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I don't know in which moment started. It was my father. I was a child. I was the favorite one between all of our brother and sisters. It was always subtle. The contact when I lay down on his bed, the slaps on the butt, or the comments that "you are so pretty that if I were your age and you weren't my daughter I would be with you.", added to the touch when I climbed onto his legs. It took me many years to understand that this, added to the fact that he did not see me as a normal father sees a daughter, hurt me tremendously. I felt like a trophy, like an extension of his body. I discovered that all this was abuse more than a year and a half ago. When I realized it in therapy I cried a lot. I felt very guilty about what happened, and even to this day I question whether I am not inventing everything, since everything is plausible and existed in reality, I just didn't want to see it as abuse. My older brother also abused my sisters and me, however, I have never been able to tell my family about my father. Seeing the pain they have felt with the news about my brother (relieved by one of my sisters), I see that it would only generate inconvenience and pain in my family. And being pragmatic, I couldn't achieve anything by revealing the news to my family other than complications. I know that if my sisters knew, they would want to talk to my father, and my father knowing would be able to stop paying my and my younger sister's alimony. And considering we're in college, it's something I can't afford. But I'm not going to lie, I feel disgusted every time I talk to him, I wish i would never have to talk to him.

I was a 7 year old girl with a lot of confidence, maybe that's why or just luck happened but the truth doesn't matter in this story, I grew up with only cousins and vafones brothers in a very close family, everyone knew everything it's quite surprising that they didn't know until I spoke what happened, during a vacation I don't remember the year or the place but I do remember that I was playing a hulk play 2 game, it was very late like 4 or 5 in the morning and my cousin was taking care of me he was older than 10 years old and he told me to sit on his lap, I remember how he took the game controller from me and then everything is confusing I don't remember anything until the following year, I matured quickly everyone said it was because I was an intelligent and agile girl, I was the next time that cousin tried to put a hand on me when I was 8 almost 9 I broke his nose.

I was SA when I was 10 years old approximately, and my cousin 13 approximately (he is 3 years older than me). My depression start at that age approximately too, so know that im thinking about it that was maybe the reason. This week i told my mom about it, im 18, so my trauma happen 8 years later, i feel guilty because she want to talk with my family, not all, but yes some people of my family about what happen, i dont want ruin his life, even if he ruin mine, if he get some consequences i will feel guilty because this happen 8 years ago. My mom dont understand why i worry so much about it, i dont understand eather. I know that maybe he was conscious about that what he do was SA, because he was 13 approximately, not 7, not 8, not 9, not even 10. He meet his girlfriend when she was 17 and he was 19, and sometimes is a asshole, but i cant stop feeling guilty about it, even when i dont understand, because no one give me sexual education at 10, and im autistic, and when i was a kid it was more dificult undertand things. Sorry for my broken english, English is not my first language, i just want know why is not my fault, because its feel like it is.

OMG, where do I begin? I have been raped multiple times. I later facilitated the Me Too Monologues. I have written my own stories and am writing a memoir about my experiences.

It started as sexual harassment. And I let it happen. Do not let it happen to you! I was a college intern working on my supply-chain management major. In business school you know you don’t just get a degree and POOF! A job is magically waiting for you. Unless you already have connections. I was a single woman on financial aid and had squat for family connections. I needed to make some connections while still in school that I could use to climb the ladder. It is a very competitive world. A time when we don’t care so much where we work as long as it has prospects of advancement and making money. I was interning at the corporate offices for a rental car company. I got my first choice for a class in which we had to intern at a real company. My group of four was in their logistics offices and we had no clear job at the time but my school had sent students for a while so we had a contact person and some loose idea of a project that my group of four had to put together and execute for our grade. Well that was kind of of dud and I went along with the bad idea of planning more efficient distribution routes for their cars entering the fleet. It was naive because the company had real pros who designed the system. But, because of my feminine wiles, I got invited to come in and help in my free time by a top manager. Just me. I jumped at the opportunity and on my available days I showed up early in the morning and tried to be like part of the team. It was a very masculine environment. I tried to hang in spite of the pretenses for my special treatment. “You’re not one of those feminist types who go crying to HR if a man gives you a compliment or a pat on the backside, are you?” The man who first invited me had asked. We’ll call him XX. I assured him I was not, anticipating his expected answer. “Work hard, play hard,” was something I said in my denial of values he was obviously opposed to. So the couple times XX introduced me as his mistress I went along with the joke. Another stupid mistake. As an example of my environment, after a male Y in the department first showed me how to use part of a program that calculates stock outages, he had me sit and try it and gave me a massage I did not ask for early in the morning. Well XX came up and made a joke about Y getting his hands of his girl. They had some bro moment where the male Y asked him if he was serious, saying something about XX’s wife, to which XX backed down and said something like “It’s just a joke. I’d love to in my fantasies, but she’s company property, brother.” Company property??! I was sitting right there! I tensed up but tried to pretend I was so absorbed in the computer training as XX left and male Y went back to massaging me, but this time more boldly. He got down my lower back and upper buttock then went down the arms to my thighs, stopping me from doing any work as he blatantly brushed his forearms and hands against my chest. I felt so weak and almost paralyzed by the time I forced myself to stand up to go use the restroom, stopping it. I could have just done that at the beginning but did not. Later hat same day, XX had me go to lunch with him and have a beer at a bar and grill with a pool table. I was 20 but they did not ask for my ID because I was with XX. I hardly ever played pool and while we waited for our food he “showed” me how to play. He made fun of the cliché on movies and television where a man has a woman bend over the pool table to shoot just so he can push his crotch against her backside in a suggestive manger and lean over her with his arms on each side of her to show her how to slide the stick. But while he joked about it he actually did those things to me! That was a good day for my two main molesters and an awful day for me. XX hugged me as we stood up giggling and apparently his hands now had a license to molest my body whenever he wanted. I got numb to it in some ways, but emotionally more on edge. My butt was grabbed or spanked playfully in the department, even by male Y. A few other men were very flirtatious. My shoulders were rubbed, hugs on even minor greetings with XX and finally I was supposed to get used to little pecks on the lips too. I felt like I was in a constant state of mental anguish and defensiveness. My body could be attacked anytime. But I did not defend myself! I would say clearly to XX and some others that I wanted to be respected and considered one of the guys and have a job there when I graduated and they affirmed it. Both main abusers encouraged me, but still sexually harassed me. With my moronic blessing! The semester ended and I kept going in daily during summer break. It was my only lifeline to a possible job after I graduated in a year. I was so groomed that it was not a big leap at all when XX pressured me to give him head in his office. I refused with a smile and head shake and he came back with some rationalization about how I owed him and he really needed it just then. He would not take no for an answer. The first time I lowered myself to kneeling before his desk and took him in my mouth my hands were shaking and I teared up and had to sniffle snot back up. I was the one who was embarrassed! It was like an out of body experience and my mouth dried up to where I had to ask him to drink some of his energy drink. Internally there was a huge change immediately. I was gutted of all pride and self-worth. I was like a zombie. Hardly eating. Lots of coffee. Showing up and doing the reports that had become my responsibility and mechanically giving XX his daily BJ in the afternoon in his small stale office with a small window. I started to have migraines during that summer. I drove home for 4th of July and got so inebriated I ended up sleeping with my much older sister’s ex-husband in the back of his truck. That was a terrible wake up call. I knew I couldn’t pretend much longer without a breakdown so I put my two week in at the rental car place where I was working for free. To secure my future I made sure to keep it all friendly and “you know I’ll be back working here next year”. The idea of all the time and humiliation I had put in being lost to nothing was a major fear. I put myself through two last weeks of it. I had quickie sex with XX twice on and over his desk. I gave into extreme pressure and gave male Y a BJ too when he explicitly made it about a letter of recommendation. He knew about me doing it for XX. He did not even have his own office and we had to use the stairwell. During my final year of school I became aware that I was too traumatized to ever go back there anyway. The extent to which I had been used and abused became obvious to me, where before it had not. As if I had been living in a denial haze. It was a painful time. I was a bit reckless. I got a C in the high level economics elective I took. I said yes to several dates to avoid being alone and either slept with them or freaked out in anger at them. Seeing that I needed the car rental faux-internship on my resume I did email both abusers for letters of recommendation and got a good one from Male Y, but a very impersonal, generic one from XX. I was so dejected and angry. Finally, I told my sister, the one who confronted me about her ex-husband. I TOLD HER EVERYTHING AND THAT WAS MY FIRST STEP TO RECOVERY. To letting out the pain, screaming at myself in the mirror, punching the heavy bag at a boxing gym I joined, and to seeing my first psychologist and psychiatrist. The therapy helped more than the Celexa and antipsych. The support group helped even more. I met two friends for life who have my back in times of sorrow. I have to repeat that it is not my fault that I was abused, even though it kind of was. Don’t let it happen to you! They will take as much as they can from you. Plan your boundaries now and be assertive! Report harassment immediately. Doing so you are being a hero and protecting other women and yourself. If you have already been abused, GET OUT of the situation and talk to someone about it ASAP. There is nothing to be gained by letting the abuse continue! Talking to someone makes it real and lets you start the process of hating less and starting on the path to learning to love yourself again. You deserve real love.

At the end of my freshman year of college, I was at a house party. Towards the end of the night, after I had already been drinking, I said I wanted to go smoke and a guy who had been interested in me asked if he could come with me. We were friends at the time so I agreed. We went to the area in the back, which was an enclosed greenhouse-type porch and no one was back there. After we finished smoking, he leaned in and kissed me. I was shocked but went along with it at first. He proceeded to kiss me more intensely and started to touch me. Feeling uncomfortable, I stopped and told him I wanted to go inside. I sat at a table inside and he was next to me. I started feeling the high from smoking as I was having a conversation with my friends who were right across from me. Suddenly I felt his hand move up my thigh and he proceeded to rub me over my shorts. I was in frozen in shock thinking, "what the fuck is happening right now? This is really weird and i'm not enjoying this. Am I too high to do something right now? There are so many people around me. and no one knows what is happening. What is going on?" After a what felt like forever I felt him try to go in my shorts and that's when I snapped out of it and just looked at him. I didn't know what to say, and I don't really remember what happened at this point. I was just. in shock. He said something to me, I probably said something back, and then he just walked away. The day after I cried and had breakdowns in the bathrooms of the student center. I was confused and conflicted with myself trying to process what had happened. I felt like it was my fault because I googled things like "what constitutes as sexual assault/harassment?" because I wasn't sure if what i had gone through had "counted." I thought that since it was only touching it wasn't a big deal. I thought that because I was under the influence it was my fault. That I shouldn't have been that fucked up. That I shouldn't have been leading him on and making him think that I was into him. That I should protect him because he was friends with so many of my friends. But at the end of it all, HE WAS IN THE WRONG. I WAS PUT IN A SITUATION WHERE I WAS UNCOMFORTABLE AND HE HAD VIOLATED ME IN A ROOM FULL OF PEOPLE. I'm here to say that no matter the action, no matter how small, if you were violated your feelings are VALID. If you did not give consent and you felt uncomfortable, it IS ASSAULT. It is still your story. YOUR trauma that you have to live with. Do not brush it off or belittle it because you don't feel like it's worthy of being labeled. You are worthy. You deserve to be heard.

I feel so alone because not all my family members know my father did it and the ones that do tell me to let it go keep it cordial and move on to keep the peace. I have always felt alone bc for a long time nobody knew it happened but then I found out it happened to my younger sister. when it happened to my younger sister my mother didnt believe her which is why i dont want to bother telling her. years ago it happened to my older sister from my dads brother. it makes me so angry and resentful that they want to keep it a secret I just want the truth out there and to be free of that but my mom recently found out I like women too and she shamed me for it. I feel so angry and disappointed. I feel bad for wanting to cut off all of them but it feels like the best for me because I feel so trapped. I feel I will never escape this, it feels impossible. It makes me so angry and sad this is the life I have lived and has such a chain on me. I dont have the money to move out quite yet but it seems I will have to.

The first time I was raped, I did not know it. Blaring music and spilled drinks, you were there Persistent, like a dog. Nagging, Nagging, Nagging. Hands running down my thighs, the phrase “babe it’ll make me feel better.” Your words clanging in my head, pounding like hammers against my ears One phrase slips out of my mouth, “fine just stop asking.” Waking up on the bathroom floor, aching from head to toe Before you take me home, you buy plan b. You had taken the condom off. I cry. My virginity stolen from me, that was my definition of love. The second, oh god the second time. My life plummets. Alcohol burning down my throat, stumbling, falling to the floor, You offer me your bed. Drifting off in a drunken haze, the hands are back But they belong to a friend. Suddenly his hands are choking, digging into my skin, bruising The word “STOP” falls on deaf ears. The tears start spilling down my face when I realize I cannot fight anymore and I go limp. Blood between my legs, oh god it hurt. Oh God, Oh God, why me? Why him? The third time, yes there was a third time. Another friend. Another familiar face. More lights, more pain, too drunk to move, I leave quietly the next morning. I always leave quietly. A thought that will not leave, “I am the common denominator” “I am the problem” Rumors spread like wildfire, each one a knife to the heart, a burning in my stomach. My name in everyone's mouths, I am drowning, my voice gone, stolen. No, ripped from my throat, brutally. My story is not my own. My body is not my own. It is filled with the bile and rot and filth of these men, these men who violated my body like I was not a being with a soul, with emotion and a heart beating like their own, but an object. Women are not made to be abused, to be a scratching post for horny, lonely men who cannot control their hands or their dicks. Survivors have to carry the burden. I carry the burden of my rape. The trauma, the shame, the grief, the horror, the anger, the guilt. But to the men who raped me, I give it to you. It is not my shame, it is yours, it is not my guilt, it is yours, it is not my fault, it is yours. And I am free.

I am a survivor of almost 6 months of continued (almost daily) traumatic sexual violation when just 12 years old, in 1969. My mother had left our family of 4 boys, ages 1 year through 12 years old (I was 9-10), and my father did the best he could, to keep us siblings together. The Catholic school I attended directed my dad to a man that was supposed to help with my "care". He lived very near the school, in a relatively nice house, with his wife, and two daughters. With a job at his bakery, and a much more "stable" environment than what was occuring at our house, this seemed a good opportunity for me But it came with a huge, hidden cost. This perpetrator was a classic, serial pederast, very devious and skilled in his predation(s). I was a manipulated, dominated, and controlled conquest for a very sick being. When I, finally, could endure no more, I sabotaged the situation, to bring it to an end. I was unable to say anything about this horror ( "Who would believe me?", "Why'd you let that happen ?", "Were you asking for it ?") for about another 15 years (1984, or so). Even with that, nothing really changed, or was done about this dangerous pederast/pedophile ... My young soul, spirit, and physical being had been crushed, and I was left to pick up the pieces, as best I could, all by myself. It is a "real wonder" that I survived this time, to be sure. And all of the years that have followed. This monster went on to violate many more adolescent boys, and teens, after me. I think that I was his second "victim" (I hate that word), and he continued for 33 years, right up until his death (I found out later). I have not been able to fully resolve this (I've really tried, a lot), and it haunts me to this day. And probably will 'til I leave the earth. I have given it to God, but it keeps coming back. I'll end this here; I hurt too much recounting it all. God Bless All who've survived this egregious trauma, and Rest the Souls who could not endure, and/or cope, with the evil that beset and overwhelmed them ...

Many years ago When I was 18 my friend and I met some guys while being out. They invited us to their house and we were naive enough to go with them. They got us very drunk and I didn’t even know where the house was, I didn’t know this part of my city. I reached the point where I was very drunk and a guy pushed me into a room and against a wall and kissed me. He undressed me and we had sex. I did not understand what has happening. It was my first time ever. After we were done I felt dirty and I didn’t know what to do so I just ran out of the house and just kept running away. I called my friend and she left, she was too drunk to notice that I was gone for so long. I did not understand what happened, he told my friend that I consented so I must have. I never spoke about it, it was shameful. I didn’t even remember his name or how he looks like. I just tried to forget it but sometimes I remembered it. I never understood. It was almost 10 years ago and a while ago a friend and I were talking about our first time and how it usually sucks. I told her a little about it and she took my hand and told me that I was raped, I did not consent, I was too drunk to consent. Since then I haven’t spoken to anyone about it either. I do not know what to do ten years afterwards. Thinking about it now makes me want to cry, realising that this happened to me and I was told that I consented that I very clearly now know that I did not. I never talked to anyone about it but I rewatched Barbie today and somehow it got back into my head and I feel so sad and tired. I just had to tell my story. I hope everyone is doing well.

It is with great shame that I confess here. I was a passive enabler of abuse. I had been molested as a girl by an older boy in grade school and should have been less of a coward. I finally turned in my husband and ended his incestuous abuse of his own daughter. I deserve the tears I cry. I was a swing shift nurse and usually slept like a rock with my pill. That night I got out of bed after a few hours and wandered past the kitchen to the other side of the house where my stepdaughter room was. It sounded a little like crying, or laughing.  It was hard to tell what was happening at first though the cracked door on the other side of house. My stepdaughter's room. But soon I made out that my husband was kneeling and leaning forward over the bed with his head between his daughter's spread legs. The noises were panting and squeaking from him performing cunnilingus.  This quickly concluded and he took a position lying in bed and although her body was mostly blocked because she was on the other side of him from the door, It was evident that she was giving her dad fellatio. Her head was rising and falling and he had his hand on her head. She was only nine! I left  and went back to bed, wanting to forget what I had seen. Why not talk to him and stop it right away? I should have. But my husband had lost his wife only a few years before, and my step daughter had lost her mother.  The woman had been paralyzed below the waist and had severe back pain.  She took her own life two months after the injury, days after being discharged home from the hospital. There was a lot between them because of their loss that I could never be a part of. The idea that sexual contact was a means of grieving did not sit well with me but I did not want to make waves.  It seemed voluntary on her part. I loved my husband. It had taken a long time to find him after much hoping and dating and heartache and searching. So maybe I was selfish for wanting to keep my husband. I did not know if it happened very often. I turned a blind eye..   For at least a year and a half I did not get out of bed if I woke up in the middle of sleep time. Then on a Friday night, after I had worked a night shift and stayed up to run errands during the day, then attended my stepdaughter's dance recital where she performed ballet, jazz, and hip hop with her troop, I crashed. But I got up, restless. This time the door to her bedroom was closed and probably locked, lights on from below.  The sounds of my stepdaughter in the throes were loud enough that I went out the back door and around to the window, and stood up on the central air unit to see through the large gap in the curtains.  I had a direct view of my esteemed husband, who is quite good to me, up on his knees on the bed, pumping back and forth. His daughter was bent over in front of him with her bare posterior in the air, down on her elbows.  I could see him moving in and out of her and shaking her whole body with his thrusts.  I felt sudden anger.   I regret that my anger was not about what it should have been about. My anger was jealous anger.  Thoughts of my thirty-four year old body and how it could not compete with the firm adolescent body I saw before me, and that we had watched this beautiful curve-developing girl while holding hands with my husband as she danced in different outfits. I was a little jealous then, not even knowing that he was thinking of her, that way. I kept watching him sex her, unable to consider looking away. He slowed his thrusts and collapsed on the other side of her. I saw her shiny body collapse too. Her breath was so deep and fast. They took a couple minutes to recover and I got more upset when I thought my husband was going to fall asleep with HER. But he got up, talking. He dressed and walked around the bed. She got up, seemingly at his command and they hugged, standing up. He smiled at her and turned toward the door. Only then was the spell broken and I hurried back to the door and went in. He was already showering. I never said anything and let it fade, pretending I did not think about it often. I was more passionate and adventurous with my husband, and colder with my stepdaughter.      A couple years later when I found her crying in her room one day while my husband was out of town, I went in to comfort her. It got around to me mentioning her sexual relationship with her father in an accusatory way. She broke down even farther and told me about how she asked him to stop when she started 8th grade. She had become aware how “crazy” it was and begged him to stop if he loved her. He told her he couldn’t stop because he loved her. Something snapped inside me and I helped her fall asleep and then drove to the police station. I turned myself in and my husband. It was very messy and my life has been since. But I don’t regret it. I only regret waiting five years to end a marriage that I should have ended after five months. I deserve all the tears.

*THIS IS MY FIRST TIME TELLING ANYONE MY STORY** I had just turned 13 and had my first crush, a boy 2 years older than me, we'll call Name cause well that's his name. His Cousin had invited me to a"house party" only when I showed up it was just me, him and his cousin. When I got there they were both waiting for me in the entry way, my first thought was wow they're excited to see me, cool. Then I felt someone grab me by the back of my head by my ponytail. Then my pullover jacket I had just got for Christmas was pulled over my head, and I felt a sharp cold knife against my throat. I was forced into a bedroom With only one of them Wich I couldn't see because my jacket was still over my head, but I could tell by the voice it was Name I remember hearing the clips on my farmer jeans being messed with, but he couldn't be bothered to figure it out so he pulled them down over my shoulders and eventually down to my feet. My coat had moved down a little so I could see his hand flat on the bed with the knife underneath it, mind you this was my first time having any kind of sexual experience at this point I had never even kissed a boy, all I could think of was if I grab this knife I can stab him and run but that would have been impossible considering my farmer jeans were still around my ankles and I was in so much pain and bleeding everywhere. I froze, I left my body, I let him do what he planned on doing from the start, I felt so stupid, so naive and so VIOLATED. I walked from this "house party" rape plan 7 blocks crying hysterically as blood dripped down my legs, Wich I didn't even notice, I was so young I didn't know what happened your"first time". I'm 40 now and I'm finally coming forward because it's been eating me alive for years. And PTSD is real. This scumbag not only took what I was saving for my future husband, he took my pride, my self esteem, my trust and my ability to open up sexually to the love of my life. If I didn't have my husband I'd probably be in a psych ward somewhere, I know I didn't deserve or ask for this, but it still affects me daily, I stay far away from where it happened, I'm always looking over my shoulder, I'm sick of living in fear since he was released from prison for other things..... He actually had the nerve to request me on Facebook! That's when the flash backs started.... I thought I had this tucked away, hidden deep down in the depths of my soul, never to be spoken about EVER. All I want to do is tell my husband, but I feel like I've been lying by omission, I want to tell him so bad, I just can't bring myself to tell him without breaking down completely or hurting him somehow.....I love him so much, he is my safe place.

I can't remember all of it. I didn't remember it at all until a few years later, when it all came flooding back. I was back in my bedroom at my parents' house, I had woken up early and I saw the dim light of morning through my window blinds. Suddenly, it was like I was right back there. The only part that is still clear (and always has been) is how after, he asked me "Why did you try to push me off?" He never mentioned how I asked him to stop. I told him "Because I wanted you to stop." and he shrugged while walking to the shower. I didn't move from the bed. When it happened, I didn't understand consent. I was 16 and thought it couldn't be a crime because I initially consented, he was my boyfriend, he loved me, and more importantly, I loved him. It wasn't violent, so it was easy to tell myself that it was just a miscommunication. Again, he said he loved me, and I couldn't fathom how someone who loved another would willfully harm them. I dated him on and off for another year. I fell a part whenever we broke up. I needed him to love me so I could continue ignoring what I desperately wanted to deny. Whenever we'd had sex after (many of our "dates" were just him driving me to a dark street, having sex, and him bringing me home), I'd cry almost hysterically. I didn't understand why that happened, and he never asked if I was alright. He'd side-eye me from the driver's seat and I'd pretend to not notice his judgement. After I'd remembered it (2~ years after the fact), my mother watched a news story of a woman who had been assaulted and waited years to disclose. "She's obviously lying. Why bring it up now?" I felt stricken and bold, so I asked how she'd react if I was that woman. She said "You'd never wait that long to tell someone." I am now 20, and my mother still doesn't know. I don't think she ever will. I was deeply hurt when I heard this, but I've realized with time that this situation is extremely complex. So complex, that even those who've experienced it (& as a result, understand it more than most) still struggle to comprehend it. My mother's ignorant and cruel words are from her lack of experience with this topic, and that is a blessing. My memory is still hazy and will likely be forever, but regardless of how poorly detailed my memory is, I know I was raped & that what happened to me was wrong. I can see the consequences of it now. My rapist doesn't know he's a rapist and it's been far too long for me to be able to stand up for myself. No court will aid me, I cannot loose my anger on him (I couldn't contact him if I wanted to & I don't.), and I cannot tell those around me without blowing up my life. I have shockwaves on consequence, and he does not. Even still, I refuse to allow that pathetic man's actions harm me further. Progress is not linear and I am doing fine. I am struggling, but I am coping, I am surviving and soon, I may be thriving. My body is mine, and I say this with a renewed fierceness.

“You are not alone. It was not your fault. It is possible to heal. It is not too late.” As a survivor of trauma and abuse, I am learning to cope with strategies – such as denial, self-blame, an unconscious reenactment of unresolved traumatic experiences, and normalizing sexual exploitation. When I was hurt being sexually traumatized by my father, secrecy, shame, and self-worth boundaries did not matter. No one could be trusted, and the world was not safe. Emotions from my childhood were complex and confusing. There was no single method or pattern of remembering a traumatic experience. I went through my life trying to satisfy everyone, and always forgot myself, but God blessed me by helping me get through my adulthood trauma. With faith in the Lord, everything comes to light. Yes, good is the light that shines within ones-self, and that makes you attract and remember that any trauma can be overcome, as-long-as you remember that we can teach ourselves appropriately how to feel about ourselves. And, that we all deserve the best. Remember we are born to love, to express love, and feel happy about living. Remember, God has our back, and always remember, He sees all. Amen. I experienced that shame and defensiveness throughout my childhood and all through high school. I kept moving, and I kept attempting to ignore the fact that I had this massive entity inside me which I needed to get out of! Today there are many times I do not feel comfortable expressing my emotions and attempt to cope through self-destructive behavior which then impacts my life. I have finally shared my story publicly, and have started feeling some real, significant relief. I’ve expressed my emotions, and no one has reacted negatively. No one has judged me nor have they thoughtless of me. But now I think, “You know what? My family doesn’t know this about me.” I have been afraid to tell my family for so many years! And, finally, it is time. Here is what I want you to know: If you’ve experienced any kind of sexual abuse or trauma, you do not have to feel guilty! You can forgive yourself, and you can forgive others for their behavior. You no longer need be a prisoner of these experiences. Focus on what you have. That may be easier said than done. But, when you’ve lost something so important, you need to focus on what you have, and make the best of what you have, and do not fall into the trap of self-pity! One neat trick is to find at least one positive thought and focus all your energy on that premise! At first, it may feel too little, but once you maintain focus and all your energy on that one thought, you’ll find coping with the present setting a much more positive experience. Take small steps to make subtle shifts, “The journey of 1000 miles begins with a single step.” – Lao Tzu. Again, in dealing with trauma, healing will not happen quickly. You must remember to be patient and gentle with yourself while allowing the process to unfold. It is important not to be harsh with yourself. Indeed, you’ve already experienced enough. The good news is that there are very effective ways to cope with and treat the effects of trauma. I have found these actions quite helpful. *Lean on your loved ones. Identify friends or family members for support. If you feel ready to discuss the traumatic event, you might talk to them about your experience and your feelings. You can also ask loved ones to help you with household tasks or other obligations to relieve some of your daily stress. *Face your feelings. It’s normal to want to avoid thinking about a traumatic event. But not leaving the house, sleeping all the time, isolating yourself from loved ones, and using substances to escape reminders are not healthy ways to cope over time. Though avoidance is normal, too much of it can prolong your stress and keep you from healing. Gradually, try to ease back into a normal routine. Support from loved ones or a mental health professional can help quite a bit as you get back-in-the-groove. *Be patient. Remember that it’s normal to have a strong reaction to a distressing event. Take things one-day-at-a-time as you recover. As the days pass, your symptoms should start to gradually improve. One final thing: The Sexual Violence Survivor’s Bill of Rights: 1. No one has the right to abuse you or anyone else. 2. No one deserves to be assaulted or abused. 3. You have a right to stop the abuse that is happening to you or anyone else. 4. You have a right to pursue healing and justice for the abuse that has happened. 5. Sexual violence is wrong. The abuser is wrong. People who protect the abuser are wrong. YOU ARE NOT TO BLAME. 6. You did not destroy the family or betray their trust by speaking out about your abuse. The perpetrator destroyed the trust of the family every time he/she committed an act of abuse, Bible Quotes: Isaiah 41:10 "So do not fear, for I am with you, do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." 2 Corinthians 1:4 “Suffering in this life often feels meaningless. Scripture immediately brings a sense of purpose to our suffering. Those who have been comforted by God—strengthened, encouraged, relieved of the burden—have opportunity to pass along comfort to others who are suffering. In that sense, God's comfort is reproducible and repeatable. God remains the source, but believers can keep distributing God's comfort to others who suffer as they have.”

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.

This whole thing started on Date, when he added me on Snapchat. I saw that we had mutual friends, so I added him back. We talked that night for a couple of hours and he made some unwelcome comments that I can't remember the details of. I did make it clear to him that I did not want anything serious or "noncommittal" at the time. We talked for a couple more days and then I noticed he unadded me on all social media. Fast forward to a couple of weeks later, on Date 2, right before I left for State, he added me back on everything, so we started talking again. I had noticed even looking back on our conversations, that he was very cautious about the conversations we had online, but in person, things escalated and he had no problem saying exactly what he thought and wanted. I came to State a week early, so I offered to help him move in when he got here. On Date 3, I helped him move his things in. He had his uncle and a friend there helping as well. After helping him move in, his uncle said that he wanted to treat me to dinner, so they both took me out to dinner. The friend did not join us. While talking, [he] made a comment asking if I had seen the movie The Nun. I said that I had not, because I am not a huge fan of scary movies. His uncle proceeded to say, "Well, with scary movies, you just have to find a guy to cuddle up with. [he] is a good cuddler!" To which [he] laughed at that comment and I nervously laughed because I was uncomfortable. While we were out at dinner, [he] hugged me a couple of times and I didn't feel the most comfortable with that, but it was just a hug, so I didn't take that much notice of it. The next night I reached out to him just to check on how he was getting all moved in. He explained that it was going well and asked if we could hang out, to which I agreed. So, he came over to my apartment and we just sat and talked for a little bit. I do remember one unsettling comment he made though. It was this: - "It’s a good thing that I’m not your mentor because we’re talking." I've now come to understand that mentors and mentees are not supposed to have relationships, hence the intention of his comment. After that night, I didn't hang out with him in person until Wednesday, Date 4, but there was moderate communication between us at that point. I reached out to him that Wednesday because I just wanted to hang out, even though there were some red flags, I didn't think that any of them were too alarming, so I reached out. So on the Date 4, I got into his car and he drove me to the frozen yogurt place. After getting in the car, he reached out his hand for me to hold. Reluctantly, I held his hand because I froze and didn't know what to do at the moment. I wasn't aware that he thought it was a date until he framed it that way later. After frozen yogurt, we headed back to our apartment complex and he parked the car. We sat there for a minute and I looked at him and he started to kiss me. Things started to escalate quickly as he began making out with me and started to touch my boobs. I was startled by this, but I let this keep going because I didn't know what else to do. At one point, a car pulled up next to us and he said "The person that just pulled up next to us just got a show." I think that we were in the car for around 15 minutes, and then after that, we parted ways. That night he messaged me saying he had fun and wanted to hang out the next day, to which I said yes. At this point, I wasn't in the best mental state and I was very vulnerable, so it felt like someone genuinely just wanted to hang out with me and that made me feel good and appreciated. So, the next day, Thursday, Date 5, I walked over to his apartment. He opened the door and greeted me with a hug and a kiss. We walked over to the couch and sat down. He waited until I sat down, so he could sit as close as he possibly could. He put on a movie and then, he initiated a makeout session. At first, it was just making out, but it quickly escalated. I don't remember the course of how everything happened, but I do remember what happened. We would be making out and he would guide my hand to touch and leave on his penis. While that would be happening, he would be making comments like "I'm almost there, keep going" over and over. Meaning that he was getting aroused and close to cumming. Another comment he made was "Do you want to see it?" (meaning his penis) and when I said no, he would keep persisting and say "Well, I'm in the mood for it." Something else that happened was that he would bring his hand on my thigh and then slowly make his way to touching my vagina. He would start to finger my vagina and I just sat there paralyzed. Whenever I would stop touching his penis, he would quickly start to move my hand back on it and say "You should do it more." I didn't want to but I was scared of what would happen if I were to stop. He also made his way up to my boobs and was touching them and squeezing them (over the shirt) and then, he proceeded to look down my shirt. After he did that, he stuck his hands up my sweatshirt and shirt and continued to touch my boobs, but under the shirt. Sometime in the conversation, he asked questions like, "Do you want to try oral?" and "Do you want to try durfing?" Both of which I replied no to, but then he asked me when I would be comfortable doing that kind of stuff, and I replied I don't know. He replied with "This weekend? Next month?" and I ultimately just had to say, we'll see. Along with these comments, he asked me how far I would be willing to go and I replied with "I don't know" because obviously, I felt stuck in the situation. His reply to this was "I obviously don’t want to go as far as sex, because I don’t want to break covenants." This is important to note because he is an endowed member of the church that I am a part of. Through these conversations in between, we would still be making out and touching inappropriately, but then, he also wanted me to get on his lap both facing him and with my back to him. When I was on his lap facing the tv, he would proceed to thrust his hips forward as if he was trying to put his penis in my butt. (This all happened while clothed, he was just trying to go as far as he could while clothed.) He also wanted me to "move my butt around in circles" when I was on his lap facing the tv. When I was on his lap facing him, he tried to do things the other way around. He would get his penis as close to my vagina while clothed as he could. This whole time I just felt numb and trapped, I didn't know what to do. He even asked me the question, "Does doing this feel wrong to you? Because this doesn’t feel wrong to me." To which I said "Yes, this does feel wrong.", but he kept going. There was also a point where I was lying on top of him and we were cuddling and then he asked me to talk dirty to him, but I didn't because I used the excuse with him that I wasn't good at it, to which he said he would demonstrate it for me. What he said as a "demonstration" was, "I can’t wait to have sex with you." When he said that, I felt even more numb and stuck. So through all of it, he was asking all of these questions and touching me inappropriately and I was praying that he wouldn't go further. The movie finished and then we went our separate ways and didn't have contact until Sunday, Date 6. The conversation just started with a simple conversation of how we were and then he asked if I wanted to "hang out" sometime this week. To which I replied with, "Actually, I need to talk to you about that." and when I sent that, he unadded me and unfollowed me on all social media. I then noticed about 20 minutes later that he added me back on Snapchat and I confronted him about what he had done and said, "If you're going to unadd me because I don't feel comfortable giving you want you want, just unadd me." and then I proceeded to block him on everything so he could not contact me. It's only been a month and a half since this happened, and I am on my healing journey, but it is hard to constantly see his truck every single day. My university is working towards a punishment for him, but I can't help but think that he will not get a big punishment, even with all this evidence stacked against him. I just want you to know that if you were sexually assaulted or raped, that it is absolutely NOT your fault that it happened to you. You are not alone and you never will be. Seeking professional help has helped me to navigate this situation and I would recommend it to you if that is what you feel like you need to do. You are amazing and you are enough. You are not whatever situation happened. You are so strong, and you've got this. I believe in you and I love you.

I started dating him during college. I remember him catching my eye the day I met him, his laugh, his curiosity with the world and the way he smiled when we spoke. We got to know each other over hours of tea time, and we started dating at the end of my senior year of college. I was off to med school in a city 4 hours away, and we were determined to make long distance work. He was my first boyfriend, and after COVID had thinned out my experience of college, I was excited to have found my person. I was incredibly happy in the beginning of our relationship, getting to do things for the first time with a boyfriend and experiencing what it was like to be desired and loved romantically. The feelings were intoxicating. In my naivety of a first relationship, especially my first serious relationship at the age of 21, I failed to seriously question behaviors that I saw in my partner. Take it as a result from my limited exposure to healthy relationships in childhood or my fear of admitting to myself that something was wrong. The part that was most foreign to me as someone new to relationships was navigating my own relationship with sex. I enjoyed sex, especially with someone that I loved, and I was convinced of the idea that I needed to always be able to provide sexually for my partner since now, we were exclusive, and I was his girlfriend. I appreciated knowing that I was desired, and my partner enjoyed being intimate with me. This worked for a while, until I started to need to set boundaries and prioritize my need for sleep and being able to function well in the high pressure environment of medical school. This is a story of a night that happened too many times for me to count in my relationship, so often that I knew it was going to happen every time he came to visit. There would be nights when I needed to get to sleep early because I needed to get a good night of sleep before an exam, or be well rested for another day of clinicals at the hospital. It would be about 10:30 pm, I would get ready for bed, knowing that I’d get a decent 7 hours of sleep if I was in bed by 11. He would be working or winding down his work, I would remind him that I needed to get to sleep so I could get enough rest for my next day. His work was very time consuming and he worked late into the night often, so I never pushed him to go to bed when he had something to work on. The one thing I would remind him of however, was that I wanted to be asleep by 11. If you want to have some intimate time, please wrap up soon because I need to sleep. I would brush my teeth, get in bed and he would say that he was wrapping up. I would try my hardest to stay awake until 11, scrolling on Tik Tok, or Instagram, hoping the blue light would do its job. 10:55. He closes his laptop and heads to the bathroom. I try my best to stay awake. 11:05. 11:10. 11:15. 11:20. I hear a toilet flush and the shower turn on. I can’t fight my exhaustion anymore, maybe it’s the frustration, the stress from studying, or just the exhaustion of cooking, cleaning, packing lunches and breakfast and making dinner for two whiles being a medical student. I fall asleep. 11:45. I’m woken up by him sliding into bed and I turn to curl up on his chest. He pulls me in to a cuddle , stokes my back and kisses my head. “Maybe do you want to do some sexy time?” He asks me. This is a question I know all too well in this exact situation that has played our too many times to count in our relationship. I respond the way I always do, convincing myself that this time, I’m going to stand my ground. “Baby it’s really late and I told you I needed to sleep, I don’t want to have sex, I’m really tired” “That’s okay! Then maybe we can do things other than sex?” The dance between us has started, and I know I really need to sleep but that he is going to get quiet and distant for the next day if I keep refusing. I tell myself that I need to prioritize my sleep right now, and he will get over not having sex for a night. It puzzles me that he thinks that giving him a blow job is any less exhausting than having sex and somehow is still okay to ask for when I told him I was really tired and needed to sleep. “Baby please I’m really tired, I don’t have the energy to blow you” “That’s fine, we can do it in the morning then” I hate making commitments that I can’t keep and I hate when anyone does the same to me. My response is a reflection of that, and in hindsight, not the best decision to getting this dance over with. “I have to be up at 6 I’m not getting up any earlier than that and I don’t think you will be waking up that early either” He goes quiet for a moment. “Maybe we can do some kissy?” I understand that his love language is physical touch and at this point, the guilt overwhelms me. The boy that I love has traveled hours to come see me and spend time with me, and here I am trying to sleep instead of making him feel loved. I know the logic is skewed, but I always wanted him to feel loved and know how much I loved him. If I could just kiss him a little bit, subtract some of my sleep, then that’s okay. This boy loved me and I loved him, I can spend a bit of time kissing him and reminding him that I found him attractive and desirable as well. I would lift my chin and kiss him, gently, softly, as passionately as I could for someone half asleep. I would try to meet his level of intensity, the sleep and exhaustion weighing on my eyelids. Eventually the exhaustion would catch up to me and I would stop moving my mouth as much. “Baby! I’m trying to kiss you but you’re not seeming very into it!” He says. “I’m sorry handsome I’m just so tired, I love you” He lets out a sigh and reaches for my hand that is laying on his chest. He takes my hand and places It right where he wants it. He’s hard. The feeling of dread washes over me. I love this boy, I do, and I’m flattered that he desires me. But I am just so sleepy and exhausted right now. He moves my hand against himself. He uses his other hand and reaches for my waistband. He slides his hands inside and touches me. “I think someone wants me” he says. Of course I find him attractive. I’m just so tired right now and I don’t want to do anything but sleep. He kisses me more passionately. Touches me more aggressively. Makes me touch him more aggressively. The exhaustion has won over my determination to not let this happen again. “Please I’m really tired” My plea goes unanswered as he takes off my bottoms and his own. I know at this point, it is easier and faster to get this over with than to keep trying to fight for myself and refuse his advances. Any time I had refused his sexual advances in the past I’d be met with cruelty. I would beg him to say something while I profusely apologized, and he would keep silent. If it was in the morning, I would explain that I was in pain and would ask to figure out our days together. He would refuse to partake, roll his eyes and would go back to sleep. He would get out of bed after 10am, ensuring that I wouldn’t be able to of any of the things that I wanted to do with him that morning. Once he wore me down and I gave him reluctant consent when I was in pain, asking him to be gentle. The pain was severe as soon as he entered me, and I cried out. I profusely apologized but he stayed silent, even as I begged him to say something. I didn’t realize that this was stonewalling and emotional abuse. Come to think of it, I could never have a period in peace when I was with him. If I lied in bed moaning in pain, he would sometimes comfort me a little. But every single time it would end in him making the same joke, even after I had expressed numerous times how much it bothered me. “You know what would make your cramps feel a lot better?” He meant sex. He always meant sex. Even when I explained to him what excruciating pain I was experiencing, he wanted sex. Even after I explained to him that it bothered me that he kept making that same joke, explained how it made me feel like he didn’t understand the amount of pain I was in. He just wanted sex. It never mattered if I was in pain. He laughed when I cried about how upset that joke made me. My naïve heart was convinced that laughter was innocent. Most of those times he wouldn't relent until we had sex, or I pleasured him in some other way. 12:10. He reaches for a condom, and before I know it, we’re having sex. I’m doing anything I possibly can to get this over with as quickly as possible. Move the way he wants me to touch him the way he wants me to. All the while thinking to myself, “please just finish I’m so tired and need to sleep”. 12:30. He’s done. I try to hold back my tears as I head to the bathroom. How did I let this happen again? I talked to him about this again just last week. I told him I need him to respect my bedtime didn’t I? I asked him to please not push it when I say I don’t want to have sex. I asked him to please not reach for my hand and make me touch you. He verbalized understanding, said that he only wanted to have sex if I did. What was I doing wrong that this kept happening even after I talked to him about it? I go back to bed, he’s curled up facing away from me, starting to fall asleep. I know he likes to have sex before bed to help him fall asleep, it helps him work out the “zoomies before bed” as he calls them. I lay next to him and the tears start silently falling down my cheeks. Is this what being an exclusive partner is supposed to be like? Am I rarely going to be able to sleep when I want to because I need to be there for him to have sex with before bed, the way he likes? Are my pleas to be left alone always going to get ignored? If we live together, get married, is this what the rest of my life is going to be like? One thought sinks to the pit of my stomach. Is this assault? 12:45. I finally get the chance to sleep undisturbed. My hope for 7 hours of sleep has dwindled down to 5. I guess I’ll just be groggy and exhausted working at the hospital again. This was my boyfriend, the boy I have been with for years. He says he loves me. I love him. He cares about me, buys me groceries, buys me birthday presents. He goes to dinner and comes to visit me while I’m at school. He helps fix my car and my devices. We brush our teeth together most nights before bed. He’s my best friend. Some of my friends say we look cute together and have funny banter. Could a person like that assault me? I certainly didn’t say yes. I said no at the beginning and said that I did not want to have sex, but I’m not sure I said no or asked him to stop when he grabbed a condom. I was too tired to put up a fight, I just wanted to get it over with. This wasn’t the first time. It happened just about every month he came to visit me. I tried to talk to him about it often, he called it bickering and said that he liked sex before bed and first thing in the morning and it was hard for him to wrap up work earlier so things wouldn’t happen so late. He shut down when I brought up the topic and said that this was his love language and it made him feel loved. I wanted him to feel loved, just not at the expense of my lack of sleep. I initiated sex often to make him feel loved, and at a time that would be conducive to my need for sleep. But no matter how many times we had sex before I was winding down my night, he always wanted sex when he went to bed because it helped him get to sleep easier. We talked about making time for sex, planning. He agreed when we spoke about it, but the action never happened. What was I left with? No matter what we spoke about, the same thing happened. I spoke to someone close to him about my distress because I wanted to understand anything I could to help reframe my feelings, and hopefully understand him better and feel less hurt. “He’s a 23 year old boy who sees his girlfriend once a month, what do you expect? You’re being irrational” “Maybe you shouldn’t sleep in the same bed then” “If you can’t meet his needs then you need to talk to him about it” “So what if he cheats on you, it’s just sex he’s still choosing to be with you right?” Was I the girl that was depriving him of happiness? I wasn’t giving him the kind of sex he wanted at the hour he wanted? I didn’t think he was a malicious person. The kindest explanation that I could come up with was that his brain shut down when he was in the mood, and he had a hard time thinking about much else other than his desire for sex. His frontal lobe forgot to consider that maybe his actions were hurting me, and he saw convincing me as a challenge. After all, I was his girlfriend and we should be intimate together, and there were many times when I enjoyed it. All he could think about in the moment was just working out his zoomies to help him get to sleep. However, there is a reason why were are humans, not bunnies – we have advanced cognitive reasoning and I don’t think idiocy is an excuse. He loved me, right? Why would he want to hurt me? These thoughts are why I stayed as long as I did. He didn’t mean to hurt me, he just was young and dumb and was working on developing his emotional intelligence. I was convinced that it would grow with time and the more we spoke about it, little by little he would understand. But he didn’t. Was I just being impatient? Long story short, things in our relationship feel apart when things surfaced about how angry he was about the times I refused sex when I was tired, and his desires to be with someone who was more sexually exciting than me, someone with bigger breasts and fuller curves like the porn he looked at multiple times a day. The feelings and questions from all the times that I was pressured into sex surfaced. I felt that these feelings and situations when I felt pressured were the reason why I was so guarded with him sexually and didn’t always feel comfortable and I wanted to work through it with him so I could be more sexually exciting for him. I talked to him about these situations. “I think that was a form of assault. I was pressured into sex when I didn’t want to and it made me uncomfortable” “I never meant to be assaulting you, I’m sorry you felt like that. I can see how you took as that though” He wanted to see if moving in together would fix things for us. The thought of spending every night like this terrified me. “We can have two different bedrooms so that doesn’t happen” he offered. Why couldn’t he just respect my boundaries? I wanted to be able to cuddle in bed with my partner at the end of a long day and feel comfort without the worry that I had to provide sexually when I was exhausted. “I’d appreciate being able to talk through this with you because I have felt violated in this relationship and I’m in a pretty bad place” I told him I was done when he yelled at me over the phone. He was going to look into couples counseling. He said he was doing some deep introspection about his feelings. He sent me a letter saying he didn’t want to be with me a few days later because I was bickering and upset with him. “This is just too much, and I don’t have the time to deal with this and work through these things with you. My work is an extension of me, my priority, and I need to focus on that...I don’t want you to come away from this feeling like you were abused for 3 years” The boy who said he loved me unconditionally had found his condition. His points were valid, everyone has a right to their own priorities. However, it struck me that after 3 years together, he still didn’t respect me or care about me enough to take responsibility and help me talk through the trauma that I had undergone in our relationship. It is always hard to confront that we have hurt someone that we love, and I want to think that his avoidant tendencies put him in fight or flight mode when he heard how much pain I was in. He must have thought it was easier to just run away, stop hurting me instead of confronting the hurt that he had caused me. I convinced myself of every excuse I could possibly make for him. At the end of the day, I was left with myself, healing from being violated throughout my relationship, screaming, crying, not knowing how to speak about what had happened to me. But here I am now, trying to learn how. Was this ignorance? A habitual miscommunication every month? Even that just sounded ridiculous, how can I speak to him about the same thing every month just for him to never hear it? Was I making too many excuses for him? Was I too much of a people pleaser, and was he looking to steam roll me to get what he wanted? Assault always felt like too strong of a word to describe this. Was there a smaller tier to describe being touched when I didn’t want to be and being nudged into sex when I did not want it? Is there a word to describe your partner of years habitually having sex with you when you did not say yes, and did not want to? ChatGPT says “the term for that is ‘coercive sex’ or ‘sexual coercion’ if there was pressure, guilt-tripping, or manipulation involved. If there was no consent at all, even if it was within a long-term relationship, it is legally and ethically considered rape or sexual assault, depending on jurisdiction.” I’ve never been able to call this rape, but I’m coming to understand that rape isn’t always violent and can be done by someone who is an intimate partner who was not physically abusive. He never hit me or got violent with me. But this, whatever it was, came with emotional abuse and still sucked. I felt very disrespected and violated. One thing that I am sure of (unfortunately) is that I am not alone in this experience. I appreciate you for reading this story, whether you can relate or not.

I need to share my story on the news. I am finally ready!