse as if it happened yesterday... "Count to one hundred, 1... 2... 3... 4...", "and again...", "you will get through this," "he's almost done" those were the phrases I repeated in my head while I was getting abused. Sometimes I closed my eyes super tight and hoped that when I opened them, I would be back at home with my mom and my loving stepfather, but it wasn't the case; when I opened them, he was there, on top of me. The sound of his breathing that left me permanently haunted, the left side of the bed that still to this day will refuse to sleep on, and his voice, his words "shhh... you don't want to wake up anybody," and "you can't tell anybody about this, because if you do, there will be consequences." And when the following day came, he would act clueless as if he didn't put his hands down my pants and told me to shut up because you knew you shouldn't be doing that to me. But the thing is, at the age of 7, you believe that the people who are supposed to love you would do nothing to hurt you; at least that's what I thought; thus, I assumed the abuse was "normal," so I smiled and said, "good morning dad." That's what the abuse with my dad was like, but as for my grandfather, it was completely different. It wasn't during the night when everyone was sleeping; it was daylight when my grandmother was just in the other room. I would be on the couch with him, and he would start to massage my feet and progressively go higher and higher up while my grandmother was in the kitchen. I would often go to my grandparents almost every weekend, and so when it came to the court processing, I was accused of "wanting it." Yes, because a 7 to 13-year-old would want to get touched by her grandfather, but never thought that I don't know, maybe I wanted to see my grandmother, someone I could call my mom, someone who was like a second mom to me. The abuse got worst over the years, so bad that I would always ask my cousin to stay over with me because I thought that maybe he wouldn't touch me if she were there. But I was wrong because he still managed. He knew how close I was with my grandmother, and he used that to his advantage. Every time, he would say, "if you ever tell anyone about this, I will make sure that you will never see grandma ever again," so seven-year-old me, who was scared and confused, kept her mouth shut. To this day, his voice and words are imprinted in my brain, and the nasty comments that will forever scar me "oh, someone needs to start shaving down there" and "you like that uh?" I think it was when I was 10-years-old when I started thinking that it wasn't normal for my dad and grandfather o to touch me. When I was in elementary school, my friends would talk about how much they love their dads and the fun things they did with their grandparents, like colouring, playing board games, etc.; I was kinda there and thought to myself, "so you don't get your private parts touched by your dad or grandfather?" Because for me, yes, I played board games with my grandfather, scrabble to be precisely the instead of funny words or words that would make sense to me, he would put down "sex," "porn," and "sexy." What made the abuse with my grandfather different from my dad's abuse was that I had such an amazing relationship with my dad. He would train with me before my soccer games; he never missed a game; hockey was our sport we liked watching together; on Fridays were game night, and when he worked in the shed, he would show me what tool does what, and let me help him organize his tools. But when it came to bedtime and when he had downed a few beers, that relationship had suddenly disappeared. When I was around 12, I stopped seeing my dad and grandpa. I was 13 when my mom took me out of school in the middle of the day and brought me home. The car ride was silent, and she wasn't telling me what was going on. When we got home, she asks "did your dad touch you sexually?" I stared at her, and for a second, I thought, "maybe I can finally tell her what happened," but instead, "no, why" came out my mouth. And that was it; no questions were asked. *A couple of weeks later* I'm pulled from school once again by my mom and was brought home. Now I remember this day like it happened yesterday. I was sitting on my bedroom floor, and my mom was sitting on my bed with the door closed. She looked at me for a couple of seconds before saying anything. And then proceeded to ask, "tell me the truth, did your dad do anything to you?" Instant tears streamed down my face, and not a single word came out of my mouth. My mom looked at me, confused and worried, and that's when I said, "and grandpa." After those two words, she left my room and told my stepdad. The next thing I know, I'm standing in a police station. It was like everything happened so fast I didn't have time to process it. Many police interviews were taken and, by the end of each interview, my dad and grandfather were arrested. It's the next day when I found out my dad had also been abusing my step-sister. She told her mom about the abuse, and that's why my mom asked if my dad did anything to me. I was 14-years-old when I was standing in a courtroom. It was the day of my dad's trial. He had told the cops that he didn't do anything, so I had to go through a trial. Being 14 and questioned by a grown adult defending my dad was one of the worst things I had gone through. He was trying to make me look like I was lying, as if my dad had never touched me and that I made the whole story up. It was hard to sit across from my dad, trying not to look at him, wondering if he hates me. Once the "trial part" was done, it was time for my dad's sentencing for the abuse he did to my sister and me. He was found guilty for the abuse done to my sister but not guilty due to a lack of evidence for the abuse done to me, and he was sentenced to 12 months in prison. And that was it; it was over. My dad walked out, and that's the last time I ever saw him. I was still 14 when I was standing in the courtroom for the second time. It was the day that I had to read my impact statement to the court and my grandfather's sentencing. I saw my grandpa, who was with my grandma... I was so happy to see her; I felt like if she were here supporting me, I would be ok. But she walked past me as if I wasn't there. In the courtroom, I sat on the right side with the detective on my case. And on the left side sat my grandfather. Behind me in the audience booth were my family, who was there to support me. But I didn't see my grandma; she was sitting behind my grandpa, with the family who believed he was innocent even when he plead guilty. I read my witness impact statement, and he was sentenced to 12 months in prison. After the court session, he walked out as nothing holding hands with my grandma. Not once did spoke to me; she didn't even look at me once. That's what caused me the most pain through this whole experience. My emotions were everywhere, nothing but sadness. Now, I'm 20-years-old and writing my story. Both of my abusers are out of prison, living their own life. They never contacted me, nor did my grandma; I still her. Over the years, I learned to live with what happened to me. From the day it was over to when I was 18, my story was kept in a box. I was to not speak of it; it was pushed aside. My mom and stepdad were supportive, and I saw a therapist, but the minute I would bring up the past, my mom would shut me down. That's when the guilt settled in. I felt ashamed of what happened and guilty for talking about it. Then I started college. I told myself that I wasn't going to keep my story in a box any longer. No one should control what I decide to do with what happened to me, whether it's to tell people or not. That's when I became open with my past. I've told my story to friends, my boyfriend, even some of my college professors. I don't and will never again hide my story. It happened, I dealt with it, now I'm moving past it. It will never define me, but it sure made me into the person I am today. If I never got abused, I wouldn't be the person I am today, and I sure wouldn't be in the field of study that I am today. I learned to accept that I was a victim of sexual abuse. In my heart, I learnt to forgive my dad and my grandfather. I still miss my dad; the relationship we had because, despite the abuse, he was a good dad to me. I was a victim of sexual abuse, but now I am a survivor and forever will be one. When I tell my story to people, I don't refer to myself as a victim but rather as a survivor because I survived what happened to me. Through the abuse, the court processing, the mental illnesses I developed shortly after, and accepting what happened to me, I can call myself a survivor. I decided not to refer to my past as something nasty and horrible but instead as something that helped me see the world differently. To everyone who read this and who experienced something similar, you are a survivor and never ever let what happened to you get the best of you.

I was around 6 years old, I close my eyes and it's as if I were reliving the memory in my own flesh, I remember the noise of the television, the smell of the breakfast I was eating, I was only watching cartoons. He, a man around 50 years old, picked me up and placed me on his legs, and slid his hand under my panties, I WAS 6 YEARS OLD and that's where my story of sexual abuse began, a story that I wish I had not had to experience. I spoke up because my mom had always taught me that no one could touch my personal parts but at that time my mom didn't have the resources, we lived at a cousin's house (the daughter of my abuser) and no one believed me, they said it was my imagination. Other events happened committed by the same person, he took away my innocence and broke me into pieces... despite the fact that I spoke the first time, the other times I remained silent because no one believed me, no one protected me and no one listened to me more than my mother but at that time she was struggling with an alcoholism problem and the whole family turned their backs on us. After a while I stopped seeing my abuser but at 8 years old it happened to me again but this time because of my aunt's husband (my mother's sister) they have been married since my aunt was 16 until now. We went to visit my aunt's house, it was December so my mom went out with my aunt to buy things for Christmas, me, my brother and my cousin (my aunt's son) stayed in the care of my aunt's husband, he at that time was a police officer. I was playing with my cousin and my brother when he called me, he was sitting in the rocking chair watching the news when he sat me on his lap and I immediately froze since the last time someone sat me on their lap they groped me, this time was different, he only caressed my legs and I only felt something hard brush against my buttocks, I froze and didn't know what to do, until I found the strength and got off. I never spoke about my second abuser and I never have, I no longer live in Colombia but when I go I have to act as if nothing happened even though inside I feel so many things. For a long time I repressed everything that happened to me, I always said that it didn't affect me and now at 22 years old it is tormenting me. I'm engaged to the love of my life. I feel like it's been a gift that God and life gave me after so much torment, but there are times when we're going to be intimate and he touches me, I feel rage inside me, that kind of rage that makes you want to punch that person in the face, and I don't understand. Hasn't he done anything to me? He has only helped me and treated me with love and has shown me how much he respects me and loves me, I always wanted to avoid the subject and repress it, not talk about it and pretend like it didn't affect me but I've reached a point where I get fits of rage that I don't even recognize, where I end up hurting myself or taking that anger out on my fiancé, a few nights ago finally in the middle of a fit of rage where I ended up banging my head against the wall I just kept repeating "he won't leave me alone, he stalks me, get him out of my head" I was in a state of crisis and my fiancé could only hold me in his arms while he asked me who was stalking me and it was the first time I said his name out loud, "Name, the man who raped me and stole my innocence won't leave my head" I couldn't speak, the tears and screams of desperation were more than words, at that moment I realized that no matter how much I have grown, that 6 year old girl is still inside me, She is angry, sad, and broken. My partner is a lawyer, so he was the one who told me about the Me Too movement. He told me to get justice and report him, but if I didn't feel ready out of fear, I should explore the options that Me Too offers and that maybe I should start by telling my story. For a few days I would open the page and just feel paralyzed, but today I took the plunge. I no longer deserve to be a prisoner of pain that wasn't my fault, even though for a long time I've felt that it is. I feel lost and I don't want my past to define my present. Life is giving me beautiful opportunities, but my sexual abuse isn't letting me move forward. How do I get rid of this anger that I feel inside? Why did I become such a bitter and sour person? Why do I get angry about everything? Why can't I enjoy intimacy with my partner if he is delicate with me? It seems that the more delicate he is, the more anger I feel inside. I feel very alone and lost.

I’m 56 years old and have spent most of my life trying to understand what happened to me growing up — not just what was done, but what was allowed. My mother didn’t hit me. Her weapons were colder: control, shame, silent punishments, and subtle emotional games that left no visible marks. She taught me love was conditional. If I pleased her, I got slivers of approval. If I spoke out, I was punished or exiled. Even joy was rationed — too much of it and she’d find a way to ruin it. Her moods ruled the house. Everyone learned to tiptoe. She told others she was doing her best. She played the victim so well — struggling mom, too burdened to care. But at home, it was all about control. She’d withhold affection, twist your words, cry on command, and convince you that you were the problem. I internalized all of it. I grew up believing I was unworthy, difficult, broken. Worse, she brought a man into our lives who raped me. I now know she saw things. I remember moments — things she would have had to notice, hear, sense. But she chose silence. Whether out of denial or protection for herself, she turned away. That betrayal has been harder to heal than the abuse itself. Because the person who was supposed to protect me not only failed to — she facilitated the harm. When I became a mother myself, I tried to do better — to break the cycle — but the damage was already seeded. It affected how I parented, how I loved, how I trusted. It fractured parts of me that I’m still putting back together. Even now, my mother continues to manipulate and control. She paints herself as a caretaker, but she makes dangerous decisions. She isolates her dying partner from his loved ones and undermines his medical needs. She is still trying to rewrite the story. Still trying to erase mine. But I won’t let her. I’m writing this because I need it spoken somewhere outside of me. I need to reclaim the truth: I was there. I didn’t imagine it. And it wasn’t my fault. To anyone reading who is still doubting their memory or blaming themselves — I see you. You’re not crazy. You’re not alone. And what happened to you mattered. I survived her. I am still here. And I am no longer silent.

HOW I STARTED MY HEALING JOURNEY by Name My healing journey began after I spent five years in a narcissistically abusive relationship. It was a constant cycle of hot and cold, back and forth, until I finally got sick of the bullshit and chose to walk away for good. In the beginning, I simply sat with my feelings. I reflected on everything I’d endured and allowed my emotions to flow naturally. It’s easily one of the hardest parts of the process, but you have to let those feelings out for the healing to begin. I then moved on to one of the scariest tasks: breaking down my past. When we look at our trauma as one giant mountain, it just feels like a jumbled mess of chaos. By identifying each experience as its own separate event, it becomes much easier to process. To get these thoughts out of my head, I put them on paper. If you’re starting this journey, get a notebook and write down everything as it comes up. Use it as your primary tool. I began with my most recent experience of narcissistic abuse. I dove into podcasts and articles, desperate to understand what had happened to me and how it was affecting my mental health. Once I understood the 'what,' I started researching the 'how'—as in, how do I heal from this? That’s when I discovered the connection to childhood trauma. It’s a major key to the puzzle because we carry those early experiences into our adult lives. There is so much information available; you just have to find the pieces that fit your life. Healing is deeply individual, and you get to choose the path that works best for you."

As a child I was left vulnerable by abuse, neglect and sexual assault. I’ve been telling my story in my blog and on livestream but there is one story I particular that I feel a deep cry to find other victims. I was 15 years old and school had just ended for the Summer. A boy I know, he was my tech class helper. He often would offer me extra help on my assignments. Getting closer. Around school we would be flirty. Prior to school ending that year he asked me for my number. For whatever reason I gave him my home landline instead of my cell phone. Days after school got out he called and asked if I could come hang out with him and his friend. It was his friends birthday. My dad didn’t want to give me permission or say no so he told me to call my mom. I told my mom a little white lie and got permission to go out till 11pm. The boys buttered me up with flattery as we made our way to what was said to be the one guys’ house. When we arrived we talked a little bit about where we go to school and who we know. I mostly asked about my family that went to the same school as the boy I had just met. We began to play truth or dare, eventually I was naked and this boy whom I just met asked me to have sex. I agreed but I didn’t want to. I was scared and it would have been my first time, because I was scared the boy was not able to penetrate me but he kept trying. Eventually I told him to stop and put the lights on. When the lights were put on two guys I didn’t know were there game out of the closet. One I recognized from student council at school and the other, I didn’t know, seem a little older and was naked except for the towel wrapped around his waist. There was one more boy I didn’t know was there that came out from under the bed. I felt humiliated and hugged a pillow against my naked body. I demanded they all get out and so they did. I was trying to get dressed but they had stolen my underwear. The boy I knew, the one that I had liked, walked me half way home. I didn’t want my parents to see him. He kept asking if I was really going to have sex, and I kept avoiding giving any sort of answer. I didn’t want to admit I was scared. He then asked if I was going to tell anyone. I said “no” and asked “why?”. He said “because it feels rapey”. I asked what was happening and he told me it was called “a cinema” and it’s where guys watch while one guy has sex with a girl and she doesn’t know they’re there and then they switch places without her knowing. Because a group of guys agreed to and code named their act of gang rape I know it is a thing that was being done, not just a one time fluke and because they chose cinema, I also know that they do it for entertainment. 3 years later when I was 18 a friend from work and school, although I had already graduated asked me to go to a party. I went home, changed and asked my housemate if she wanted to come and so she came along. When I arrived my friend was highly antoxicated, and she was the only female at this party in a house of around 20 men who all played for th same hockey team. Her boyfriend and her friend were trying to get her to leave but she wouldn’t. Her boyfriend’s friend tried to appeal to me telling me I don’t know what these guys do. The hockey team was not allowing them in the party and chased them off down the street. Eventually they gave up and the night went on. I found the hockey team to be quite obnoxious and I didn’t have the mentality to deal with it. I looked at my housemate who wasn’t having a good time and asked if she wanted to go. I said “okay, let me get (my friends name)” my friend refused to leave. I felt it in my gut that I shouldn’t leave her but I left with my housemate. The next morning my friend’s mom showed up to my apartment demanding to know where her daughter was. I thought I was being a good friend by saying “I don’t know”. Her mom kept saying “she’s only 17!”. It only recently dawned on me that she was likely a victim of the cinema but she never confirmed it or denied it to me. Because of my friend, because it kills me to think about the young people I love could be victims, I am telling my story. I hope by telling my story it empowers other victims to come forward so that together we can try to prevent another generation from being victimized. Thank you.

I am ready to share my story. I am 57, a mom, daughter, sister and friend. I am a survivor. It is 51 yrs ago that it happened to me and it is a memory that is as present and vivid in my mind today as it was that Saturday night. My grandma went to Bingo like she always did and I was at home with my grandpa. The hockey game was on because it was Hockey Night in Canada and every Saturday night that’s what everyone watched. Sitting beside him on the sofa, I was eating potato chips when he reached into the bag and pushed it down between my legs. He didn’t look at me when I looked at him and moved away. Instead he moved the bag and started fondling me. I was terrified, crying and saying no, no, no. He just kept on touching me and I didn’t like it, told him to stop and he kept watching the hockey game then asked me if I wanted to go and lay down with him in grandma’s bed. I said no and sat in the kitchen where I could see him, waiting for my grandma to come home. I always slept with her. I said nothing because I did not know what to say? I never went near him again. He was crippled, walked with crutches and never touched me again. I saw him try to touch and grab my cousin when she was dancing around the house in my grandma’s nightgown. She never said anything and laughed about it. I never understood but it made me feel afraid. I knew it was wrong. I hated him. When my younger sister was 9, he tried to touch her and she told our parents. All hell broke loose! My dad was so angry, asked me if he ever touched me and I confessed out of fear! My aunt and uncle stopped my dad from wanting to beat the living shit out of my grandpa because he was a “cripple”. They didn’t want any shame to come to the family, couldn’t send a cripple to jail and what about my grandma? As I heard all of this, I just cried and was ashamed, embarrassed that me and my sister were causing so much trouble. I was now 11 yrs old. Carried that secret with me for all those years and wanted to just die, disappear. You see, my aunt and my uncle, their families knew about my grandpa’s molesting behaviours because he molested their son and daughter before me and my sister. My dad supposedly didn’t know. Do I believe that? Honestly no, he and all of them knew what a pig their father was and did nothing to protect younger grandchildren that came along. My younger sister broke the silence, the cycle and nothing was done other than protect the grandparents and their families from any shame. It wasn’t until I became a parent at 38 that I was able to appreciate and experience true love as a mom, realizing my baby was my heart beating and living outside of my body. No one would ever hurt her as long as I live and breathe. I suddenly felt very different toward my father (deceased) and family. I questioned my step mom and aunt, asking them how could they choose to protect that person who was a repeat offender, a predator whom they called dad and never once did he or anyone in that family ever hold my hand and apologize to me for what happened? No one ever said anything to me, not a word nor an apology or how it impacted my life. I did tell them how I felt and my step mom was very compassionate, understanding and said she was very sorry she couldn’t do anything to help me. She was married to my dad who called the shots. My aunt? She had a lot to say and it wasn’t nice. Her thoughts were that I had parents who could’ve done something and it wasn’t up to her to do it. That’s where she is wrong and this is what I told her: I have a child and I have 2 nieces and a nephew. If anyone in my immediate or extended family ever did anyone of them harm in their actions, words, I would not hold back to protect them and make sure the perpetrator was called out, reported to authorities and held responsible for their action. I told my aunt she was the biggest hypocrite, coward, liar, worthless piece of shit on the face of this earth and that she was not worth the breath I breathe to waste another word. Being a mother, she should be ashamed of herself just as her mother and father, siblings should be. I said what I had to say and it was cathartic. My grandfather died in his sleep, he was found dead on the floor by my grandmother. My father, uncles and aunt saw that with my grandmother. I went to his funeral because I had to. My sister and I did not shed a tear. He deserved what he got and so did my father, aunt and uncles, grandmother. I have never gotten over this and still ask myself, why me? What goes through the head of a grandfather to look at his 6 yr old granddaughter and decide that he wants to touch her body sexually? Want to lay down with his 6 yr old granddaughter and do what? Who lets this behaviour just go unnoticed, when everyone knew about it because it happened to grandchildren before me? All of these people are deceased now, except my aunt who doesn’t speak to me at all after I confronted her about 15 yrs ago. My final words to her, she couldn’t handle and somehow still blamed everyone else and took zero responsibility because my grandfather molested 2 of 3 of her kids (older than me). I made her uncomfortable, I forced her to acknowledge that she was as guilty as her pedophile father because she knew and did absolutely nothing to stop it or make an effort to protect innocent kids in her family, like me. I hope she suffers til the day she dies with that guilt. Somehow I do t think she loses a wink of sleep. Perpetrators, wrong doers don’t. For me, I’m surviving every single day. I lead by example for my daughter, to keep her safe, understand and create clear boundaries with people whether it’s family, friends, co-workers, doesn’t matter who it is. If something is t right go with your gut and tell ME, tell someone you trust, love and never be silent. My voice my daughters voice is powerful. This has affected me my whole life. For that I will always hate my family.

It started with First Name. My first date, my first kiss, my first disapointment. As a shy teen i spent many hours on chat sites and messenger. First Name spent the night with me in my university dorm but thankfully we didnt get past some heavy petting and a kiss or 2. I think after thst he just wanted to get rid of me so the next day he added his friend, Name 2, into our messenger chat. Name 2 didn't hide the fact he was 42, he sent me a picture of himself and at first our chats were friendly and lighthearted. He showed interest in me which i wasnt used to but i enjoyed it, despite only being 17. He liked to dare me to walk to my dorm fridge in my underwear, go to the bar alone and order a drink, then it turned into him wanting to 'perform' on camera for people of his choosing. I did it a few times but knew it wasnt going to yeild the money inititally promised. Soon our chats got steamier and he started talking about visiting me from a few provinces over once i turned 18. He came on the greyhound and we escaped to a hotel room for the night. I was denied the sparkly first time every girl remembers.. i wish i could forget being punched in the stomach afterwards. it didnt take him long to convince me to lieto my parents and move from Location 1 to Location 2 to live with him in city. I arrived on the greyhound with my RESP money, enough to afford a room at a sleazy hotel where we spent the next few weeks having sex, smoking pot and walking around city. It wouldve been fun, had it not been so taboo; sometimes we felt like a real couple, going to the bar and feeding ducks at Location 3. He loved showing me around the city and parks and then trying to get me to pose for topless pictures when nobody was around. Name 2 would spend countless hours on the internet, looking for porn films that 'i might like' then made me watch them for hours before finally having sex and going to sleep. He would have mood swings where he would start yelling at me, he would throw whatever liquid was in his cup on me and say terribley lewd things about me, including threatening to send my parents the nude pictures of me he had taken. We bummed around the city for a while until our new landlord took a liking to us and Name 2 became the handy man for the apartment we found and i cleaned out apartments for extra cash after tenants left. I felt like i was always walking on eggshells, never knowing what might trigger Name 2 into a rage. I still consider myself lucky though. I weighed 100 lbs soaking wet and the fact i lived with this bi polar man weighing about 300 lbs and standing 6' 5 and made it out alive still amazes me. I recieved a bloody nose or 2 in that time but all things considered, he couldve done me worse. Though i did some things i am not proud of under his control i feel like he cared enough to respect my wishes. My parents found us. They hired a detective then showed up at our appartment. Me and Name 2 tried to show them a good time but afterwards Name 2 tried to make me think they didnt want me back. He told me my Dad had called me a dummy but i did not believe him. Despite trying to turn me against them, he didnt argue about me going home for christmas and i returned a few weeks later. It didnt last long after that though. A fight led to me calling my mom, crying at midnight and my dad was on the next flight to fetch me and my cat. Ill never know what his intentions with me were, did he someday intend to prostitute me out to his friends? Was he just taking advantage of the opportunity First Name had placed in his hands? Are there more girls out there with a similar story involving this man? I'll never know for sure but i can always consider this mistake to have a miraculous outcome as many others in my situation do not get to go home, they dont have their parents support, and they dont leave a relationship like that with only a sore nose and a wounded pride.

I was 12. He was 31. He was my step father. I was supposed to be his daughter. I've known him since I was born. He became a father figure for me when my real father wasn't present. I started calling him "dad" at age 8. In all ways except biological he was my father. Even though he beat me and then bullied me into staying quiet. I never ever thought he'd be capable of this. It happened 2 weeks before I turned 13. On the morning of my younger siblings 4th birthday. We had decided to watch a movie downstairs in my room because it was so early, no one else was awake. At first it was fine. Then after a bit, he started getting a little touchy. Always wanting to hold and cuddle me. I found it weird, but didn't want to say anything for fear of him getting mad and hurting me. So I allowed it to continue even after I was uncomfortable. I kept trying to move and get away but I couldn't. He just kept telling me "that this was my special spot". Eventually he allowed me to move away a bit and lay on my back, as long as I was still close to him. A few minutes later he put his hand on my stomach.. and started working his way down to the waist of my sweatpants. Then eventually he trailed down further and stuck his fingers inside of me. It wasn't for very long, I'm assuming because he didn't want to get caught because of the other people in the room (children). I don't know much about what happened after that, I just remember being scared and hurt. I didn't know what to do or if it had even happened at all. It was so quick that I almost assumed I imagined it. Which is why it made it so easy for me to be manipulated into saying nothing happened. That night I went to a trusted friends house and told her that earlier that day I had been molested by my step father. She and her parents were horrified at what I had just said, they called the police and they were there in minutes. I stayed inside of the house, I didn't want to see them arrest him. I couldn't stand to look at him. Eventually the police officers brought me into the car to take my statement. I told them everything that had happened. After sometime I started thinking about what had happened and still after days, weeks I just couldn't wrap my head around it. Then one night my mother comes into my room and tells me that I have to recant my statement because he's in a lot of trouble and she was scared that he'd be killed when they found out what he had done. I was being pressured by everyone to recant. His family were saying and calling me horrible things. I was 12-13 years old and I was getting blamed and called a "slut", "whore" and my favourite that I had "seduced him, and that it was my fault". Everyday I had people who I thought had loved and would protect me, telling me how awful I was and "how dare I do that and ruin an innocent man's life". It was one of the most horrific things i've ever experienced. I thought that being taken advantage of was the worst, but that didn't even scratch the surface compared to having "my family" either not believe me or tell me that its my fault. It was like I was being assaulted all over again.