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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.

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

I want to share my experience because I've spent years blaming myself and thinking it was my fault, or downplaying what happened and thinking 'its not that bad, it could have been worse, I'm playing the victim, when there are actual victims/survivors out there that have had it so much worse'. But through therapy I have come to recognise the harm that was done to me. The impact. The trauma and triggers and flashbacks I am living with on a daily basis. I've only just found out that what happened to me has a name. Its called coercion. Or a form of birth control sabotage. We had agreed on the pull out method (not the most reliable, I know, but it had worked for us up until then). We were not in a relationship at the time. He was my ex. I felt silly even reminding him to pull out, to not finish inside me. We were in a position where he had full control, I trusted him, I enjoyed sex with him, he was the first person I could really explore my fantasies with without shame. And despite my protests and reminding him to pull out, he finished inside me without my consent. It could have been accidental. These things happen, I know that. But it wasnt accidental. He meant to do it. He laughed about it. He fully intended to do it. He thought it was funny. I cannot tell you how much I have obsessed about every detail. Studying it from so many different angles. Picking it apart, blaming myself, hating myself even. After it happened I blocked it out. I felt violated. I felt betrayed. I knew I could never trust him again. I shut the door after he left and sat in the bathtub trying to wash him out of me. I didnt go for the morning after pill. I was too embarrassed. I stupidly thought it would be fine. That there would be no way I would get pregnant, that it wouldnt happen to me this way. So I blocked it out. Until weeks later I realised I hadn't had my period in a while, and sure enough, I was pregnant. I couldnt go through with a termination. And my ex wanted nothing to do with me or our child. He threatened to expose some intimate details about me if I went ahead with the pregnancy. I was afraid, he had a tendancy to be violent in the past. But my whole family rallied around me in support. I went ahead with the pregnancy anyway. And my child is the love of my life. Adored by my whole family. But I am still haunted about how my child was conceived. That my ex got to walk away without consequence. That there are so many women who end up having their lives completely turned upside down, and all society can say is 'well you should have closed your legs/you should have known better/you should have been more responsible/its your own fault'. No. He should have pulled out.

Im still trying to heal through all of my issues, I stay isolated and quiet and find it hard to make friends sometimes. my story started years ago as a lil boy my my older cousin always kept touching on me and laughed it off until he took me upstairs and told me how good it would feel to me. I later cried and told family in front of him he laughed and they laughed but at least it stopped . other cousins would tell what happened to me to there friends making it awkward to be around people. but with time people forgot. fast forward 3 or so years i'm nine at least I think ,and my older female cousin tells me im pretty I should stop being shy she would show me how to have sex and be a ladies man. well she did but it didn't end there her and a friend of hers set me up with a girl my age and watched me have sex a few times with her until I got old enough to stay home by myself . today I much older but very hyper sexual and long story short my past has caused a lot of my problems. it feels good to finally tell somebody.

I'm still angry. My boyfriend of 4 years raped me in January. We had talked about kids. Marriage. Our future together. I trusted him with my life. He knew that, and I often wonder if he used that. He gave me an edible and encouraged me to drink. I figured he would want nothing but the best for me, so I obliged. Like I said, I trusted him with my life. I blacked out. I remember about 5 minutes of the entire 4 hour ordeal. I remember saying I was dizzy and wanted to sleep, and he told me that the only way to not get sick from drinking (which was a big fear of mine) was to have sex. I was so intoxicated I couldn't hold myself up. I fell flat on my face a few times. It was 4 hours. 4 hours long of him taking advantage of me being unconscious. Due to some health issues, I couldn't have sex with him when conscious, so I guess he invited himself to it when I wasn't conscious. I'm still upset. But that's the thing: I am upset about the situation, but I don't hate him. Too many people keep asking why I continue to keep up with him after what he did. It isn't that black and white. I support people forgiving their abusers. I support people not forgiving their abusers. Right now, he's still in my life because he lives nearby and he's going through a lot and I try to help where I can. But I also am fully aware of my own limitations and what I can handle. I am helping him from an emotional distance. I hate what he did, but I don't hate him. I haven't cut him off yet, and I don't have to. Stop trying to fill in the ending to my story, and let me write it myself.

hi. i found out when i was 14 that what happened to me wasn’t okay. i have no idea how to deal with the fact that apparently im a victim of cocsa, so that’s why im here because i have no idea what to do. it started when i was 5, and she was 9. the first time, she asked what kind of princess underwear i was wearing, then asked to see. i showed her and she touched me, then asked if i liked it. i didnt know what i was supposed to like. this went on for some time, and eventually she got my sisters in on it too, they were her age. i didn’t know what it even was but i wanted her to keep hanging out with me alongside them so i didn’t complain. and the sister i shared a room with one night asked if we could “practice” so we could be good for her, then asked me to touch her. she called it her dog house, and i had to help the dog. me and my sister haven’t spoken about that night since it happened, and i cant get it out of my mind. but the girl never stopped with me, one day she came to my house and wanted to sleep over. i was so excited that she asked to sleep in my room with just me, and it got to bedtime, and she asked if i could help her, but i said i didn’t want to so she made me hold her phone that had porn on it, i sat there for however long while she did it, making me watch. i never knew it was wrong or anything, i just loved the idea of her thinking of me. the last time, i was 12. my family took her on our vacation, and she wanted to go back to the condo for whatever, she asked me to come back with her. i was downstairs eating pizza rolls, and she asked me to come upstairs. i walk in the room and her bottoms are off. she asked me to come and sit, and asked if i would help her. i said i didn’t want to, and she just asked me to take my top off and watch. i remember i just sat there staring at myself in the mirror. the whole time. for the first time, i was scared. we then left once she was done, and said nothing. when it was my 14th birthday, i talked abt it, and i was told that it wasn’t okay. 7 years of my life. i didn’t know. and i don’t know how to deal with any of this. any tips or help would be great.

I was only 6 years old when I was sexually assaulted. The first time I talked about it with anyone and said it out loud was this year. I'm now 22... that means it's been 16 years later. But I am so thankful to have the support system I do have - the support system who has been strong enough to give me the courage to finally speak up for myself ❤️

When I was four years old, my cousin X groped me. The first time: I was playing with my cousins, who were close to my age. It suddenly started raining, so we all hid under a tree, but one by one, we went home to use the bathroom. Finally, it was me and my cousin X's younger brother who stayed behind. The younger brother went home because he was cold, and I, being close to the younger boy, tried to go home with him. At that moment, he grabbed me by the arm and told me to stay. I was really scared. He suddenly grabbed me from behind, put his hand under my skirt, and groped me. He held my mouth, so I couldn't call for help from anyone he could see through the trees. I don't know if it was because of the age difference, but he only groped me. The second time, it was at my cousin X's house. I was close to his younger brother (A), and his parents liked him. I was four years old the second time too. We went to play games. Cousin X put me on his lap and groped me so our parents wouldn't see. I didn't want A, who was sitting next to me, to find out. I tried my best not to make a sound. Even though there were people around, I thought he was doing something wrong, so I couldn't say anything. I was too scared to run away. There was no way I could win by force, and I didn't know what he was doing. All I could think about was that he was doing something wrong. I still meet up with that person. But only twice. But it drove me crazy. I've been interested in sexual things since I was little, and sometimes I feel disgusted by myself as a woman. Not being able to talk to anyone about it makes it even harder, and I wonder why he seems to be living a happy life. But even so, I can't tell my parents about him. Even though I really hate him to death.

You Are Not Alone You are not alone. So many of us had so much taken from us by people who put pleasing their basal urges over our sanity. For their moments of bliss and dominance we suffer. We blame ourselves for their sickness. THEIR pathology. There is an army of us. That is what these stories teach us. They show us we are legion. We are strong. Our psychological reactions of fear, mistrust, hatred are not crazy. They are normal. It is also normal, but not easy, to climb out the darkness together. I grew up in a large low income black of flats that was like a village. My mum worked and we went about by ourselves. In the winter we were never expected to be seen if we left. We were in some flat mucking about with some kids or neighbor, and it all worked out fine. I did lose my virginity when I was eleven to a friend of my older brother who was in year ten. But that was no bother because it was not uncommon there, sadly. I am half Brazilian on my absent father’s side and was considered quite exotic and fit. My secondary sexual characteristics developed early. I was reasonably careful and in control. True abuse began years later when we moved out to a proper house with HIM. HE was my mom’s dream man. HE was fit for a middle-aged man. By that time my brother wasn’t with us because he took work in Alaska on a fishing boat. HE was ex-Army and seemed like a good man at first. I was a bit of trouble maker and over-cheeky and my mom gave HIM carte blanche to discipline me like father. We weren’t there the length of a full season when HE started treating me like a tart. The spanking part mom knew about and thought it was funny, even with me being fifteen. HE spanked my bare bum even when she was home. She said I’d always needed a man’s hand to block of my rough edges. It was cringe, humiliating, but nothing compared to what HE did when mum was away. Not to get detailed, HE soon got to a point where I was going to get HIS load whenever there was the chance. Since HE got to set my schedule he made sure there were regular chances. It was my HELL and HE was the Prince of Darkness. He was rough but careful not to leave any marks. Unless time was short I had to shower first. Sometimes after there would be something specific sitting out to wear, like a costume or lingerie, or my netball kit. The grating anticipation of what was going to follow was the real torture. HE would tell me to “Pick a hole”. My holes! My foof was one, my mouth was two, and you’d think I would never select three. But you’d be wrong. I hated HIM. I am very sensitive sexually and if I went with one I looked like I loved it and if I chose two I was doing work to please HIM. Three was the way I could shut down and brace myself without him ever seeing me smile, even if I was facing toward him. When I was strong with hatred I would choose three. I compartmentalized that small but brutal part of my life for my mum. If was a mere thirty to one hundred twenty minutes per a week of 10080 minutes. And I saw no other way then. Mum, for the first time was living a happy life. I could have won a BAFTA for how I seemed so cozy and content for her. It gutted me that my fear of upsetting HIM made it appear that HE had smoothed out my rough edges and made me into a proper lady. I kept my marks up and stayed on the netball team in spite of being the shortest. I kept going. I developed a habit of stabbing mechanical pencil tips into my skin and biting my nailbeds to illicit pain. I had one boyfriend for a short time. I went to the dances. Home was my hell so I did everything HE would allow to be anywhere else. I could not work but he made my mum keep her job so he could have me. My birthdays I would get my way of having a just girls’ night out with mum. There were only two birthdays before I got free of him. College cost 1000 pounds and when HE paid it HE did not know I was not going to be his tart anymore. I had a friend with a home much closer to my school. They had spare bedroom because an older sibling had moved out. Being seventeen, HE couldn’t force me to live with them if I had other safe accommodations. I took employment and paid the meager rent. He got me one more time when I was sleeping back at his house on Christmas eve. Probably drugged mum to keep her sleeping. I made sure he never got a chance again. Through my Portuguese class I met a man who lived in Portugal and invited me to come stay with him as long as I wanted rent free. I finished one year of sixth form and went to Portugal. I had fleeting relations with the man I stayed with but he traveled often we both had our own things. I worked at an American-themed restaurant as a server then. I spoke with my mum on the phone most days. She visited once, with HIM. I missed her and tried not to show much of my sorrow about being forced apart from her. Seeing HIM was horrendous, yet I kept it contained inside like a cancer. It helped solidify my decision. I traveled with a friend to Florida and got a job serving in a posh restaurant. I applied for a work VISA and on my second try I got it. I am thirty-eight now. Only three years ago did I confront my demons because I read online stories about other abuse survivors. It opened up a deep wound so I could start to heal. It was and still is hard work and an ongoing process. I confessed to my mum who had split with HIM after years of her own abuse that she also kept hidden. HE had let her go when she started having health problems, showing his true black heart. She lives with my brother and his family. I regret losing years with mum and my brother and being chased away from my home when I was young but it made me stronger. I have never married but I have a loving partner, two dogs and I speak three languages. I am a physical trainer and work near the beach where I go to meditate and body surf. Our journeys and stories are individual but we are in this together. Worldwide. You are not alone in carrying the pain and the shame and the fear and the flashbacks! Even if you are in the dark, start toward a path that looks like others are using to try to climb out. Use the resources, even if just right there on your computer, and build from there. Just start and keep climbing, especially when it seems too hard.

I never thought I’d end up in a relationship where love turned into control. It started small checking where I was, who I talked to, and what I spent. Before long, I was isolated from my family, my finances were no longer my own, and I felt trapped in a version of life that revolved around keeping the peace. The control eventually became financial and emotional. I was pressured to leave my job, told what I could or couldn’t buy, and made to feel guilty for needing independence. Every dollar spent was questioned. My self-worth slowly disappeared until I didn’t recognize myself anymore. Then came the night everything changed. During an argument, he introduced a firearm not in defense, but as intimidation. In that moment, I realized how easily fear can silence someone. That silence almost became my prison. But deep down, something in me refused to die there. I decided to leave, even if it meant starting from nothing. Leaving was terrifying, but it was also the beginning of freedom. I had to rebuild from the ground up my confidence, my finances, and my sense of safety. There were nights I questioned if I made the right choice, but every morning I woke up without fear, I knew I did. Today, I’m learning that healing isn’t about forgetting—it’s about reclaiming power piece by piece. I still flinch at loud noises and double-check locks, but I also laugh again. I make choices for myself. I’m learning to trust that I’m safe now. To anyone who’s living in silence, afraid to leave: your story matters. Fear doesn’t define you, and control is not love. You deserve safety, freedom, and peace. You are not alone and you can survive this too.

Yesterday, I was faced with something I had no idea it had the effect it did on me. I was face to face, in the same room with a man who I believe attempted to rape me 30 years ago. The work I do allowed for this meeting. No one intentionally set me up, it just happened. The universe was speaking to me and saying you are ready to move forward. As this man shows a picture of him and his wife at their wedding day nearly 30 years ago I recognize who he is immediately. I diverted my eyes, hoping he has recognized me. I held my breath. I repeated to myself, just breathe. I can feel his hand on my wrist pulling me as if it were yesterday. I was home alone, 16, he was married to my neighbor. They were on the brink of divorce. My parents left to go somewhere I don't quite recall. I hear a knock at the door. It's him. I'm not immediately on guard because he's never been a threat before. In fact, he's been quite friendly, but not the kind of friendly I would find weird or alarming as an adult. He asked if my parents were home. I step outside of the house and close the door and said, no, they aren't. I wondered why he couldn't determine that by looking at the drive way so I try and position myself in a safer spot because I cornered myself when I closed the door. He then opened the door and said, come here I want to show you something. I resist and said, no, what are you doing. He continued to pull on my right arm and wrist. I continue to resist. Then, aware my neighbors could probably hear if I yelled, "get the fuck off me", so I say it. Until this day and never since I haven't used my voice in times of trauma. I freeze. Every. Single. Time. But not this day, I forcibly said, "GET THE FUCK OFF ME". Our eyes met, his eyes got bigger and he let go and left. I never told anyone and never thought anything about it until yesterday when I recognized him. It was surprising to me how my body responded and felt every single feeling I felt that day. As I'm telling you this story, I can't help but feel proud of that 16 year old girl. Very proud of her. Our body keeps score and boy is that a very strange concept for me. What else have I forgotten that I have survived?!

For reference, I am a college student and this story generally takes place in a college town. I was excited to have made a new friend during quarantine. We met right before the lockdown in 2020, and would have a few phone or video calls every few weeks or so. For context, I have a smattering of social anxiety I have been living with since I was a pre-teen, and I'm especially nervous around guys my age. That's why making this platonic friend was so valued to me. I am a person with few close friends, and I decided to let him in. I decided to trust him. Maybe it was because at that time in my life I wanted a platonic friend so badly, I never noticed the signs he liked me as more than a friend. Not noticing that ended up being important later on, because when the semester started back we decided to hang out in person. The first time it was at a park, and we had some pleasant conversations. I think I was getting a small hint he liked me but didn't want to acknowledge it; I didn't like him back. We decided to hang out once more, but this time he texted me right beforehand and asked to change the place to his apartment. I heard my mom's voice in my head telling me I shouldn't go to a guy's house alone, but at this point in my life I did have another close friend I knew I could trust and I'd go to his apartment sometimes - so I told said friend where I would be and that I would be hanging out at this friend's place for safety. I remember I also had pepper spray with me. I was supposedly armed with everything a girl would need in a situation where she gets sexually harrassed - except my voice. When I got there, we watched Netflix and everything was alright for the first hour. We talked and enjoyed the show. But, eventually things started changing. The order to this is the part is fuzzy in my memory, but I remember how he slowly worked his way towards touching me. He sat closer, started giving me complements more and more. He played some french song and sang it to me while playing the guitar on my arm- I imagine it could have been romantic if I was in to him and wanted it. But I really wasn't, and I didn't. I remember when he did confess he went on this whole tangent about how much he liked me and how great he thought I was and so many things. This guy talked for quite a while and all I could do was sit and listen. At this point he had already tried sitting closer to me and I had to pull away. At some point his roommate left the apartment after talking with him alone. I don't remember when this was exactly but I do remember how it made me feel. We were sitting on the living room couch and he reached to hold me. He groped my boob for a few seconds, and whispered into my ear. When I want someone, doing that kind of thing feels great. I realized that night how disgusting it can feel when you want no part of it and you fear for your safety. There was one moment where I tried to break away, and he almost didn't let me. The thing that terrified me the most out of all of this was something he said: 'if you hadn't stopped me I would have done something worse'- or something to that affect. I remember feeling terrified and shaking, probably blushing out of nervousness and wanting only to go home but finding it harder to say as it got darker outside. I eventually left, and he walked me home part of the way to make me feel safer walking back in the dark. That's the ironic part about all of this. He walked me home, and to this day I don't think he had any idea how after a year how much that night bothered me, and how it was a night I wouldn't be forgetting for a long time. About how much I cried to my friends and family. It felt like it should be small to me- after all, I wasn't 'raped or anything,' (what I said to my family). But it had almost completely shattered all of my trust in people and in men I had been building up slowly. If it wasn't for the guy friend I mentioned previously, I might have lost trust in men completely and developed serious problems as a result. Today, after more than a year, I am going to call him for the first time since then and tell him what he did is wrong. I have read many sexual assault stories after this event, and I realized people often don't want to call out the offender because they fear it will affect the offender's social lives and jobs, especially when this person is a close friend. But I honestly think this person has no idea what he did was wrong, and if I do absolutely nothing I am pretty damned sure there is a good chance he would do it to someone else. People need to know when they are in the wrong. And I feel ready to confront him. I don't think confrontation is the answer for everyone. But it is my answer. Many boys are not taught what it means to be a respectful man, and don't recognize that they could very easily make someone they know feel uncomfortable and and scared. They don't internalize 'I could be a sexual assaulter'. People need to realize their own power, not only to use it for good, but so they don't abuse it.

It’s been 2 years since my ex-husband and I separated. We have two children together a girl, age 8 and a boy, age 5. After our relationship ended, I began to tell various third-parties about our relationship’s dynamic and what our sex life was like. With this, I started to reflect on the relationship and soon realized how abusive it was. My ex-husband would force me to have sex with him at every 2-3 days and if I didn’t he would treat me terrible, getting angry at me, giving me the silent treatment, acting like a pouty child and excluding me from dinner conversations with my children (speaking only Danish, a language I don’t understand with them.) It was horrible and I feel like whoever I tell this story to minimizing my experience, victim blaming or straight out takes his side. It’s been incredibly isolating and I feel so alone. I can’t get out of bed on the days I have the kids. I just sit on the couch and watch tv or scroll social media on my phone. I don’t know how to move on from this without going to the police but I truly don’t believe that would be good for my children because he’s a good dad for the most part. I feel so stuck, sad, broken and hopeless.

i’m a victim of cocsa by my older brother at the age of 8 he was 13. i don’t remember when it first started because i blocked it out but i remember it happening all the time we could be in the car and my mom would be running in the store for a few things leaving me with him for no longer than 15 minutes and he would force me to please him. it was whenever he felt those desires and i never said anything i would just sit there and let it happen. i was frozen every time from the physical and mental pain and the betrayal i felt. he would babysit me everyday after school because our mom worked long hours and couldn’t afford an actual babysitter. she trusted him to protect me and keep me safe. one night she left to do some errands and put him in charge. i fell asleep on the couch waiting for her and then i was still afraid of the dark so i kept the kitchen light on he got angry and turned it off and i cried when i realized i was in the dark alone. he yelled at me for crying and dragged me by my hair to his room and undressed me i sobbed but let it happen couple minutes later we heard the door unlock he told me to fake sleep and our mom open the door to his room she looked at us and knew we were fake sleeping and told my brother to get up and do something and he said no she started to get suspicious and told him to get up again and saw he had no pants on. she beat him. and then after she was done she came after me i ran and fell to the ground and my princess nightgown went up and she hit and kicked me everywhere calling me names. it was a different side of her i never seen she didn’t even look like my mom anymore. by her screams and cries i knew nothing would be the same anymore. our dad picked up my brother and a police man came to our house and i had to tell him everything. i said “my older brother was raping me” it was my first time ever saying it out loud.

I grew up in an abusive household where we constantly moved and lived with my mom’s boyfriends. I watched my mom from my earliest memory until she took her last breathe fall into the pattern of abuse. When I was 8 years old my mom chose to leave her abuser for the sake of me and my brother. But that didn’t stop him from coming back and making threats and eventually coming into our new home and killing her with my brother and I there. Watching it ends with us showed me a different perspective. It showed me that my mom tried to leave her Ryle for the sake of us, to try to end the pattern. Unfortunately she was unable to and we lost her. As a young adult now I’ve been in 2 relationships where there was violence and abuse and despite my fears I’ve been able to leave for my sake and the sake of my future kids. I know I deserve better, every women and man deserves better. Please don’t settle for a significant other that is abusive verbally or physically. You are worth so much more.

I don’t know where to start, really. Every time I start to tell one story, another one screams at me to be told instead. My teenage self begs to be heard, my college self is still so filled with anger and hatred, and the almost 30 me is just so tired by all of it. I am not a perfect victim and I question every single day whether or not I’ve actually experienced rape or if I actually wanted it or asked for it or just regret it. Even though thinking of these stories fills me with such dread, I feel like I’m going to be sick, I still wonder how it was somehow my fault. I went to a bar for drinks with a couple old friends from college. I’ll call the person who abused me name. He was so happy to see me, I remember he wrapped me in a long, tight hug. I was happy to see him, too. We were friends. I missed my friend. As the night went on, and the drinks kept flowing, a different friend and my boyfriend decided it was time to call it a night. name wanted me to stay, to catch up more. He was so enjoying our conversation and didn’t want it to end quite yet. I told my boyfriend I was going to stay a bit longer to catch up, and he asked me to be careful and get home safe. name kept ordering me Stellas and clinking my bottle with his to get me to keep drinking, even though I was well past my limit. Being a lightweight, it doesn’t take much for me to get drunk, but I think I had around 10 beers that night. I can’t remember what the conversation was about when it happened, but all of a sudden he wrapped me in his arms so tight and kissed me, hard. It caught me so off guard, I didn’t know what to do. He kept whispering “no one needs to know” over and over and over, still holding onto me very tight. “Just come home with me, no one needs to know. Just come with me.” “I should go home,” I said and reached for my phone to call an Uber. But my phone was dead. “At least come over and charge your phone.” “Okay.” He took me to his house, plugged in my phone, and laid me on his bed. The world was spinning, my heart was pounding, and I kept thinking “just do what he wants so you can go home." He was on top of me in seconds. I felt myself leave my body. I completely shut down. I don't know how long it was happening before I heard my phone ringing. My boyfriend, asking if I was okay and coming home soon. With a shaky voice, I told him yes and hung up. Everything rushed to me at once. The pain, the confusion, the hurt, the anger. I dressed and grabbed my things as quickly as I could and left.

i’m going to be blunt and straightforward about my experience to maintain the authenticity of my story. less than 2 months into the start of my college experience, i was raped. in one of my most vulnerable and helpless moments, a complete stranger took advantage of me. i won’t delve into the details, but after i pleaded for this stranger to stop he resorted to physical and mental abuse. what was supposed to be a fun weekend celebrating halloween with my friends, ended up being a blur of hospital testing, being home, and figuring out what my life was going to look like moving forward. in those first few days, i struggled to make sense of something i eventually came to realize won’t ever make sense. no matter how many times i was reminded that i was not alone, loneliness always crept up on me; i barely felt any emotions related to the assault or perpetrator. initially, i put an external pressure on myself that i should be more upset. recalling the details of what happened during the assault didn’t phase me in the slightest. why wasn’t i angry at the person who left me powerless? why did i feel so disconnected from everyone in my life? why didn’t i feel the urge to press charges? these were all questions that were consistently circulating through my mind. although these were all things i was told were “normal” and that i shouldn’t feel guilty, i still felt isolated. oftentimes it seemed like people were suprised that i wasn’t shaken or distraught after sharing parts of my story. i found myself increasingly becoming more frustrated and started to distance myself from those who cared most about me. i turned to unhealthy coping mechanisms that only helped me feel better in the short-term. i yearned for control in my life when it felt like i had none; any little sense of control provided me the slight relief i longed for. my healing journey is far from over, but i trust that it will continue to get better. i’m not going to try and hide the fact that i’ve been having a really hard time navigating this, but i’ve also grown in unexpected ways and continue to become a stronger person.

After the election, the very end will have the political ask - feel free to cut that if you want to share. Thanks so much for reading my story. Link

I don't know if my story is as traumatizing as others, but I have to share. I was between the ages of 5 to 10. My parents split when I was about 4, so half the summer I spend with my dad. We always went on a 2 week vacation to Spain. Just me, my brother(then sister), my dad and his best friend. His best friend is called Raymond. I only saw him once or twice a year, and always dreaded the day I would be seeing him again. In the pool, he'd always pick us up even though we were not comfortable with him doing that. He always stared at us, especially when I wore my swimming clothes or when I pulled off my shirt because it was too hot. I didn't understand it back then, but it felt wrong. I hated Raymond. He never gave me the privacy I needed and I didn't want to be alone with him. I told my dad, but he doesn't understand. He made excuses as to why Raymond was acting that way. The final straw happened when me and my brother were about 10. We were both in the bathroom taking a bath, and Raymond barged in and pulled the curtain away. I don't remember what happened next, just that I screamed. My dad always said after the bath incident, as I call it, he made sure to keep Raymond away from us. But he failed to protect me as a kid and I can never forgive him for that. My relationship with my dad is not good because this still lingers in my mind. I am almost 20 years old now. For more then ten years I couldn't look at myself. I have my first boyfriend now, and this experience is in the way between intimate activities often. I still feel disgusted by myself often. I don't want anyone to look at me sexually, sometimes not even my own boyfriend. I wish my dad had protected me like a good father. And I wish he would believe me.