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This year I managed to talk out loud for the first time about what happened to me as a "something", I always knew it but I kept it in the back of my head without giving it much thought because I knew if I did it was going to hurt, something in me knew it was wrong. When I was about 5/6 years old I had a friend a year or two older than me, I don't know how or when it started or why I "agreed", no matter how hard I try to remember I can't. This girl touched me and I touched her etc, I don't remember resisting or refusing and that makes it worse, I even think I liked it. Since then and as I grew older (similar situations happened to me at the hands of other girls) I began to feel shame and regret, in some ways it makes me feel dirty, as if I had never had innocence. Now I have a complicated relationship with sexuality, it hurts and makes me uncomfortable, I also can't feel good about myself, I feel like I'm guilty of this.

I'm 21 years old, a woman who thought she'd found the love of her life after longing for love throughout her teenage years. However, it was the complete opposite. If I had known what it would be like to be with this person I thought was the "man of my dreams," I truly would have wished to be alone forever. I met him when I was about 17, and since then, when he was 18, we've been together. We're approaching four years in a relationship, but I seriously need advice on how to get away. We happen to be studying the same major at the same university, and although I'm a little further ahead this semester, we'll be close again. That's why I don't know how to end the relationship, since seeing him every day is going to be very difficult. To give some context as to why I want to end the relationship, I've been suffering psychological abuse since we started, even as friends. At first, I didn't recognize it; I just thought he was a bit different, one of those guys they sell you as a bad boy, and I swore he would change with time, but that hasn't been the case. I had to endure him following many adult film actresses and liking their posts. He also had a history with prostitutes before me, which made me incredibly insecure. Because of this devastating loss of self-esteem, I started self-harming. When he found out, it was the first time he hit me. At first, he claimed it was an accident, but he made me beg him to stop while he stepped on my hands. So many things happened that I don't think I can recount them all, but I know that in the last year of our relationship, everything worsened in terms of physical violence. He started spitting on me, punching me in the head, pulling my hair, slapping me, and leaving me with bruises all over my body. A month ago, I even had to fake a car accident—an idea he came up with. I've been thinking about leaving him for about three months now, but the anxiety and the inability to tell anyone because he's isolated me from my friends is overwhelming. I don't know what else to do. Yesterday, he strangled me, and I lost consciousness for a few seconds. It was so painful, thinking I might have died. I couldn't feel my body; I felt like I was going to collapse, and all he did was keep hitting me even when I begged him to get help because I didn't understand what was happening. All of this happened because I told him I didn't have money to buy food. I can't even spend my own money because I have to give it all to him, otherwise he punishes me by ignoring me and manipulating me by threatening to tell my parents that I've even taken money from them for things I shouldn't have, but it's all for him. I don't love him anymore. I think I'm just on autopilot, but I'm terrified, and I don't have anyone who can be there for me. So I have to endure it for a few more months until I don't have to see him anymore, but what happened yesterday terrifies me that he might end my life. Please, if you read this, tell me what I can do. I want to get out of this before he completely takes over my life.

When I was eight years old, I used to go play at the house of a friend who was the same age. I don't remember how it started; I know it happened, but my memories are hazy. I remember her undressing me and touching me, and her making me do the same to her, while a Jesus Christ figure hanging on the wall watched me. I don't remember that house, or how many times it happened. I wish I had told my mom, but I was too scared. I think children often go through things that are too much for them. Feeling scared all the time isn't normal. I hope no one ever goes through the same fear of the world growing up that I did.

My story is a bit long. When I was 15 or 16, I was reminded of things that had happened when I was between 4 and 5. Two uncles abused me. My memories of this have never been clear, and now, many years later, everything has become more distant and confusing, and I've doubted myself and my story several times. There are other things that happened in my childhood that I do remember more clearly: when I was between 7 and 8, I saw my parents having sex next to me (that night I had slept with them in their bed). Some time later, the same thing happened again, but with my stepfather and my mother. Also, when I was between 7 and 8, I was looking through some CDs in the DVD library at home, trying to label them by genre or movie. One of the CDs was a pornographic film. As usual, I was alone at home, so I watched the whole thing. I don't remember if I masturbated. I know that from a very young age I rubbed myself with stuffed animals, dolls, and other objects, although without much awareness of what I was doing, but the fear of being seen was present. There's something that haunts me right now: when I was 6 or 7 years old, my cousin (a year older) and I played around imitating some positions from a Kama Sutra book she had at home. I also have faint memories of once, while we were bathing, rubbing our private parts together. I don't know if this happened out of mutual curiosity and because of the content of the book we'd been exposed to, or if I was the one who created the situation and persuaded her to do it, or if I manipulated her. I don't remember it happening, but I'm afraid it did. What if I imitated what my uncles did to me or what I saw in the content I was exposed to? I feel fear, guilt, and shame. Also, half a year ago, I remembered that when I was 10 years old and I carried my little sister (who was about a month old) on my lap, I felt a pleasurable stimulus in my intimate area from the contact. When this image came back to me (it wasn't clear either, like my other memories), I felt guilty, but it didn't escalate because I understood it was a physical reaction and nothing more. But then I couldn't stop thinking about it and I wondered if I had prolonged or intensified the contact, and I felt so much guilt, disgust, and shame. It was so strong that I had an episode of OCD, and I feel like I still haven't been able to get out of it, because now I'm flooded with doubts about what happened with my cousin.

When I was between 4 and 5 years old, I was sexually abused by two uncles (10 to 12 years older than me). These memories remained hidden for about 10 years. Now, many years have passed since I first remembered what had happened, and everything feels distant and confusing (I've never really had clear memories of what happened, and this has made me doubt myself and my story a lot). I think they taught me how to touch myself. I also had a childhood heavily exposed to sexual content: I have memories of my parents having sex in the same bed (I had started sleeping with them), and also later, around 8 years old, the same thing happened with my mom and stepfather (they had sex next to me). Once, when I was 8, I put on a CD and it was a porn movie; there was also a TV channel that showed porn. When I was 5 or 6, I would rub my cousin (a year older than me) and my private parts together. I don't have clear memories of this either. Now I'm afraid that I was the one who persuaded my cousin to do it. I also remember that there was a Kama Sutra book at her house, and I think we sometimes played at imitating what we saw in it. I'm afraid that I was the one who provoked everything, that I imitated what my uncles did to me. I'm afraid of being like them.

Daring Greatly I sit staring out into the vastness of the ocean. The waves look particularly angry today as they crash aggressively onto the rocks along the shore. Even here, on this tiny island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, the water seems to mirror how I feel internally. On this particular day, I’m wondering if I’ll ever feel like my life hasn’t been defined by that night. The night that everything changed. My life is split into the before and the after. I’ve always felt connected to the sea. It has been my safe place. The place I go when my thoughts feel overwhelming and all consuming. That night could only be described as a tsunami-like tidal wave that changed everything. It changed me and it left me broken. Broken but not irreparably so. The ebb and flow of grief has stayed with me since that night. I have grieved the person I was and the many versions of the life I never got to lead because of that night. Because of them. Because of you. The relationships lost, the paths not taken, the doors that were left unopened as I found my footing on this new path. Even now, there are days where I feel unsure about this path I’m on. As a naturally stubborn individual, being forced onto this path goes against absolutely everything that feels normal to me. Most of the time, I feel like I live in a dual existence of sorts. Pretending to be happy around those who have no idea on the days where it feels like I’m drowning. Keeping my walls up around me like armour, so that only a select few know the extent of how that night has infiltrated every crevice of my being; how it still lives in my head every single day. If something is broken, my natural instinct is to try, in whatever way I can, to fix it. This has been no different. The very first time I learned about trauma and how it has the ability to change your brain, I wanted to know everything. Learn everything. Educate myself; in my never ending quest to fix this. To fix me. Suddenly my world made sense again. The shame I felt. The darkness. An incredible woman I have been lucky enough to work with on this journey once told me that the cure for trauma is connection. It brings the shame out into the light. That changed me in ways she’ll never fully know. It allowed me to realise this is not my fault. I am not to blame. It’s ok to let some people in. Although fear has kept that circle small, I have let them in. I have let them see me on my very worst days. I have let them see me broken and let down by the justice system. I have let them see me drowning in grief instead of pretending. I have let them see all of me. I am not perfect. I act out and self-isolate and from time to time attempt to self-destruct. I am angry. I am grieving and some days I’m really sad. But I am healing. I have survived every single day I didn’t think I would when the shame and darkness felt all consuming. I am strong. I am resilient. I am a survivor. I am eternally grateful for my circle who allows me to be my sad but strong, grieving but resilient, still slightly broken self. For those who give me the time and space to bring the trauma out into the light. Every time you allow me that grace, you help a part of me to heal a little more. This journey is the loneliest, most isolating one I have ever taken. One none of us ever choose to take yet we find ourselves here. Learning to walk on a path we didn’t choose. I have often wondered if there will ever be a day when that night is no longer something I think of every single day. There are days I still feel lost. But I have learned that healing isn’t about finding a way back to the person I was before. She doesn’t exist anymore. And maybe that’s okay. Because I am becoming someone else. Someone who can carry grief without letting it carry her. Someone who can be angry but still gentle. Someone who can be broken yet still whole. I didn’t choose this road. I never would have. But I am here. Daring Greatly. And I am going to be okay.

I had my first real “boyfriend” when I was 14, he was 17. We dated for a total of 2 weeks and he told me he loved me after 3 days. He was my first kiss. After a week, I walked with him to his house and sat on his bed. At first, he was down at my feet, rubbing and kissing them. Then he started coming on to me, kissing me and climbing on top of me. I don’t remember what was said. But I vividly remember laying on the bed, repeating the word “no” as he continued to pull down my pants. I was uncomfortable, frozen, in shock. I didn’t enjoy it, I just wanted it to be over with. He finished twice but the entire act lasted no more than 5 minutes. Afterwards, he smoked weed and played video games while I continued to lay in bed, frozen, ashamed. I told my dad to pick me and he did. For the last week of the relationship, his 17 year old ex girlfriend told him I was crying in the bathroom taking a pregnancy test, which was entirely false. She was apparently friends with this girl I hung out with in gym class who learned the whole experience from the ex and told me “you know he has a foot fetish right?” I became extremely uncomfortable learning what a fetish was for the first time and connecting the dots with his behavior. At the same time, he was texting another ex girlfriend who was also 14 or 15 years old and said she was threatening to report him to the police. I don’t remember what for, but I can assume it was a similar situation. He came over to my house when my parents weren’t home and we had sex again. Immediately afterwards he cried, broke up with me, and left. I told my friends at the time about the experience, and for the next 4 years they all repeatedly said it wasn’t rape. After that, I’ve only been brave enough to tell one other person, terrified that they wouldn’t take me seriously either. I never told an adult. To this day, I still think about what was taken from me. My innocence, my happiness, my freedom, the person I could’ve been was gone. I still feel ashamed even when I remind myself, it wasn’t my fault. I’ve achieved happiness through years of heartache, but I’m forever weighed down by the choices of someone who did know better.

I could never remember my childhood well, even as a kid. But I started to be hypersexual at 3, and so thats when I believe me and my brother started touching (hes 3 and a half years older). When I was 12 I remembered and told my parents, my mom freaked out and screamed at me. She said it was my fault and that it wasn't too bad if I didn't tell anyone. I fear thats she's right. When I was 14 and in deep psychosis, I felt like there was more to remember. I started to feel my brother's hands over my body and mouth. I remembered us having sex 3 times. The first time when I was 6 and the last when I was 8. One of those times he was hitting me and pinning me. I dont know how real those memories are because I recovered them in psychosis. I started doing really bad cus all I could think about was me and my brother fucking. A couple of months ago I remembered my brother fucking me with his hands around my neck (which was painful). Im so scared that really happened because I see my brother daily and hes my best friend. Im worried ill remember more.

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.

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.

• Brief biography (upbringing, etc.): While living at home, I suffered physical and mental abuse from my father, neglect from my mother (a continuation of the abuse from my maternal grandparents), violence from my older sister, and had to care for my younger sisters. On the other hand, from a young age, I enjoyed reading academic books, and I had a strong desire to receive higher education and contribute to society by making the most of the educational environment available to me, so I spent all my free time studying... However, at the age of 17, I reached my limit, and my physical and mental health deteriorated, resulting in eight chronic illnesses (taking 10 different medications), and I spent two years resting. (I also dropped out of high school ) Afterwards, because my funds were limited (I earned them myself), I took the entrance exam for a university that I could take while living in Prefecture Name , and I enrolled in University . Along with enrolling in university, Leaving my hometown , and while receiving treatment for my chronic illnesses, I energetically engaged in volunteer work and activities with NPO organizations (NPO organizations for people with Down syndrome).

Hi, when I was 8 my older brother, who was 5 years older than me, asked me to take my pants off and show him my private parts, I was confused, we were super close, people even used to call us twins, although we weren’t. For some reason, despite how strange it was and how confused I was, it didn’t occur to me that I could say no, so I didn’t. He thanked me and asked me if I wanted to see his parts, I did not, and I said no thank you. After that, he left, and I thought, I did what he asked, he thanked me, so I did a good thing and it’s over? Both of those assumptions were wrong. The next day, he came into the bathroom while I was showering. There was no soap in the shower, and I needed some. For whatever reason, my mom thought it was a good idea to send my older brother in to give it to me. And he gave it to me, but then he opened the curtain and looked at my bare body, called me pretty, and touched me. Thanked me, then left. I don’t remember feeling flattered or happy, just numb, I’m not sure what I felt, I just went back to showering and never gave it thought. The third and final time something like this happened with my brother was when he pulled down my pants and touched and bit my butt, I don’t know if I laughed or just stayed silent, either way, I didn’t stop him. Honestly, I didn’t even know what to do. After that instance, he stopped, never mentioned it, never acknowledged it, and neither did I, it just ended. And then began a similar situation with my sister. Still, I think I was 8 or 9, regardless my older sister is two years older, so older but still young, still a kid. And when we were kids we played this game together, we’d make up characters and stories and act as each of the characters, one day, a character she made and was acting as in this game liked a character I made and was acting as, I didn’t expect it, to this day it’s wild but the only thing I can think to make sense of it is that she must’ve been influenced by movies she shouldn’t have seen or our older siblings, I’m not sure but she got on top of me and began straddling my body, that’s the best way I can think to describe it, she rocked back in forth on top of me and acted out a whole scene. I was still the first time it happened, I mean I was stunned, not necessarily scared, I don’t think it had quite hit me yet, but that was the beginning and unfortunately things escalated and went on long before the end was near. She did all sorts of things, all of which I never liked, wanted, or agreed to, not that I could at that age. She made me kiss her, touch her, she made me do oral things, and it got to a point where I dreaded night time because I knew I’d “have” to do those things for her, and sometimes I’d rush to the bathroom afterwards to spit and clean my mouth with water for 30 mins straight till I felt “clean” again, I’d just shut down afterwards, once I got mad at her and lashed out, saying I didn’t wanna play the “game” the particular night, that I was tried, but then she cried and asked what she did wrong, and why I hated her, something of the sort, because according to her I’d act strange afterwards, and I just lied and told her that it was cause our parents were fighting, that I was sorry. I think I just didn’t want to upset her, I really don’t think I ever stopped to think no was an option. This went on for a long time, and one day, it stopped, not without words though. The night it ended, we were playing the “game” and she stopped and just told me she didn’t think we should be doing what “we” were doing, that our siblings played their games but we didn’t have to , I don’t remember it all, but regardless of what she said, she called it quits and that was that. I was relieved, but also angry? Not cause I wanted to continue, but because it felt like she had randomly turned me into a toy for her pleasure, and then once she was done, once she realized it was wrong she just put me down and gave me a moral lesson, that’s how it felt, and I definitely couldn’t express it like that at age 8 but it did something to me. In both cases, I felt like a toy, picked up, put down, moved on from. Much like my brother, never acknowledged. Years later, in my teens, at age 14, it hit me. Like a wave, up in the middle of the night, sitting on my bed in the dark, across from my sister, I went back to those memories that while I had never forgotten about, I never acknowledged either. And I cried, probably the whole night? Just shaking, holding my hand over my mouth in horror. I know it may seem dramatic, but I wanted to puke, I think I almost did, I felt so so sick. And it dawned on me, that what happened was probably sexual assault. In the present, I can say with certainty it was COCSA, but I only concluded after research and a whole lot of confusion and pain. It still affects me to this day, I cannot share drinks, because when I have someone’s spit in my mouth, it reminds me of being forced to kiss my sister or do oral and I have a meltdown and cry and puke, and shove my fingers down my throat to gag and spit till my throat hurts and I feel like my mouth is clean. I hope this isn’t too crude or graphic, but I’m traumatized. When I think about it, I feel sick, and I have never told anyone in my family, worse part is I don’t think my sister or brother remember or care, and while part of me resents them, not only do I still love them dearly, but I also cannot hate or blame them, even if I don’t know if I should. Because they were kids too, I don’t know who to blame and sometimes I blame myself. I feel disgusting, I feel guilty, ashamed, and confused to this day. I don’t really know what to do with myself. If I tell someone, and they believe me, I’m worried I’ll ruin my whole family, and if I tell, and no one believes me, then I look like a gross creep. I was taught sexual assault was a child and an adult, or two adults, a girl and a boy, so imagine how I felt when what was done to me was done by two children, I was related to, loved, and trusted, one of which was a girl same as me. COCSA is talked about enough if at all, I didn’t even know it existed for so long, and so I wasn’t sure if what happened to me “counted” as anything. I hope sharing this can maybe make a difference or even just help me cope. Because the truth is part of me doesn’t know or trust what it was that happened to me, I feel like I don’t get to say I’m a victim, that I endured sexual abuse. I once read that being forced to do sexual oral acts counts as rape, I’m not sure, but that’s what makes COCSA so hard, because it’s complex, and you can’t classify things the same way you do with other actions of the sort. But this is my story, thank you for listening.

Hello, My name is Name & I would like to share one of my poems to (hopefully) be read at Event😊 This poem is called "He Didn't Hit Me" and it is based on my own personal experience with an abusive relationship. I hope that anyone reading this poem & it resonates with them will take comfort in knowing that they are not alone ❤️ He Didn't Hit Me He didn't hit me, but his words cut like a knife, He didn't hit me, but he upended my life. He didn't hit me, but he made false accusations, He didn't hit me, but he had unreasonable expectations. He didn't hit me, but destroyed my hopes & dreams, He didn't hit me but ripped my confidence at the seams. He didn't hit me, but I always had to take the blame, For his shortcomings, moods & his manipulative game. Abuse isn't just physical, this I know to be true, Gaslighting & manipulation are powerful tools, Knowing I deserve better, I am finally free, For I am much more than what he tried to make of me.

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

I got out of an abusive relationship. It wasn’t till I left there was physical abuse and emotional abuse. Even if the physical was minimal. I’m so glad to be apart of a group of women who are healing. Healing is hard, it’s been countless sleepless nights, extra periods, and nightmares over and over. But the reward of being free is so much better than anything I could’ve imagined. I don’t wish to ever be back in that, and am glad I left every day

Was it really that bad? Healing after getting out can be a rollercoaster of emotions and self doubt. You're not alone, sharing your story helps others to stop being silenced out of shame. Sometimes the healing process is hard because we remember more, or feel what we tried not to feel. You don't have to worry about being believable, focus on your own healing journey because you lived it, and need to trust the process. Your story, and what you lived, is testimony enough.

I worked at a Corporation as a Temporary. I have a Bachelors Degree that I studies hard for. I was working with a woman who worked at the iffuce for about 28 years. Also, others on the group who are there for about 10bto 18 years. Since I was the temporary they found an emotional outlet to emotionally exclude me from events. I went in on time, worked all days for 7 months did my job effectively. One of the women didn't like me so I didn't get my contract extended. I find it appalling that I now am overlooked and can't get my foot in the door. I also think 90 percent of the problem os that people making leadership decisions are on drugs. Shameful. Corporations need to hold these hostile companies accountable.

Healing is saying the secrets that you hid from the rest the world so you could get up, put up, and never give up. Healing is not lying to yourself anymore by saying, "Everything is fine." Healing is giving yourself the time to process the myriad of emotions that came flooding in when you finally left your abuser. Healing is forgiving yourself for the choices you made. Healing is not believing all the derogatory things you were called to control you and make you question your worth. Healing is telling yourself that you are strong enough to survive on your own, "You got this." Healing is taking responsibility for any pain or suffering you caused your child to endure because you were too afraid of what would happen if you tried to leave. Healing is finding gratitude in all that you do have. Healing is finding a way to help others that have experienced trauma bonds. Healing is knowing that you deserves to experience unconditional love... Healing is a journey that can help you appreciate living in the moment.

He would break up with me and then win me back. This went on for over a year. We were staying at a local hotel for the weekend to celebrate his birthday. We got into an argument in public so I went back to the hotel room by myself. I didn’t let him back in the hotel room when he first got back and instead, packed up all of his belongings. Once I let him in, he threw some of his things. I asked him to leave. He got on his phone. I asked him to leave again and he pushed me down onto my back. He proceeded to punch me over and over again in my eye and head. After the first punch, I said “I’m sorry, please stop”. His response was, “so NOW you’re sorry”. When he finally stopped, I immediately ran to the wall and got crouched down, as blood gushed out of my nose. I again pleaded for him to leave as he cussed at me. He did leave after that. He broke my orbital floor in my eye and my finger. I filed a protective order and was granted it for a year.

I have lived through many battles, some visible and some invisible. Chronic pain has been a constant companion, and alongside it came experiences of assault, grief, bullying, and being overlooked or targeted in the workplace. Each of these left scars that ran deeper than I could admit at the time. For years, I tried to hold it all in — the pressure, the pain, the silence through alcohol and substances. But it built until I couldn’t contain it anymore, and I crashed hard. My mental health episode was frightening, for me and for those around me. What has made it harder is the culture I grew up in. In South Asian communities, mental health is often brushed aside, stigmatized, or seen as weakness. Instead of compassion, I felt shame. Instead of understanding, I carried guilt. I believed I had let down the people I loved most. But I am learning that what happened was not my fault. Trauma is not a choice. Crashes are not punishments. They are the body and mind crying out for care. I am still here. I am learning to see my sensitivity and survival not as flaws, but as proof of resilience. Sharing my story is part of releasing the shame and reclaiming my voice. My hope is that others who have lived through pain and silence — especially in communities where mental health is hidden — can know they are not alone. Our stories matter. Our survival matters.