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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.

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.

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.

My Story — I Just Want a Safe Life for My Children I am sharing my story anonymously because I am afraid that people from my past may recognise me. Some details have been changed or left out to protect me and my children. The experiences and feelings I describe are my own. For most of my life, I have kept my pain inside. I have carried things that I never told anyone because I was frightened, ashamed, or simply didn't know how to explain everything that had happened to me. Today, I am finally trying to tell my story. Not because I want revenge. Not because I want people to feel sorry for me. I just want someone to hear me. My childhood When I was a young child, I was expected to clean the house, wash clothes, iron and cook. If something wasn't done exactly the way my mother wanted, I would be punished. I remember being beaten with spoons and other objects. I would have bruises on my body and would try to hide them. I was frightened in my own home. Sometimes I was thrown outside without proper clothes or shoes, even when it was cold and getting dark. I remember hiding underneath a tree because I was scared. One of the few places where I felt safe was when my uncle would take me to his house. I looked forward to those visits because I knew I would have some peace. I also felt that my siblings were treated differently from me. I was made to feel that I was less wanted because my mother had wanted a boy when I was born. For years, I wondered what I had done wrong. I was only a child. I had done nothing wrong. A decision that was never mine When I was a teenager, my family told me we were going on holiday. I wanted to finish my education first. Instead, I was taken abroad and discovered that the real reason for the trip was that I was going to be married. I was still very young. I tried to convince myself that perhaps marriage would give me the loving family I had always wanted. Very quickly, I discovered that my new husband was not the person I had hoped he would be. When I told my family what was happening, I was told that things would become better. I didn't want him to come and live with me. My wishes were ignored. My first marriage When I returned home, I was expected to work and look after everything. My money was controlled. I was expected to work long hours and still cook, clean and look after my husband. When I couldn't meet all the expectations placed on me, I was shouted at, insulted and physically abused. I also experienced sexual violence. I did not consent, but my wishes were ignored. Eventually, I was thrown out. I managed to find somewhere safe to stay for a short time. I thought perhaps my life was finally going to change. But I was persuaded to return. Later, I was taken abroad again and left there for a long period because I would not agree to live with my husband. I was heartbroken and frightened. Eventually, under pressure, I agreed. My children I eventually became a mother. My children became my whole world. Their father was violent towards me, and there were times when I had to put myself between him and the children to stop him from hurting them. I was terrified, but I would never allow someone to hurt my children if I could protect them. After years of cheating, violence, shouting and fear, my husband eventually left. I felt relieved. Then he returned. People around me told me that he had changed and that I should give him another chance. I didn't want to. My children and I were frightened. Then came the night that I will never forget. While I was working, one of my children contacted me and warned me not to come home because they were afraid their father was going to kill me. When I returned home, I was attacked. I was hit, thrown against furniture and injured. At one point, a knife was held against my throat and I was threatened. My children were terrified. They helped me find a way to keep him distracted long enough for help to arrive. I remember praying that the police would come before something happened that could never be undone. Eventually, there was a knock at the door. The police arrived. He was arrested. I was shaking and crying. My body was hurting and I was terrified. I was taken to hospital. My children and I were then moved somewhere safe. For the first time in a long time, we had some distance from the danger. Starting again After many months away, we returned home. I hoped we could finally rebuild our lives. Instead, our belongings were removed. Furniture was thrown away. My children's belongings were sold. I was told that we did not deserve comfortable things and that we could sit and sleep on the floor. I was devastated. But the next morning, I got up and bought basic food for my children. That was when I decided I had to work. I found a job working nights. I arranged childcare and built my entire life around my children. I would work through the night, come home, get my children ready for school, take them to school, sleep for a few hours, wake up to cook and clean, collect them, feed them, take them to their activities, put them to bed and then go back to work. I was exhausted. But I did it because my children needed me. Losing our home While I was trying to rebuild our lives, I also suffered serious financial difficulties involving people close to me. I had worked hard to build a home for my children. I had invested years of work and money into making it a safe and happy place. Then I discovered that arrangements had been made for the house to be transferred to another family member without my agreement. I came home from work and was told that the house had been sold. I couldn't believe it. That house wasn't just a building. It was where my children had grown up. It was where I had tried to create the home and family I had never had as a child. I had spent years making it ours. Suddenly, it was gone. My children and I had nowhere to go. We stayed with family for a while, where we were made to sleep on the floor. Eventually, I went to the council for help. My children and I were placed in temporary accommodation. We had very little privacy and were struggling to cope. Eventually, we were given somewhere to live. I continued working wherever I could. I worked in care and took other jobs when I needed to. I did whatever I could to support my children. Trying to find love again My family continued to pressure me to marry again. I didn't want another marriage. I was frightened of going through the same things again. But people around me kept telling me that I should give someone else a chance. Eventually, I agreed to marry a man who had been described to me as kind and caring. At first, he seemed wonderful. I thought perhaps I had finally found the person I had spent my whole life waiting for. Then I became pregnant. Things changed. He began asking me for money. He became angry and verbally abusive. He wanted me to arrange for him to come and live with me. I was pregnant and unable to work normally. I couldn't understand why someone who had seemed so kind was treating me this way. I asked people for help and was told to keep him happy and do what he wanted. It felt like my past was repeating itself. When I gave birth by Caesarean section, I was still in hospital when he said something that broke my heart. I had just given birth to our son. Instead of feeling loved and supported, I was made to feel worthless. After that, he continued to be kind mainly when he wanted money. I was paying for things and trying to provide for my child. Eventually, I discovered evidence that he had been involved with another woman. Once again, my heart was broken. I had believed that this marriage would be different. Eventually, he left. Where I am today Today, I am raising four children. I have spent years working whenever I could to provide for them. But recently, everything changed again. I became seriously unwell and was diagnosed with blood clots affecting both lungs. Because of my health, I am currently unable to work. This has been frightening. Working has always been how I have tried to keep our lives going. Now I am unable to do what I have always done while still having the responsibility of caring for my children. Everyday life has become a struggle. After everything I have already survived, I never imagined that my health would become another battle. But I am still here. I am still trying to look after my children and find a way forward. For years, I blamed myself and wondered whether there was something wrong with me. I am beginning to understand that being mistreated did not mean I deserved to be mistreated. I was a child who deserved protection. I was a young woman who deserved a choice. I was a wife who deserved safety and respect. I am a mother who deserves a safe and stable home for her children. I don't want revenge. I don't want to hurt anyone. I don't want pity. I simply want my story to be heard. I want my children to grow up feeling safe, loved and protected. This is my story. For the first time, I am letting it be heard.

I don't really want advice or anything. I just need to get this out somewhere because holy shit lol. Things with my boyfriend have gotten really bad lately. He'll wake up or come home and almost immediately start bitching at me. Just ranting, degrading me, telling me I've ruined his life and that everything is my fault. And he'll just keep going even when I'm not responding. So lately I've just been putting my headphones in and watching YouTube. Yesterday he was going on and on at me and getting more and more pissed because I wasn't reacting, so I literally just started singing along with whatever I was watching. He finally shut up and left. Then he came back later and tried it again. I put my headphones back in and ignored him. He got pissed and yanked my charger away from me and took off in the car. This morning, same shit. He woke up and immediately started bitching at me. I put my headphones in and listened to YouTube while he ranted. Then I started singing again and eventually he just left for work. It's honestly morbidly hilarious watching him get SO pissed that I can just sit there and be content while he's trying so hard to upset me. Like dude, I'm literally watching YouTube. But at the same time it's fucking exhausting. I'm at the point where I don't feel entirely safe around him anymore, and I'm probably going to call the shelter today and figure out what I can do. The part that scares me the most is my dogs. I have dog and dog and I don't want to be separated from them or have anything happen to them. I'm also terrified of losing my stuff, especially my PC. I don't even know. I just needed to tell somebody. I don't really want advice. I just want to throw this out into the universe and have somebody go "yeah, holy shit, that's fucked up" and then let me exist lol.

The controlling eventually became so severe that it finally came to a head on Halloween that year. Me, my ex, my roommate, and my best friend visited my best friends boyfriend at university and went to a big party in the woods called venue.  It was crazy because we had the best night ever. No fighting, lots of dancing, and just an overall fun time. We went back to stay at my best friends boyfriends place. We all stayed in his room. My best friend and her boyfriend in the bed, me, my ex, and my roommate on the floor. Everyone had just fallen asleep, and my ex tried to initiate having sex with me. I told him no, that I wasn’t going to hook up with him in the room full of people. He got so angry telling me I didn’t love him. He was, for lack of a better term, “whisper yelling” at me to come speak with him in the bathroom. After refusing several times, he finally grabbed me by my arm and dragged me on the floor from the room, down the hall, and into the bathroom. He picked me up, closed the door, grabbed my face and held it there while he proceeded to yell in my face about me not loving him. He then let go. It was surreal. I felt quite numb. From what I remember, I just walked out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom and laid down. He laid down next to me and tried to put his arms around me, apologizing over and over again. I said several times do not touch me. Keep your hands off me. He said no, he loves me and he’s sorry and he’s going to touch me because he loves me and he’s sorry. The next day I was just in disbelief that that had happened to me. That it had truly gotten to that point and that I was truly in an abusive relationship.  It felt like an out of body experience. He showed up at my door with a bouquet of white roses. Exactly like the one he brought me the first time he acted weird towards me. The second I saw the roses; I felt physically sick in the pit of my stomach. It was like what happened had become a reality and he was admitting to it and thought flowers would make it okay. I knew I had to break up with him, but I was so scared to do it because I knew it would hurt him. It’s crazy to look back at it now, that I never considered my own safety being at risk, I just considered how much it would hurt him and that’s why it would be difficult to end it. I think it was about two weeks later that I ended things with him (the first time). This was year one of a five year relationship that eventually led to me uprooting my life

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.

I don't know if anyone will read this or if it will help anyone. Throughout my entire childhood, I was abused by my mother. My mother grew up in a violent environment with an abusive father who drank and was never home. That’s why my mother escaped to another country for a better life. When I was born, at least from the age of four (maybe even earlier, I just don't remember it), she would hit me, beat me, and say horrible things to me. Of course, my soul couldn't bear it. At 13, I started self-harming. For a while, this whole situation stopped, for about a year. One day when we had an argument, it happened again—my mom hit me. I ran to my dad, who was in the other room, and in front of him, I started crying and telling him what my mom had done. (In the past, I had mentioned to him again that my mom was doing this, but he hadn't done anything about it; he just comforted me). My mom came into the room. I started shouting at her, telling her that this was wrong and that when I became an adult, I would be running to psychologists because of her. My mom laughed and didn't take it seriously. After that day, nothing like that has ever happened again, and I feel much better that I managed to shout at her as loudly as I could that day to make her understand that what she was doing would affect me immeasurably in the future. (By the way I'm not an adult)

Between dates, 2020, I (female) was on a work trip by myself to another site in city, state for a job interview. I had taken advantage of the long weekend due to MLK day, so I could experience the new place and see if it was a fit for me. After my interview, I was feeling pretty good. At some point, I had ended up at what was called “bar” for some drinks. This has since changed its name. I had been over-served, and there was no security. After $92.63 worth of alcohol (no food), and someone giving me weed (which I don’t like), the room was spinning. I hardly even knew how to walk at this point. A stranger with a guitar, who I believe had a gig at the bar, walked me back to my hotel. On the way back, I had fallen backwards onto the sidewalk cement and hit my head. We entered the wrong hotel. After finding the right hotel, hotel, he entered into the room with me, took my clothes off, and raped me. I could not move. Somehow I had also fallen off the bed during the act. I woke up the next day with him next to me in the bed. I immediately thought he was going to harm me or kill me, so I was nice to him. We went to “café” for some coffee. He left his guitar in my hotel room so he could be allowed back in to get it. I’m honestly surprised I survived this, and it could have gotten worse. I don’t remember how I eventually got away, but I only had the hotel room for so long. This could have been an even worse tragedy. I don’t believe that single females like myself are safe to go anywhere. I don’t go out anymore, even with friends. I stay home. It’s the only bit of safety I have. If you work at a bar or hotel, please please please SPEAK UP if you see something that’s not right. You could save a life.

I'm 71 years old and allowed myself to be abuised for over 20years out of a 36 year marriage. I lost my daughters and grandchildren because of my actions. I've got no one I'm totally alone. I found out that my husband was a drug addict to prescriptions and was a thief and a liar who manipulated everyone around him he was a good guy. I was to busy working raising a family and continued to let this man use me because I loved him. I just realized love shouldn't hurt. He's left our home for years at a time, I've never gone with any one else. I've been raped strangled beaten bruised bloodied ,used money and antiques stolen etc. . I allowed myself to be used over and over why I don't know still don't I thought I loved him because we had a special bond . I was kidding myself and it hurts more than you know. I tried to end my life to get rid of the pain of abuise and failed years ago. Couldn't live with the pain of losing my family. . I'm so alone sitting in a house wasting away waiting to die someday someone will notice by my mail or my dog. What a shame I was a beautiful strong loving wife and mother grandmother to be left this way to die alone and broken because I was abuised I blame , my children for not protecting me,, the courts most of all I blame myself for loving a man and not loving myself more. I need help and I still do.

I grew up in a very violet household and later found myself in a terrifying situation after leaving my partner. I was stalked and maliciously attacked by him. I was unable to get much help as he was a military man and the city has more intentions of protecting him than me. It has made me one of the strongest people I know. I am a survivor and I use my voice and story to inspire others to get out and find a new way. It ends with all of us together.

I’m writing to try and seek clarity over my childhood experiences. It was mostly with a cousin of mine (both f). Nearly every time we would meet from the age of about 4 we would secretly kiss and she taught me oral. Then it became reciprocal oral. I remember feeling sick and ashamed whenever I would leave her house but it continued about once a year or less until we were 12. She tried to initiate something even later with me in our early 20s. I’m confused because of all the mess of feelings I have about it. I felt terrible after. I remember saying to her I preferred the kissing and tried to make her the centre of what was happening so I could give more than receive. I knew it wasn’t right and couldn’t tell either of my parents who were separated for a lot of this time span.

I woke up a morning after a night at the bar, in a room I had never seen before, without my pants, and next to a boy I knew only in passing. My last clear memory was receiving and drinking about half of my second drink of the night: a vodka redbull. From there, I recall walking to the door of the bar around 10 PM, and then everything else was completely blank. My mouth was dry and my head was pounding - my vision was so blurry that when I stood up, it felt like I had stepped onto a rotating carnival ride. The boy in the bed rolled over, hungover, and when I panickly asked if anything happened last night, he smiled and said we fooled around for a while until I passed out. I felt so sick to my stomach at that moment that I almost puked. I stumbled down the stairs and out of the house, shivering the whole walk home as I tried desperately to see straight. The hangover was like nothing I have ever experienced before, throwing up for hours into the evening and hoping for death. I am sure that sounds like an exaggeration, but having experienced many, many hangovers before, this one felt like something different. I contacted friends at the second bar I apparently arrived at, and they told me how concerned they were for me, how I could barely stand, how when they asked me to drink some water and sit on a stool, I complied but had no life in my eyes. It was then, that "the boy from the bed" stepped in and offered to take me home. Since my friends were working, they agreed, believing the boy and I were friends. For so long, I felt so much shame about that night. I wanted to crawl into a hole and stay there because the anxiety was so overwhelming. My long-distance boyfriend at the time was understanding, but I could not even bring myself to talk to him about it. In truth, because I had no memory of the night, and it only made the panic and shame bubble up inside me more to think about it. So I locked the event away and decided to move on. But now 5 years later, that night has come back to haunt me. A few months ago, I kept closing my eyes and seeing him smiling in his bed and my lungs felt like they were constricting. I would sit in bed and feel paralyzed, trying desperately to remember a clue. Now, I write about it and talk about the night with friends and other victims. I still feel a lot of anxiety from it, but I no longer feel like a stupid drunk girl.

In 2007, my ex-husband drove over my foot. He did it out of rage. What followed was something I’ll never forget: ➤ I called the police. ➤ They issued a temporary restraining order. ➤ I went to court, determined to protect myself and my toddler. ➤ He stood before the judge, pleaded, and promised he’d never do it again. ➤ The court believed him. They let him go. The restraining order wasn’t extended. And just like that, I was left to pick up the pieces on my own. I’ve shared parts of my story about surviving domestic violence before. But this part? I’ve kept it to myself. For years, I was ashamed of this story. Not because of what happened to me—but because the world taught me to be ashamed. To be quiet. To “move on” as though resilience meant silence. But here’s the truth: Resilience doesn’t come from silence. 𝐈𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩. This experience, as painful as it was, taught me lessons I couldn’t learn any other way: ➤ I learned how to find my voice, even when no one wanted to hear it. ➤ I learned how to advocate for myself, even when the system failed me. ➤ I learned that survival isn’t the end goal—thriving is. But let’s be clear—this isn’t just about my story. It’s about a culture that protects abusers, excuses toxic behavior, and leaves survivors to fend for themselves. The same culture that let him walk away is the one that: ➤ Enables toxic leadership in workplaces. ➤ Silences survivors of sexual assault and domestic violence. ➤ Ignores the mental health toll of these experiences. 𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 “𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡.” Leadership isn’t just about titles or decisions—it’s about creating a world where: ➤ Survivors feel safe to speak up. ➤ Toxicity is called out, not tolerated. ➤ Resilience is celebrated, not silence. Some stories stay with you until you’re ready—today, I’m ready. Let it end with us. NO MORE Week 2025 hashtag#nomoreweek2025 hashtag#SayNoMore, hashtag#EndTheSilence hashtag#nomoreweek from LinkedIn post: link

Lifting Fog Dec 29 Written By Name View my blog for more at Link (Rewind to June 2019) I could sense my husband was growing more stressed with his work. I understood that leading a youth ministry could be stressful, so I chalked up his strange behavior to his workload. It was a summer afternoon and I was sitting in the office next to him, working on the children’s ministry curriculum and volunteer schedules. Upon finishing my work, I noticed that I was not working in the children’s ministry on Sunday, July 7th. I’m free! Maybe he can take the weekend off too. I texted a close friend who lives up north and asked if we could crash at their place for the weekend. She and her husband were very dear friends of ours. We consider them as family. My girlfriend was excited to open their home to us and spend some time with them before they left for the weekend. They both had obligations to volunteer at a camp that weekend and had to leave Friday afternoon, but she said we could stay at their place while they were gone. A free place to stay on a fourth of July weekend? I’ll take it! I asked permission from my father-in-law, who was also the lead pastor. He was completely on board and thought it was a great idea for the both of us to have a spontaneous getaway weekend. I even found a house sitter to watch our pup. All of the plans were falling into place. I was so excited to get away and spend some one-on-one time with my husband exploring the Location 1 together. I grew up in State 1 and taking summer trips to the mountains was one of my favorite things to do. I knew that being in the beauty of the mountains can just cause the stress of life to melt away. The greenery, the crispy mountain air, and the slower pace were calling my name. I wanted that for him. I imagined his stress levels falling. I wanted to see him laugh again. He stopped laughing months ago. He stopped coming to bed with me. He stopped asking me how I was doing. He stopped engaging with me altogether. More and more of his time was spent on his phone, computer, or in front of the television. It’s the stress of his job, I kept telling myself. We had many fights about how much time he was spending on electronics. They never ended well. He talked about running away from everything. It’s the stress of his job, I justified. He stopped caring altogether. I thought it was because of the miscarriage and the stress of adjusting to a more demanding job. He started to talk with me more and more about choking me out for fun. I thought he was just being silly and I always laughed it off. He wrapped his arm around my neck at times while I was making dinner or laying in bed. I justified it all. I tried to make sense of it but in the meantime, I shut down too. My stress levels were through the roof. I thought I had to keep it all together to keep up with appearances. Don’t let them see your weakness, name. When I had the miscarriage in May, I kept that emotional valve shut tight. The stress inside of me was so pressed down, the levels were rising. I could feel it in my chest. I could taste it in my mouth. Something was wrong. I just didn’t know what. We needed this vacation. So, after finishing my schedule, I walked over to his office and knocked on his door. “Come in,” he said. I opened his door and leaning on its frame, I announced with a smile, “Hey! Mark your calendar. I’m taking you away on the first weekend of July for a trip. Your dad said it was okay. We can make it back just in time on Sunday night for youth group!” He turned his chair toward me and smiled. There it is, I thought. Relieved to finally see a smile on his face. “Okay!” He said quickly. I turned around to begin the plans and his voice called from afar, “Hey, I’d like to go on a hike when we’re there,” he remarked. I slowly walked back to him in disbelief… A hike?? He never wants to hike! “I’d love to go on a mountain with a cliff face,” He said. “Sounds like fun!!” I replied. Maybe he just needs some exercise and an adrenaline rush, I thought. I was shocked that he suggested going for a hike because throughout all the years that I’ve known him, he never once expressed an interest in doing anything remotely close to hiking. I shut his door to continue to let him work and finished up mine. It was then that I started the countdown for our vacation. I was so excited and ready to get away from it all. I was ready to breathe. I know where your mind is going, it’s clear to see, isn’t it? But when you are in the middle of the mess, your mind doesn’t go there. Your mind always assumes the best. Especially when it comes to someone you love the most. (fast forward) On Date, I called 9-1-1 on my husband. That very morning after I finished reading and taking my last sip of coffee, I breathed in that beautiful fresh mountain air. I remembered it was going to rain at some point during this vacation, so I looked at the weather radar that morning. Oh, no. There was going to be a torrential downpour and thunderstorm right where we wanted to hike. We only had 3 hours before it hit. He woke up shortly after me and made his way out to the back porch where I was reading. Leaning on the door frame, I showed him the radar on my phone. “Hey, I’m not sure today would be a good day to hike. We don’t have much time before the storm hits. Maybe we can go tomorrow morning before we head home?” I asked. “No, we need to go today,” he insisted. I knew that this may be the only time he would ever want to hike again and I didn’t want to miss the opportunity since it’s something that I love. We searched frantically for a hike that was close enough, yet fit his qualifications. We planned to go to Location 2. He didn’t care to pack food nor did he care to eat beforehand. He said a Gatorade would be enough. He wore a tank top, shorts, and flat Adidas slide-in shoes. I wore workout pants, a tank top, a bandana, and running shoes. We loaded up in the truck and headed toward the mountain. The GPS kept rerouting us, we lost reception more times than I can count, and we could not find the trailhead. We were running out of time and I was growing frustrated. I wanted to be able to enjoy the hike and not rush it, but he insisted. “Let’s drive along the Location 3 and find something there. I remember seeing a trail when we came yesterday,” he said. We swam in the Location 4 the day before. It was one of the best days we had together in months. We laughed a lot, talked, rested, and enjoyed the day exploring. All was well. I was at ease because I felt like taking this mini-vacation was exactly what he needed. There was one point on that day when he was physically aggressive with me while we were swimming. I look back now and have the mental clarity to realize that it was not okay. His hands that were meant to show love treated me as an object and I numbly complied. As I always did. I tried to fight it but that nagging voice in the back of my head told me to stop… don’t disappoint him, name. So, we drove along the Location 3 since we could not find Location 2. We drove and drove and drove and connected to the Location 5. My anxiety began to build as time passed. Something is not right. We turned the corner and arrived at the spot he told me about previously and were welcomed with a large, wooden sign. The sign read, “Location 6.” This is where my life forever changed. We pulled in, paid for parking, and began our ascent. He has a bad knee, so he took Advil before heading up. We stopped to look at the map before climbing. I looked for the total distance, the route, and the scenic points. He searched for all the lookout points at the top. He huffed and puffed his entire way up. He had to take many breaks for a breath and a drink. It is a 1.5-mile trail up and back, totaling only at 3 miles. I talked most of the way up, pointed out silly “scenic” points. One scenic point was literally just a little village of mushrooms. All I honestly cared about was seeing a moose. I’ve lived 28 years in State 1 and have never seen a moose. It's one of my life’s goals and remains it still today. I laughed and talked about my family, and eventually, he asked if we could stop talking altogether. He wanted silence. Strange… I thought. Finally, we made it to the top. He kept searching around the top of the mountain for more cliffs almost as if he was searching for the perfect one. I thought nothing of it. I spent most of that time taking pictures of the scenery and taking in the beauty of the mountainous landscape that seemed to stretch on forever. I looked over to my right and he was walking closer and closer to the edge. I continued to tell him to be careful and to stop going so close. He had an intense and thrilling look in his eyes. He stood on a rock that protruded out of the cliff and looked down for a minute. “Come over here and stand on this,” he asked. “Uhm, no thank you. I don’t want to slip and die..” I sarcastically said back. He continued to plead with me, and I didn’t want to let him down despite how scared I was. So, against my every instinct, I complied. I stood on the edge and he was behind me. “Just trust me,” he said, with his hands on my lower back. My shaking knees straightened as I held onto a long, dead tree branch on my right. I could feel the wind cool on my legs and I glimpsed downward for a split second into the abyss of pine trees hundreds of feet down right below my feet. And in an instant, I heard... Get off. Instinct.. fear...intuition...the voice of God? I am not sure. But I knew I needed to get away quickly. I instantly backed off and scooted off, stood up, and walked to a safe place. Breathe, name. He was frustrated with me but I didn’t care. Something was wrong; I could sense it. I thought I was nervous about the impending storm, but my subconscious knew that I wasn’t safe for more reasons than one. He kept making comments that if I were to fall off the small drop-offs, I would only break a leg and I’d survive. Not that cliff… that one was a 250-foot drop into pine trees. I couldn’t see what was happening right in front of me. I told him to stop making those jokes, and he pointed the finger back at me and said that it was me who was making them. Always playing mind games. After I backed away from the ledge that he wanted me to stand on, I found a comfortable spot farther up and sat down. I tried to shake off this nervous feeling that I had and focused on the scenery in front of me. I took in the hundreds of shades of green spotted across the landscape, the eagle soaring through the trees, and the blue sunny skies welcoming me. He made his way over to me and sat down. With a deep breath, he said “I could get used to this.” “It truly is beautiful here,” I responded. We quietly enjoyed the view together. There was a large rainstorm approaching and the clouds from behind the mountain were growing darker by the minute. “I think it’s time we start heading back, we don’t want to get caught in the rain,” I said. He insisted that we waited longer. Everyone at this point was cleared from the top. It was just him and I. Anxiety continued to grow inside me. I waited long enough, it was now growing darker as the clouds covered the sun. “I’m sorry, but we have to go now,” I said as I stood up, brushing off my dusty legs. I stood up to walk away and he followed frustratingly with a huff. We entered the wooded path down the mountain, and only about one hundred feet in, he shouted at me from behind, “You have been the biggest source of stress in my life!” I turned around to him in shock. He was about 30 feet away from me, stopped dead in his tracks, fists clenched… I was completely thrown off as this was coming out of the blue… “what?” I responded. His face looked different. He then went on to tell me that he doesn’t think we were meant to be together. That maybe that’s why I had the miscarriage. That all he ever does is try with me, and I give him nothing in return. He said he didn’t know if he wanted to try anymore with me. Blame shifting. Guilt giving. Life-sucking words. I begged, “I want to fix this. I’m willing to fight, but you need to be, too. Are you?” “I don’t know,” he said. “The only way we couldn’t possibly work this out is if you cheated on me,” I said. Stone cold face, hands-on-hips, head pointed away from me and toward the ground, he said the two most shocking words… “I did.” My feet instantly left the ground. My breath escaped me. I can only hear the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. No, no. This isn’t real. I am dreaming. “It was when you went away to that children’s ministry conference. It was with some random girl in a hotel,” he said. Still no eye contact. “What? This isn’t real,” I said. “Some random girl? At a hotel?” I begged him to tell me who and where. But all my heart wanted to know was why. He crouched down, giving off a tearless cry. “This isn’t real, this isn’t happening, this isn’t real…” I continued to chant to myself. I kept touching my chest and my head and my face to make sure I was still there. The first raindrops were beginning to fall on my skin, but I couldn’t feel it. I looked at the tree bark. Noticed the details, the moss, the bugs. This. Is. Real. Panic is setting in. “The rain is coming. We will work this out. We NEED to get off this mountain!” I shouted. The wind was beginning to pick up. He didn’t move, still crouched in the dirt refusing to look at me. I was about 15 feet away from him. I turned to walk away, and just when I thought I couldn’t be any more heartbroken.... his voice sounded relieved and terrified as he shouted her name. My best friend. I stopped in my tracks. My mind flooded with all of the time we spent together. Betrayal of the deepest sense… my best friend and my husband? I could no longer feel my entire body. Her? No. It couldn’t be. I moved toward him as he began to tell me how many times they slept together, when, and where. “I’ve always loved her and she has always loved me. When we found out you were pregnant, it was the only thing that stopped us from running away together because we thought she was pregnant too,” he said. I looked at my hands. I examined my skin. I felt my chest. I am real. This is real. Breathe. “Are you lying?” I breathlessly asked. He looked down at my feet, smirked, and said, “What if I am?” “Come ON, tell me... are you lying!?” I asked, louder. I was about 10 feet down the path, away from him. “Yes,” he said, with a relieved smile. My heart rate slowed. I ran up the rocky, steep trail to him. I touched his shoulders, his face, and asked why he would do that to me. “Did you want to see how much I love you? Why would you lie about this? LOOK AT ME!” He didn’t look at me. “You’re not lying, are you?” I whispered. “No,” he said sternly. Anger grew inside of me unlike any other. I screamed in his face and he did not look at me. Instead, he stared blankly at my feet. “You broke a COVENANT with me! LOOK AT ME!” I yelled. But he refused to look. Refused to fight. Refused to try. “We need to go home and work this out, we can get help!” He then looked up at me for the first time and stated with a strangely calm yet loud voice… “What, do you think we can just go home now after this!? We can’t just go home now. I can’t tell my parents about this.” I turned to walk away. And then, seconds later, I felt the blow. I woke up on the ground. Flashes of pictures of leaves and trees and sky and his fists filled my mind. My ears were ringing and all I could hear was his muffled animal-like scream mixed with my heavy breathing and helpless cry. My husband hit me in the back of the head with a rock. I woke up on the ground with him fighting me. I miraculously landed on my left side and did not fall face-down into the steep trail under my feet. I was able to come to consciousness just in time to fight. I didn’t realize I was fighting him. I didn’t realize he was trying to kill me. I didn’t realize anything except that I needed to protect my neck as he reached for it. I breathlessly screamed, kicked, punched…fought like hell. I remember tasting blood. He then began to hyperventilate and sat up with his hands in his face. “I’m a piece of shit,” he wailed. Over and over again. “You deserve better.” That was the first true statement I heard from his mouth in years. I picked myself up and tried to help him breathe as I regained my breath. I attempted to lift up his hands to help him and they flopped on the ground the moment I let go and then… Then I felt it... Pain, throbbing pain, in my head and neck. I touched the back of my head. I remembered the noise of the rock hitting my head. It was like sticking my head inside a bass drum. Then a faint ringing sound. And then black. I felt my head. It was the lower left part of my head where he struck me with the rock. It was swelling fast. My vision was blurred and I could hear my breath as if I was inside of a tight bubble. “You hit me in the back of the head with a rock,” I quietly muttered while holding my head. “You tried to kill me. I might die. My head is swelling. I might die” I chanted. I began to panic as I knelt in the dirt and rocked my body back and forth as my mind raced through scenarios. What do I do? He continued to wail on the ground like a child. His cry was different this time. It was real, but it was only for himself. “I have to call 9-1-1,” I announced. I stood up with shaky legs and retrieved my phone from my backpack. My shaking hands began to dial 9-1-1. He then begged me not to, but I knew that we both weren’t safe and I didn’t think that I was going to survive if I waited longer. He wailed and begged me not to… “Please, please, please don’t. Don’t, name!” “If you don’t want me to call 9-1-1, then you’re going to follow me down this mountain and if I faint… you’re going to carry me if it’s the last thing you do for me,” I demanded as if speaking to a child. He then went very still. His breathing slowed and his eyes stared into the dirt. No response. He just doesn’t want to get caught, name. He doesn’t care for me, he only cares for himself. As my thoughts began to see reality for what it was, then my adrenaline kicked in. I could feel my veins spark and my vision cleared. I was very present. I was breathing smoothly, my knees stopped shaking, and I felt more alert than ever. He is going to try to kill me again, I realized. Once I ran out of his sight, I stopped and called 9-1-1. Instant connection. The dispatcher connected me to the Location 7 Deputies Office. “We are on our way,” are the last words I heard before I lost connection. And then... I ran. Run, name. Run like hell. It was a good thing I began training for a half marathon months before. I had tunnel vision as I zeroed in on the trail. Follow the yellow dots. Lord, don’t let him jump. Don’t trip. Light feet. Lord, don’t let me die. Please get me to the bottom. I WILL survive this. Don’t trip. Stay on your toes. Follow the yellow dots. Please, God, don’t let him jump. I ran for 20 minutes down a steep, rocky trail filled with boulders and thick pine roots. It was pouring rain. I didn’t feel a drop. I could not feel my feet touch the ground. I could not feel my head pain or my weak knee. Adrenaline surged through my veins. As I ran for my life, I thought of my mom and dad. I thought of a man that would be on the bottom of the mountain to rescue me. I thought of Hawaii. I thought of my husband and prayed for his safety. I thought of my dog, my church, my brothers. I thought of my sisters and my nieces. I thought of my family. My entire life and all that I loved came to the forefront of my mind. It was my people that mattered. The ones I loved. I fought and I ran for them. I dreamt of being held by my mom and dad. I didn’t trip. I didn’t slip. I didn’t stop. I heard the laughter of a woman up high in the hill to the right of me as I ran. I paused and looked up… Should I yell for help? I decided not to. It’s not worth the risk. I turned around and could not see him behind but heard the crunching of leaves far up the trail and they were getting louder. RUN, name! I ran as silently and quickly as I could. I didn’t want him to hear me and find me. I remember swallowing my stinging breaths and letting the air slowly out my nostrils. I didn’t even want to breathe loudly. I held my backpack straps tightly to my chest to keep my backpack from making noise. He kept calling me. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t break this silent sprint. I had to focus. In what felt like only minutes, I made it to the bottom of the trail. As the ground became flatter, I ran as fast as I could. I could begin to see the flashing blue lights through the thick trees. Those lights were the hope that I soon will be able to take shelter from this storm. They came for me! I’m going to be safe. Keep going, name. You’re almost there. My phone continued to buzz in my hand, and once I could see the blue lights, I answered the phone. I picked up the phone to the sound of him wailing, “I’m so sorry..I’m so sorry..” again and again. In a quiet, yet firm, whisper I said, “Your life is worth living. Meet me at the bottom.” I hung up. Those were the last words I spoke to him. Oh Lord, please don’t let him jump. Finally, I made it to the trailhead. I waived my weary arms in the air as the EMTs covered for safety inside the ambulance from the torrential downpour. I was still afraid to yell. The skies were dark and the lights flashed and reflected off the wet leaves as I ran closer. The glimmers of blue and red welcomed me with each step. I ran up to the ambulance and placed my hand on its cold, wet frame as I found my way to the back with wobbly knees. They opened the door and I jumped in. It was so bright, cold, and unfamiliar. I looked down at my shaking legs. They were covered in dirt and sweat. My scraped and bloodied knees stung as the sweat dripped down. My muscles were spazzing. My hands shaking, and my head throbbing. What just happened? A tall deputy entered into the ambulance, dripping from the downpour, and breathlessly said “You must be name.” Apparently, he ran up half the mountain trying to find me. Why is he so wet? Is it raining? I was hooked up to so many machines in a matter of minutes. They checked to make sure I didn’t have brain bleeding. All clear. The pain in my neck and head was so intense. It was the pain that reminded me that this was not a bad dream. It reminded me of him. All I could think about was him. “Is he okay?” I kept asking the deputy. They cared about making sure I was okay first. It wasn’t long after I arrived in the ambulance that my husband made his way to the bottom of the mountain and was arrested immediately. I was so relieved he didn’t jump. Thank you, God. I was rushed to the local hospital. I remember watching the rain pour through the ambulance window in complete shock. What just happened? I just wanted my mom and dad. I wanted to go home. I wanted to be a little girl again. I wanted all of this to be erased. I couldn’t cry. I could only breathe. The days and months that followed that terrible day have been filled with painful conversations, post-traumatic stress, fear, emotional breakdowns, family reunions, moving, restraining order paperwork, medical bills, court dates, trauma therapy, writing, reading, forgiveness, love, peace, and hope. I have a future. I am unsure where my future lies on this earth but what matters is that I have a future. He is no longer my responsibility. He chose to become the man that he is today. I am free of him. I ran down that mountain away from the abuse and into my freedom. My feet are set on a new path. I have hope for a brighter tomorrow. I am not done for. He is only a man. Just one man. He will not have the last word.

There was a lot of emotions happening in me that led up to the night it happened. I was struggling in my relationship, I was confused about God, I was angry at my friends who didn't include me in their get-together that day. So I drank a lot. I drank a lot of tequila, specifically, which I never do. I don't know the guy's name I went home with that night. I don't know what he looks like. I don't remember leaving the bar with him. I remember "coming-to" for just a minute, realizing I didn't know where I was, and trying to run out of the apartment before collapsing onto the floor in the hallway of the complex and crying. I woke up mostly naked and I was sore and bruised and still very drunk. I don't believe this guy forced himself upon me. I just didn't know what I was saying yes to in the moment, or even who I was saying yes to. I'm still working through the fact that it's not my fault that this happened; it's not his fault - I don't blame him at all, as he was extremely intoxicated as well. But I want other survivors with a story like mine to hear this: just because your story may not involve abuse, just because you were blackout drunk, does not mean that you don't deserve to be considered a survivor. Because you do. You're not alone. You're not alone. You are worthy, you are not damaged, you deserve love. Healing is not linear and it happens in small ways, but it does happen.

For over four decades, a heavy secret festered within me. As a male survivor of childhood sexual abuse by a family member, the shame is felt isolated and suffocating. The silence I held onto became a prison, but a voice now compels me to break free. A voice now compels me to break free, whispering, 'It's time to write this. Shattering this silence is a giant leap toward reclaiming my power and self-worth. It's like stepping out of a suffocating darkness and into the sunlight of self-belief and resilience. This journey, however, wouldn't be possible without the unwavering support of organization, organization 2, my incredible friends, and the organization 3. This journey demands immense courage – facing the pain, healing the wounds, and rewriting my story. Every step is a victory, a defiance against the shadows of the past. Breaking free opens the door to a future free from the burden of abuse, a future where I can build healthy connections and cultivate self-love. The healing journey might be challenging, but it's a powerful reminder of the human spirit's incredible ability to heal and transform. Though scars may remain, they do not define me. I am a survivor, and my story is one of courage and resilience. Forgiveness is a personal journey, and while I may choose to forgive, it does not erase what happened. The world may seem different now, but within me lies an incredible wellspring of resilience. My story is far from over. I will embrace the journey of healing, and know that with time, the light of self-love will shine ever brighter. I am worthy of a future filled with healthy connections, fulfilling experiences, and endless possibilities. With each step, I break free. The scars remain, a testament to my journey, but the light within me shines brighter than ever. The future is mine to write.

• 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).