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I was used by my brother who has grown up a lot but I still carry scars. My brother is four years older than me and when I was going from elementary school to Junior high, that summer, he made me think that girls in junior high need to know how to give oral to boys. First he did oral to me to show me it was not a big deal. I thought it was a huge deal. But I did it and he got me trained and had me keep it a secret, except from by best friend. He had his friend over when I had a sleepover one night and had her do it to his friend. Then they would have us do contests where they wear blindfolds. At least I was not alone then. It changed me even though seventh grade itself had nothing to do with anything like that. It was a lie to get pleasure from me. My brother still had me doing it at home. And sometimes he would do it to me and I did climax. So I had this weird secret sex life and felt really messed up about it. Then in eight grade I had my first real boyfriend. My parents are so strict, even though they both worked and left me alone with my brother. To go to the movies with my boyfriend they made sure it was with a group and took me there and waited outside the theater. Well one time when we went to see Snow White and the Huntsman my same BFF and me went through with our plan to go down on our guys in the last row of the theater and we did it. It was only a month later I started having sex with him which never would have happened if not for what my brother had done. We snuck out from her place during a sleepover and met the boys outside and went to the nearby park and did it in the grass. That was my virginity. The really bad event, where my life got knocked off the tracks, is when we tried it from my house, sneaking out the window and going just out farther into my big back yard that opened into nothing but the side of a big hill and my dad caught us. It was awful. The world ended. I was treated like a huge betrayer and almost all my privileges were revoked and essentially I was grounded without any end date. And still by brother would make me do the oral. I was broken hearted because I was not allowed to have my boyfriend to the point my parents made me go to the school and talk to the principal and vice principal and they made sure I would not have any chance to ever see him alone. And my brother kept creeping in at night sometimes or when we were left alone expecting me to do what he had trained me to be used to. The next really bad part was two months into my new restricted life. My brother started doing his oral on me one afternoon after school and decided to take it farther and got up and started kissing me and had sex with me. I was in the moment and did not do anything to stop him and even participated. No condom. It was an afternoon when my parents were away and so we did not have to keep quiet or worry and he did it so much longer than my few times with my boyfriend, because he was older and knew more from being with other girls that I got sore for my first time and got a urine infection. I did not eat my dinner that night and pretended to be sick and cried myself to sleep. My brother really wanted to do it again, telling me it was the best sex he ever had, but I refused and one thing I could say for him back then was at least he was not a rapist. Even though he pressured me he never tried to force himself inside me. Four months after I had lost my incest virginity the school year ended and he graduated. I went to high school and he moved out to live in college dorms 120 miles from our home town. Public school was over for me, as was planned as soon as my dad caught me on the hill. I went to an all girl’s Catholic high school. My dad had to drive me a half hour every morning and my mom picked me up from my whole first year. Then they got me a car so I could drive myself but the mileage and my times were closely monitored. I did not have an intercourse throughout high school but seven times total I did oral on my brother during summer and winter breaks when we were both at home. That was the end of incest in my life. I went to college in Atlanta but not the same one as my brother. I rebelled against my parents and even though they tried to keep control, as a legal adult I did not let them. Turmoil and sadness lasted months until they finally got it. I separated from them financial and worked and took out student loans. I was very promiscuous in college. I drank, partied and used drugs recreationally and had several guys I was seeing on and off for mostly sex. That was my life and I thought I enjoyed it at the time. I became stronger and more assertive and when my brother first hinted during a Thanksgiving meeting at our relative’s house that we go for a drive I told him I never wanted to touch him again in such a powerful way that he knew I was off limits and even seemed like the scared one in our relationship. I didn’t enroll in classes for two nonconsecutive semester just because my party life was so much more fun. I traveled on and off. Sometimes with friends, sometimes with men, usually older, who invited me to exotic places. The Maldives, Portugal, The Virgin Islands. I let my married boss use me for a weekend in Key West. I had an affair with my Spanish teacher, who only took me as far as Panama City, Florida. So many risky one night stands. My identity was that I was not looking for anything permanent, a child of the universe. While I was used as a plaything so many times and believed I liked the game. I would tell them things about wanting to make their dick happy and stuff that would inflate their ego. I’m sure there are so many text messages out there that they saved about the size of their D fitting in my little P, about being a little girl wanting them to teach me to be woman and other depraved fantasies I thought they wanted to hear. Obviously directly related to what my brother did to me. I am almost positive I avoided being raped more than once by going with the flow when I did not expect to or probably want to. It may be good that some of them I probably don’t remember. Once was at one of the few fraternity parties I ever went to. It was three guys, not my usual style. Once was with my roommate's father who was visiting her at our rented house and found his way to my bed in the early morning. One of the more extreme traumatic events was with a police officer who pulled me over for driving when I had been drinking but was under the legal limit on his breathalyzer. He followed me home, like a mile away, “for my safety” and even followed me inside. I was in an apartment then and I thought my roomate was home and told him so. But when she wasn’t there he said I lied to a police officer and he had to do a more thorough search if I wanted to avoid being arrested. He was not attractive or nice. He had a gun thought he never took it out. You can guess what happened. I finally shed that wild life during my second to last semester when I saw the end of college coming. My G.P.A was 3.3. and my major was philosophy and it dawned on me that the future was not bright in terms of what I would do or how I would pay back my loans. I buckled down and decided to change. I had an offer to strip and ‘make a lot of money’ but thankfully not only did never considered myself like that, but when I went with a friend for her interview and they tried to recruit me they were so sleazy we both ran out of there disgusted. I reevaluated my whole life. I considered ending it, but some survival mechanism did not allow it. I did not want to be the person I had been for a few years. I looked ahead and saw it was not sustainable as I aged and had no real love or stability. I quit serving when I got an offer to work in a legal office. I slept with the manager who hired me as a receptionist but it was a drop in the bucket of things to be shameful of. He was the last one like that. I got all A’s and graduated cum laude. I got promoted in the firm mostly by title but used it to spring away and take a lower paying job in a nonprofit law firm where I had not slept with anyone. There I did sleep with a lawyer but I am married to him still and my life is back together. I love him and he loves me. He does not know the extent of my sluttiness in college or about my brother and I doubt he ever will. That darkness is fading and it is not part of my life now. It is not who I am. As for my brother, he has a family now and we are on good terms. We did talk about it once while I was studying like crazy my senior year, although it was not a big deep talk. I did mention that he used me, he apologized, we hugged, and that was it. Not the cathartic confrontation some might expect. My catharsis is my husband, and my life now that I am grateful for. We adopted two toddler brothers and I am their mom. Maybe we’ll have one of our own. Maybe we’ll adopt again. I was used and introduced to sex too young and early and it strained my relationship with my parents for a long time and I’ll never get that back. It derailed my life. I was set adrift for a while but God or the universe or random luck finally put me in a good place. Everything that happened led me what I have now. I can’t say I never contemplated suicide in darker times. But like in the move Cast Away, if I may quote, “I stayed alive. I kept breathing. And one day my logic was proven all wrong because the tide came in, and gave me a sail. And now, here I am.” Thousands of hours spent studying philosophy and I quote a movie that was not even based on a book. But it’s perfect.

In my story, IT STARTED WITH MY BROTHER, I briefly mentioned 3 instances of avoiding being raped by letting men just have me when it seemed like they were going to do me whether or not I consented. I do think I avoided emotional and physical trauma at the time, but the anger, self resentment, and feelings of being wronged and about it did snowball after. I never shared or released those stories. Please read my original story for context. In this instance the sex was already happening when I awoke, and my reflex was to take the non-confrontational path. The easy way, not the right way. I had gotten home from work as a server at my bar and grill restaurant and my female roommate had her father staying with us for the weekend. I had already met him since they drove straight from the airport to the sports bar I worked at. That’s were he told me, “Just call me, ‘Dad’”. They sat in my section, ate, and left. No issues. Then, back at our 2 bedroom apartment there was a small party for his benefit with a couple of our friends. I had a couple hard ciders and chatted about college and my roommate and heard stores of when she was a kid from. I flirted and humored “Dad”’s sexual innuendos directed at me, and ignored his eyes all up and down me. I was used to it. I played the good hostess and waited until it was all dying down probably around 2 or 3 am, before I showered and went to bed. It had been a long day with both class and work. I was stirred out of my sleep a few hours later with "Dad" already inside of me, thrusting in and out between my legs! By the light streaming in through my dark blinds I could tell it was day. But WTF was happening?! My panties were off but my T-shirt was on. Underneath it the dark figure who I quickly was able to identify as "Dad" was caressing my breasts with one hand while holding me down with the other. Still dazed and confused, I guess I put my arms around him and responded like a willing partner. He soon finished and then it got awkward.  He told me "That really hit the spot". He started to make conversation! The longer I had to think, the more I realized what happened. That he had just helped himself as I lay sleeping. I was 19 and dating a hot university baseball player at the time and would not have gone for this fifty or so year old guy on purpose. He was sure drinking that night but I had only had a few ciders. So there I was, realizing I had been kind of raped but held hostage by a sense of politeness! Not to mention as I was 5'3'' 110 pounds, so there was the physical intimidation from a much taller man with a dad bod.  I always pee right after sex but felt captive by "Dad"'s ramblings as he propped himself up on one elbow hovering over me while he ran his fingers over me and stroked my hair sporadically.  I shared his cold can of beer with him that he must have opened right before he came in to rape me because I remember drinking deeply the cold liquid soothing my dry throat. I suffered through some dad jokes and stories I did not care about, as well as answering some personal questions about myself and my sexuality. I was looking for momentary pause to get up and away from “Dad” when he said, "I'm ready to go again, baby." NO! He moved on top of me! Instead of fighting him off me or even saying "no", I spread my legs to accommodate him! WTF! The second time did not have the desperate eagerness of the first, unfortunately. As he even said, he wanted to teach me a lesson this time. I guess about how good he was is bed. A definite case of ‘whiskey dick’. So I let this man I had never wanted or considered sex with jostle me into several positions. He was large man and so much stronger than me it was a joke. After the missionary he picked me up to prove some point and did me against the wall right next to my window. I remember seeing through cracks in the blinds and knowing it was early because the parking lot was full and nothing was moving. Then SLAM onto the bed. We did 69 with me lying on him where I sucked him with all my might wanting to END IT while he was licking me. I failed! He had me being on top riding him at one point. I was on my hands and knees with him ramming behind me when I collapsed under his weight to flat on my face. He enjoyed never letting up on the thrusts as I was completely pinned down by him. I let him give me two or more orgasms in hopes he would just finish. I was so loud I was embarrassed my roommate would come rushing in my room any second. She was passed out drunk. He finally left as soon as he finished. I am sure his ego was massively inflated and the terrible man still thinks of me today! I lie there in my bed catching my breath and getting more anxious. I got up, pulled on some sweats, and B-lined straight out the door to my gym. I wanted to get away so bad. I drank water like I had just walked out of a desert. I showered for so long at the empty Saturday morning gym without any products but hand soap. Then I started to work out like crazy, on three hours sleep and exhaustion. I was trying to sweat him out of my system, to scream and thrash through my exercise. I showered again then went out and fell asleep in my car in the back of the lot. The rest of the weekend I only went to my apartment for minutes at a time to pick up things I needed. I sure as Hell did not sleep there! When he was gone I answered my roommates questions that I had been blowing off with lies and short answers. I told her the truth. She shrugged and looked at me skeptically, like it was just one of those things. I was promiscuous in college and she knew it. We sort of made a joke out of it and moved on. The easy way, not the right way. I still have big time guilt at how I was back then. At the time my things was not that "I wish I had fought him." What I wished was that I had been too drunk to remember!!! So that was that. Something I kept inside, festering. Other things added to it and it got swept under the rug of my damaged psyche. Not one of the worst skeletons in my closet but what I was willing to share for now. I am working up to the others. My first story I shared helped a lot. I hope it helped somebody else too. I thank all of you and I empathize. I will read your stories and support you in my thoughts and prayers.

I never realised I had to be wary of women, because I never expected one could take advantage of me. I had lots to drink and simply thought I had made a new friend. I was so drunk that I just went along with everything she suggested, even though I kept saying I had no interest in women. I still doubt myself and blame myself. I thought I was safe and never in my life expected a woman would sexually assault me. I feel nobody understands.

Number years since what happened to me. There has been so much pain and hurt. One of these men was constanty asking me to sleep with his friends but my answer was always no , never, not a chance , You see i found it so hard to accept what had happened because i had to much to drink . I do believe that something was put into my drink as i had no more to drink than what i normally would . I was a at party with these two people. I dont remember leaving the house but i do remember getting sick out of the taxi on the way home. Both of these animals took turns to have sex with me . I remember just lying there with no clothes on and been unable to move unable to fight them of . Both of them went outside and i remember the strong smell of cigarettes and could hear them both laughing . Shortly after both of them left and i lay there confussed , helpless and alone. I must have fallen asleep because i remember it was bright out and one of these men came back to the house. No accountability has been taken from either of these and this is what makes healing so hard for me. Im trying to take back my power but some days are just so hard. Both of these men took adavantage of my vunrability. Learning to tust myself and love myself is my main goal for now and knowing that i did nothing wrong,

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.

what i have learned from this ordeal is that someone who wants to hurt you is intimidated by your light. they’re afraid that if you know how beautiful you are, you will leave them so they try to bring you down. but they can only dim your light for a time, they can’t take it away from you. our bodies are resilient and they are made to heal. survivor

Link

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

I feel like nobody talks about COCSA. And I feel like no one talks about female perpetrators. I’m not necessarily here to talk about the abuse that happened to me, but for context, I was nine and the other child was a nine year old girl. What really haunts me is what I did after. I inflicted this pain onto someone else, I figure I was probably about 10 and she was 9. She was my mom’s friends daughter. My mom’s best friend, actually. And I’ve been thinking a lot about how much that must’ve ruined their friendship when they found out what happened. How much anger my mother must have deep down felt towards me. I didn’t mean to hurt anybody. And I tell myself “I didn’t touch her I didn’t actually lay my hands on her I didn’t do it” but I did. I hurt someone like that and maybe I have an excuse and maybe I don’t but all I can think is how horrible I feel to have done something like that to another person. It was never about getting caught or getting in trouble, im just disgusted with myself. Just recently I remembered that I was raped twice that night, not once. And now I’m terrified that maybe I’m forgetting something and maybe I did this more than once, but how could I have forgotten doing something like that? I would never harm a child today. Never. There is not a single doubt in my mind that I would ever hurt anybody like that again. All I think about now is if I’m this awful person because nobody ever talks about this side of childhood SA and the people that do are treated like monsters. But maybe that’s what I deserve.

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

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.

I am writing to formally share a concerning experience I had with a former therapist, whose actions have raised serious ethical and professional issues. These actions have caused significant emotional distress, disrupted my therapy, and left me feeling abandoned during a vulnerable time. It is important that this matter is investigated thoroughly. I first began working with the therapist at a treatment center offering Ibogaine therapy. Early in our sessions, I shared my personal website, which details my work as a psychedelic therapy concierge. This role, by definition, involves connecting clients with licensed professionals rather than providing therapy or any therapeutic work myself. We agreed during our initial consultation that our professional roles would not interfere with our therapeutic relationship, and we chose not to pursue any business collaboration. However, after undergoing Ibogaine treatment at the center, I was unexpectedly abandoned during the critical integration phase of my therapy. This phase is crucial for processing and making sense of the treatment experience, and I needed support during this time. The therapist told me she no longer wanted to work with me, citing unsubstantiated rumours from the "Iboga community" without offering any specifics or clarity. Despite my repeated requests for more information, I was left with no answers, and instead, my professional reputation was publicly attacked. The therapist scrutinised my website, misrepresented my role as a concierge, and made false accusations about my qualifications and intentions. She suggested that my professional work was somehow misleading, when in reality, my role is strictly to facilitate connections between clients and qualified professionals. It was distressing to see her misunderstand and misrepresent my work, and it crossed a line from professional to personal attacks. What’s more concerning is that the therapist made these allegations without giving me the opportunity to address them directly. Rather than providing clarity, she offered no formal transition plan or referral to another qualified therapist, leaving me without support when I needed it most. The lack of professionalism and the refusal to provide specific details of the accusations left me with a sense of betrayal and confusion. There are also serious concerns about confidentiality. The therapist’s mention of therapy notes and her suggestion that they could be disclosed with a court order raised alarms about the potential violation of my privacy. There is a real possibility that private details from our sessions were shared with others without my consent, and this could have damaged my reputation within the community. To make matters worse, the therapist suggested that my attempts to seek legal counsel were retaliatory, which is a gross misrepresentation of my actions. I reached out to legal professionals only to understand my rights and protect my interests after the abrupt end of our therapeutic relationship. This decision was not an act of retaliation but a necessary step to navigate the difficult situation caused by her actions. On top of this, I discovered troubling safety issues at the treatment center, including a lack of emergency exits and treatment rooms that could only be accessed by a narrow spiral staircase—an unsafe design in the event of a medical emergency, especially given the potential side effects of Ibogaine. Billing practices also raised concerns. I was charged international rates for my treatment without prior notice, and an airport transfer service recommended by the therapist overcharged me by three times the standard fare. These practices were not only unethical but showed a disregard for clients’ financial well-being. Although a refund was eventually agreed upon, the lack of transparency was unsettling. The emotional and psychological toll of this entire experience has been profound. The abrupt termination of our therapeutic relationship during a critical phase has only exacerbated my distress. I was left without the necessary support to process the Ibogaine treatment and integrate the experience effectively. I firmly believe that the therapist's conduct not only violated ethical standards but also caused harm to my well-being. The lack of professionalism, false accusations, breach of confidentiality, and inadequate handling of the situation are all deeply concerning. I am requesting a formal review and investigation into the therapist’s actions, and I would like to see the relevant parties held accountable for their misconduct. Additionally, I believe this situation warrants further attention regarding possible compensation for the emotional distress and harm caused. The therapist’s actions have undermined the very essence of what therapy is meant to provide—support, trust, and a safe environment for healing. The case has been reported to the local board accordingly. This situation cannot and should not be allowed to continue without appropriate action. I hope that this matter will be taken seriously and that steps will be taken to ensure that this kind of behaviour is addressed.

This guy was my best friend. He knew everything I was dealing with. He was the reason I got out of the abusive place I was in. Less than 2 weeks after I got out of that abusive place, he raped me when I needed a safe place to stay. I had trusted him so much with absolutely everything and he not only violated me, but my trust aswell. He then text me the day after telling me not to tell anyone what happened. But I didn't remember anything about what happened until 5 days after it happened. He denied and denied and denied when I confronted him until eventually he admitted to what he did. Its been numberyears and I still can't walk around my hometown alone anymore out of fear, I can't hear his name or see anything remotely near to what he was wearing or I was wearing. But I'm in therapy now and it's making me realise so much. I'm working on trusting the world again. I didn't deserve it. No one does. As difficult and painful it is to deal with something like this, we can all survive. We can get through it. Someone wants to listen to your story. Someone wants to help. Don't deal with it alone xx

It took 10 years of emotional, physical and financial abuse from a narcissistic man to realize that I stayed because it felt normal. My childhood wasn’t a healthy environment. So when I met my ex his avoidant and violent nature felt right. The gaslighting and love bombing were so common in my childhood home, I didn’t see the red flags when they popped up. Today I’m still struggling with imposter syndrome. How much of it was real affection? How much was more manipulation and lies? I wanted to share this, because sometimes I need to be validated that it all did happen, it wasn’t a fever dream. So I hope this helps someone out there. You’re not alone. What you’re feeling is valid. It’s scary and confusing at first, but it gets so much better. One day at a time. One small healthy decision at a time. It’s not gonna get better overnight, it will take a while. It’s been 1 year since we split, 2 months since the divorce. I’m taking my time to reset my nervous system and figure out who I am, without his narrative over me. You are loved.

This morning I was awoken by my bed shaking and i felt a hand on my butt..it was my cousin masturbating and touching me at the same time. i dont know if its considered SA so i want to know if it is. (also he was sleeping over)

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

I grew up thinking that my body was not my own. I experienced child sexual assault and rape all before the age of 14 and that shaped how I viewed my body and the world around me. It took years, almost a decade, before I would seek therapy and try to start my healing journey. I felt so disgusting in my own body and it made it hard for me to have romantic relationships. Therapy has really been helpful and sometimes I still feel that discomfort in my body but I am learning everyday that what happened to me is not my fault. I also have grown to learn that there are bad people out here and that there is nothing that I did to deserve what happened to me. Although my abuser is free to roam the world as if he didn't harm me and my rapist is free to live his life as if he didn't rape me -- I find peace in knowing that I am healing despite what they did to me.

I’m not sure if this counts but according to online it is considered as COCSA child on child sexual assault. When I was a kid in 1st grade I believe or kindergarten I was stuck at a table in between 2 or 3 boys on either end with another girl next to me. We were sitting at a circle table used for group learning and the teacher stepped away. While the teacher was gone the boys proceeded to try to twist our nipples and give us like a nurple…it felt really uncomfortable and I hated it and I remember as a child just trying to push the boys away. I also remember that it wasn’t for that long ig but I didn’t tell anyone…idk why. I told my parents recently and they kinda brushed past it like it was kids being kids but it really wasn’t. A couple years ago I was around 13 or 14 I was identifying and acknowledging myself sexually if…I come to realize that the situation left me feeling very uncomfortable with how I felt with my body specifically with my chest.

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