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I still don’t know if my abuse counts. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t. Or maybe that’s what I want to think. When I was 10, I was at my (at the time) best friend’s birthday party. I can’t remember much of the party itself, only that I had a white cardigan on. I remember the air smelled likes churros and popcorn. I can’t remember how I got to my friend’s bedroom. I only remember what happened there. The memory starts with me, standing in front of the bed. On the bed was Name, one of my friend’s older brothers. I remember staring at him for I don’t know how long. I think he was talking, but it was all static to me. I remember there was one those party lights things, the ones that project blue, red, and green lights onto the ceiling. Then I remember he starts jumping higher. And then he jumps at me, tackling me onto the ground. I was frozen in terror. And all I did was cry silently. But to this day, I still don’t know if it counts as rape. I was 10, but he was 13. He was only a kid too. Maybe he was also experiencing abuse, and he took it out on me. I also feel like it’s my fault for not doing anything, and not telling anyone. I could have screamed or something, but I just laid there, frozen and silent. I haven’t healed from this at all, probably because I haven’t really talked with anyone about it. I don’t know what to do.

We were both 8 or 9 at the time. Some kids kept telling us explicit stories at recess and got their voices in our heads. We thought we had to do it because they told us to. All I remember is what I was wearing and small details about it. It wasn’t our fault. I don’t think I knew how to handle it and I eventually ended up dragging it onto another girl. I never touched her, but she told her mom. I got in trouble. I still haven’t said anything.

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

I learned today that consent should always be enthusiastic, and I should not feel like I have to do something in order to maintain the relationship. I realised that I was actually assaulted by 3 different people. One of them when I was a child and by a family member. Several times. I tried so hard to forget what happened that sometimes I doubt it did. The other two were boyfriends. They were great people actually, caring and loving, and I felt like it was my duty to consent. Sometimes I would wake up and feel his body parts.

I feel as if I got so many things stolen from me that night. It was the last night of my high school graduation trip, I was supposed to enjoy those last few hours dancing and having fun with my friends, not getting drugged by someone I had met and already told before that I didn't want anything with him. I was taken to our hotel by him, one of the designated mothers that went with us saw him take me and yet did nothing to stop him. I wasn't supposed to spend that night in fear, not understanding what was happening and what was being done to me, or for it to end in him almost killing me and throwing me inside the shower to get every bit of evidence out. I have never felt such shame, fear, and pain; but what was even worse was denying that I was raped and beaten, and trying to convince myself that it was normal and that I wanted it because I froze up and stopped fighting. I remember talking to him for about one month after that night, trying to make it seem as it was normal for him to threaten me every day and say that he was going to go to my graduation party and "do it all over again but worse". I was in such a dark place, I lost all of my friends and was falling every day in a deeper state of depression, not being able to put into words what happened or to talk to anyone. It wasn't until I confided in one of my closest friends that I "wasn't sure if I actually wanted it" and that I told her the story that I really realised the truth. One month after that night, I still had bruises all over my arms, legs, and neck; but yet it took me that much time to wrap my head around that fact. He took so much from me that night. My youth, my friends, my innocence, my happiness, my ability to connect with myself and with others, my spark. And yet, three years later, I got better. I got out of that hole and managed to get into my dream college. I went to therapy and I said out loud that I was raped and that it wasn't my fault. I got inside a bus and travelled with friends without having a panic attack. I told some of my closest friends what happened and they were amazing and understanding. I got into a relationship and he is so utterly thoughtful and welcoming, never shaming me for having trouble with stuff most people take for granted. So yes, he did take many things from me and made me suffer as I never had before. But I took them right back and I refuse to give him more power.

ALL THROUGHOUT MY LIFE I HAVE SUFFERED MULTIPLE EVENTS OF SEXUAL MOLESTATION AND ASSAULT THE FIRST ONE STARTING AT THE AGE OF 8 WHEN A FAMILY FRIEND MOLESTED ME HE ENDED UP BEING CHARGED AND SENTENCED TO 10 YEARS BUT MY STORY DIDNT STOP THERE AS I GOT INTO MY TEENS GROWING UP IN A HOME WITH A NARRCISISTIC MOTHER I WAS OFTEN BELITTLED AND EMOTIONALLY PUT DOWN. THE EFFECTS OF MY SEXUAL ABUSE AS A CHILD AND THE UNWAVERING EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION I RECIEVED FROM MY MOM MADE ME AN EASY TARGET FOR PREDATORS THROUGHOUT MY TEENAGE YEARS, AT THE AGE OF 15 I GOT THE NEWS I WAS PREGNANT BY A 28 YEAR OLD MAN ALL THE WHILE MY MOTHER NEVER DETESTED THE RELATIONSHIP. HE OF COURSE DID NOT STICK AROUND AFTER THE NEWS. I CONTINUED TO LIVE WITH MY MOM AND IN THE MIDST OF HER NEW HOME REMODEL I WAS SEXUALLY ASSAULTED BY THE MAN DOING THE RENOVATIONS AND MY CRIES TO MY MOM WERE IGNORED IN FEAR OF HER HOME NOT BEING COMPLETED. I LEFT HOME IN AN ATTEMPT TO PROVIDE FOR MY DAUGHTER. WITH MY MOTHER NEVER BEING HOME IT WAS HARD TO GET THE THINGS MY BABY NEEDED TO SURVIVE. THE HOME I WAS LIVING IN WAS NOT SUITIBLE WITH NO HEAT MY DAUGHTER GOT SICK. AFTER SPENDING 2 WEEKS IN THE HOSPITAL SHE WENT HOME WITH MY MOM AND TAKEN OUT OF MY CUSTODY. AT THE AGE OF 16 I MOVED IN WITH MY BOYFRIEND WHO WAS 23 YEARS OLD AND HAD MY SON. OVER THE NEXT 5 YEARS I WAS PHYSICALLY ABUSED ALL WHILE SUFFERING THE PAIN OF NOT HAVING MY DAUGHTER WITH EVERY VISITATION BEING A TRANSACTION OF MY MOMS EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION AND CONTROL TACTICS USING MY DAUGHTER TO KEEP ME WITHIN HER GRASP. I WAS PUUT ON CHILD SUPPORT AT THE AGE OF 17 BY MY MOM CRIPPLING ME FINANCIALLY BUT STILL I PUSHED FORWARD. I EVENTUALLY DID GET MY DAUGHTER BACK BUT CONTINUED TO PAY CHILD SUPPORT. WITH NO KNOWLEDGE OF THE COURT SYSTEM OR ANYTHING ELSE FOR THAT MATTER MY FIGHT WASTO SURVIVE AND HAVE MY KIDS CLOSE TO ME. OVER THE YEARS I STRUGGLED WITH ADDICTION WHICH STARTED AT THE HANDS OF MY DAUGHTERS FATHER WHO FIRST GAVE ME METH AT THE TENDER AGE OF 14. THIS CYCLE OF GETTING CLEAN AND RELAPSING WENT ON UNTIL I WAS 25 YEARS OLD. WITH EACH ATTEMPT TO ACCOMPLISH HAVING MY KIDS MY HOPE WAS DEMINISHED BY THE VERY PEOPLE WHO USED AND ABUSED ME. EVEN THOUGHT THE ODDS WERE AGAINST ME I EVENTUALLY PREVAILED AND GOT MY KIDS. EVEN THOUGH I LOST THEM AND SO MANY MEMORIES AS WELL OUR LOVE FOR EACH OTHER NEVER WEAKENED. MY DAUGHTER IS NOW 18 AND MY SON IS 15 AND THEIR LOVE FOR MY IS NEVER ENDING. I STILL STRUGGLE WITH MENTAL HEALTH AND BEING SUCCESSFUL DUE TO THE CONSTANT HARRASMENT I RECIEVE AS IF A TARGET WAS PUT ON MY BACK FOR PERPETRATORS. MY ABUSE AND LACK OF KNOWLEDGE HAS LED ME TO BE MANIPULATED ON EVERY LEVEL OF LIFE WITH MY RECENTLY BOUGHT HOME BEING A COMPLETE LEMON I TRUGGLE TO FIND A WAY OUT OF THIS UNLIVABLE HOME. I HAVE BEEN ON THIS JOURNEY TO BUILD MY RELATIONSHIP MORE WITH GOD WHILE WRITING A BOOK OF MY LIFE WHICH IVE SLOWLY POSTED EPISODE BY EPISODE ON AMAZON. I HAVE THE LOVE OF MY KIDS AND THOUGH I MAY HAVE FAILED ON MANY LEVELS MY DAUGHTER IS ON HER WAY TO BETTER THINGS AND MY SON IS RIGHT BEHIND HER. THEY LOVE ME DEARLY AND FOR THAT I AM GRATEFUL. I HAVE FAITH THAT GOD WILL GET ME THROUGH HE GOT ME THIS FAR SO I CONTINUE TO FIGHT!!!!!!

I didn't know what I was being asked to do. I was 6 years old. I didn't realize what had happened to me until recently. I tried to walk out of the room but I was manipulated into staying. He was my cousin. I didn't think he would use me. I didn't know what he did was wrong until about 1 year ago. It disgusts me to be around him. I have always felt for SA survivors, without knowing that I was one myself. I have taken the path of healing silently. Knowing my experience I know that there are children that are affected by this every day. I hope that by sharing my story, I can help young children know what is happening to them.

The day before my thanksgiving break I was on the bus ride home (school bus, not public transportation), I usually tend to sit towards the back because thats where my other friends would sit most of the time. The bus isn't overcrowded as it usually is because not many people came to school, so it was just me who was 12 at the time and in 7th grade, my other 7th grade friend ill call him "T" who was also 12/13 and an 8th grader sitting behind me, i'll call him "M" who was 13/14. I sat all the way in the back one seat ahead of the last one, M was behind me. I'm scrolling on my phone waiting until we get to my stop, not long before we leave school T starts making odd remarks about how he's gonna SA me and touch me, sometimes people around me would joke like this and not do anything so i didn't pay it much attention and went back to looking at my phone. Eventually he comes into the seat next to me and starts making more inappropriate remarks about how he's gonna feel me up on my chest, thighs and other private areas. One thing to mention is that I was already kinda scared of T because of his physical strength, so I try moving but he just pushes me against the window and tries to start touching me. I don't let him get too far with it until M starts assisting my "friend" in the act by holding me down and moving my arms away from my body so I could be freely touched. I screamed but nobody from the front of the bus seemed to hear me or they just assumed it was just someone being weird or playing around. I tried recording the things he was saying but he noticed and took my phone and threatened to throw it out the window, but for the time being he just threw it to the seat across the aisle from us. I emailed my teacher about what happened but I knew she wouldn't see my message until we came back to school, which was about 4 days later. Once those 4 days were up, I gave her more information, she told our grade level assistant principal and nothing proceeded to happen, i waited days, weeks, eventually it was a month that had passed and i just gave up on getting them in trouble. I don't remember crying or anything of the sort, and i didn't tell the bus driver, we coincidentally had a substitute one that day and they still had another route to do after us so they couldn't do much about it themself either. I can't tell if i was really impacted by it or not, it was just weird especially since I considered T to be my friend and M to not be that much of a weirdo. A year after all of this went down, still nothing, but by then I had fully stopped caring. I didn't tell my parents because I didn't want them to overreact, I mean this is serious but I felt like I wasn't that harmed by it. I was also frightened of the idea of T and M trying to fight me or do it again if they were to get suspended and come back afterwards. I confronted both of them after our break in front of other people, they thought it was weird but they didn't seem to care much or want to do anything about it. I'd say now i'm fine, its been a while and I don't feel the need for therapy, I just wanted them to get in trouble for what they did. My 8th grade year I proceeded to stay away from T as much as possible, but our bus was smaller and we're in the same grade so it wasn't totally accomplishable. I'm not really sure what to do about this now, maybe eventually i'll tell one of my family members what happened but today is not one of those days and tomorrow isn't either.

I don’t know when it all started. I was sexual abused by my older brother, I didn’t understand what was going on but he told me I should suck on his private. Once he had his friend there and he said it has different flavors and I will like the taste. He told me it’s a secret and I would get in trouble if anyone finds out. It had to start young, he’s 4 years older than me. While sitting on my grandma lap she stuck her finger in my anus and I must of had a look on my face. She said she was checking if I had to poop, nothing never happen after that, that I remember. I feel robbed because my virginity was taken away for the longest time. I’m 52 years old now and I always wonder why pick me, did I have a certain look? I never told anyone not even my therapist. I’m ashamed.

The first time it happened I was an about 2 and it was my sisters friend. I don’t really remember that one. The next time it was my best friend when I was 12. My dad had also started around this time. The last time was right after my 18th birthday by a different friend this time. Each time hurt the same. It’s been 10 years since the last time I was assaulted, and I’m still healing from it. But it does get easier with time. I just want everyone to know, that it’s not your fault. And that you will make it through it, because you are strong. And you should have never had to experience what you went through, and I’m so sorry that you did.

I don’t even know where to start or what to said. I am always trying to convince myself all the time I imagined or I just try to pretend never happened. It just kind of help to not feel the pain, ashamed or just to think this really happened to me. I feel stupid for let it happened but I still feel it was my fault for been irresponsible Dey k and not been able to take smart decisions. But then it feels unfair because I was so drunk that I can’t even remember the whole think and then the horrible feeling of waiking up so scare and confuse on a place that I didn’t have any idea where I was or what really happened. It is been over 20 years and I still remember that scary feeling waking up next day… little but little during the next years having flashes or short memories of what happened but still not recalling the whole horrible night. More in my mind remembering showing up home and telling my mom and going to the hospital for rape kit and the male doctor advising me to just let it go and go back home and think how irresponsible I was for been so drunk. Making me feel worst that I already was and telling me if I really wanted to press charges and then go in public and and face the public scrutiny that will definitely judge me for been an “easy women” going after a club party drunk and just having sex with anyone. I was so discouraged because I never agree to that! I didn’t even remember ever saying yes or even remember what really happened l. Until today I still trying to block this but impacts me every time I hear someone going through this, any media news, any movie or show that shows this. Because I was never aware or told I was a victim of sexual abuse. And until today I still feel it was my fault for putting myself on that situation. It is a very hard thing to leave with. And sometimes having those flashes coming back and fight your brain to go back to block it to not remember more painful details of that horrible night. I was judge for many. Doctors felt me and also society. I feel today I will never be able to recover from this. But I try to leave my life as normal as I can out thing in the back of my brain.

Not really sure where to start this. I guess by saying that I am in no way trying to absolve myself of blame or guilt. I have just never said it aloud before. When I was maybe 10-11, my step sister and I use to engage in activities that we really shouldn't have. I guess I always just thought we were trying to experiment. We always had clothes on and I know it could have been worse. I can't help but feel such guilt for it. I am older. I should've know better. I think it was maybe a way for me to process my own sexual abuse. But how do I live with that? That I contributed to COCSA.

My story .... What haven't I been through. Is the question? I'm in the bathroom . Trying to figure out how the hell did I get so fucked up . Literally. I don't know whether to blame myself . Ballz up . Or to hit up my vice . Or live in the real world . Or hit autopilot again and again and again? Life is too much to bare . Recently I'm so severe into my DOC . That Iam numb all the time .. because even with that numbing agent it's still too hard to face life . I'm I a coward?? For saying this . 6 days ago my baby daddy of my daughter died of a OD. And before that almost 1 year ago was my adopted father. Then 1 1/2 years ago was my best friend closer then what me and my dad were . And before that 2 1/2 years ago was my biological mother . So death has a funny way of saying hello . And I fight everyday all day a toxic vice of a best friend . I had a baby almost 2 years ago . Child welfare took him from birth . The pain is no where near done . The clip of the momma elephant and baby elephant in disney dumbo . Baby of mine . Is the way to describe it . I also deal with a nightmare cycle of perfect love life at home . Sometimes loves amazing other time love hurts and I mean really hurts . My 1 st black eye ever from a man I idolized and had loved from 17 years old . I'm now turning 37. I can't stand him but I love him Soo much if that makes sense . Life is crazy . Almost unbearably crazy . In a sense of awww. Or more like ummmmmmm....?????

In the Clutches of Darkness of Sexual Abuse Once upon a time, in a quiet suburban neighborhood, My days were filled with laughter, play, and dreams of a bright future. However, behind closed doors, a sinister presence lurked, threatening to shatter my innocence, and cast me into the clutches of darkness. Within the walls of my own home, My father concealed a dark secret. With every passing day, his affectionate façade crumbled, revealing a monster that preyed upon the vulnerable. The innocent laughter that once filled the air was stifled by fear, as I found myself trapped in a nightmare that I couldn't wake up from. As my spirit withered, a veil of silence settled upon my shoulders. Fear and shame kept me locked in a prison of secrets, unable to reach out for help. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and the weight of my suffering grew heavier with time. One day, however, a flicker of hope ignited within my heart. Through the faint whispers of my own resilience, I realized that I deserved more than the pain that consumed me. In the depths of despair, I found the courage to confide in a trusted friend, who listened with empathy and offered unwavering support. With a glimmer of hope guiding me, I decided to break free from the clutches of darkness. I sought out a friend, who was known for his kindness and dedication to me. Tentatively, I revealed the truth about my father's sexual abuse. My friend's heart was heavy with sorrow and determination. Through therapy and the unwavering support of compassionate individuals, I embarked on a journey of healing. My wounds, both physical and emotional, slowly began to mend. In the embrace of a loving community, I learned that I was not defined by my past but by the strength he carried within me. As years passed, my story became a beacon of hope for others who had endured similar ordeals. My whispers of survival and resilience resonated with those who had experienced the clutches of darkness. I became an advocate, shedding light on the prevalent issue of abuse, and working tirelessly to support survivors on their own healing journeys. In the aftermath of my harrowing experience, I found solace in knowing that I had turned my pain into purpose. My courage and resilience served as a reminder that, even in the darkest of times, there is always a glimmer of hope waiting to be ignited. Through my whispers, vowed to help others escape the clutches of darkness and find their own path to healing and renewal.

I was seven. It was my cousin who's one year older than me. My mother had invited his family over for dinner on Easter. It happened when we were playing alone after lunch. He introduced into our game of play pretend the notion that we were lovers. I didn't play pretend lovers, it has never crossed my mind to do so with anyone let alone my cousin. But I couldn't fathom something twisted beyond regular childhood foolishness being proposed by another kid, and to my child mind play pretend was all fake so I conceived of it as an innocent game. He then started giving me instructions. To remove my underwear. To lie a certain way on the floor. Spread my legs. Let me stress that I was ignorant of even the existence of sex, as well as in an environment where I felt safe -at home playing with my cousin in a culture that overwhelmingly promotes the exact opposite of weariness towards family-. I was utterly unsuspecting. I complied. By the way he was telling me to do things, it was obvious that he was fully aware of my clueless status. He expected it. Further than expecting, he clearly counted on it to be unopposed. He chose to keep me in the dark about what he intended to do to my body, inside of my body, until he just did it. He took out his penis through a gaping hole in his pants I hadn't noticed prior and penetrated my vagina before leaning on me to put his tongue into my mouth. I didn't know what any of this was. I didn't even register the latter act as kissing. My conception of kisses were pecks or smacks, which I've only ever given on my parents' cheeks. I hope that my insistence on my little girl mindset does not annoy you, it's just really important to me that whoever reads this understands how oblivious I genuinely was. I still thought we were just playing, so I rationalized it as innocent physical contact. I mimicked his tongue coiling against mine. He posed those actions in the game as proofs of love. I am convinced that he knew what he was doing. A kid truly mistaking sex for child play would have tried to approach the act with their peer on a somewhat equal footing on account of the heavy physical involvement, not the opposite by relying on the imbalance in their knowledge to get their way. His motivation was not to play with me, it was to use my body for sexual gratification and the game was just his angle to make that happen with me malleable. He manipulated me and abused my innocence. No matter how he first came into contact with sex, he demonstrated a vile entitlement to my body. The timeline of the assault is unclear in my memory. I remember him doing it twice that afternoon. I remember the housekeeper walking in on it and singling me out. She yelled my name and said she would tell my mother. I remember anguishing, fearing I did something wrong, feeling so confused and ashamed. I remember watching him and his family leave the house as I hesitated to say something (I don't think the housekeeper immediately went to my mother or maybe she was occupied). I kept my mouth shut in that moment, but after they were gone I sought my mother. I told her what he did. I was lost, plainly distraught, not far from sobbing my words out. My sister of twelve was in the room as well. She practically laughed at what I said and my mother exclaimed in shock and disgust. "How could you let yourself be fondled by your brother?!" (in my culture it's common to refer to cousins as siblings even if we really were not close). She continued to scold me. "Do you know what it's called, what you did?! It's called "incest"!" (I was so out of it, for multiple years after that I thought sex in general was called incest). "You know you could be pregnant right now?!" (that is how I learned where babies come from, also I'm still puzzled as to why she said that to me at seven). I was thoroughly mortified, panicked. I felt abhorrent and filthy. Her reaction impressed upon me that I was no victim, but an accomplice to abomination. Just as guilty as my cousin for letting him touch me. Her reprimands sealed self-loathing into my core. "Do not do that ever again or I'll tell your father!", and then it was never spoken of again. I suspect she didn't even tell my uncle or aunt about the incident, since while berating me she talked as if me keeping quiet when they were still there closed that door for good. One thing is for sure: he was never held accountable for what he did to me. He walked away scot-free and years later, my mother would sing his praises saying that God expressed to her that he has his hand on him and sermon me for not being warm towards him as he smirked at me in the spot where he raped me. Honestly, I think my mother and sister forgot this ever happened. The luxury of forgetting. Meanwhile, the memory and guilt of that day have been festering in my mind. I was brought up in thick purity culture, I'll let you imagine what kind of torment that sparked for the incestuous child sexual deviant I came to identify as. I've spent hours pouring over my sinful actions, crying, begging God for forgiveness. I lived in fear of my friends learning of what I've done and despising me. I even felt grateful my mother didn't disown me. Then I was hit at fourteen or so with the realization that I couldn't possibly have consented. And it did not relieve me. It dawned on me that I was raped, that my mother blamed me for it, that my sister (which I did love at the time, not anymore for various reasons) mocked me in my most vulnerable moment and my father served as a threat (rightfully so, he victim blamed me on several other non sexual occasions). I was terrified of opening up to anyone else lest I get another version of my mother's reaction. I was alone. This is the first time I share this ever since it happened. Along with my epiphany, a voice took shape in my head. It says that I'm worthless ooze in denial, that my mother spoke truth and I'm rejecting it. I began constantly obsessing over my rape. Dissecting it, reliving it in order to debate the voice plaguing me. Ignoring it does not work: I get anxious whenever I try to. When I do, it's like conceding the voice's affirmations which gives rise to a sense of precariousness and impending collapse in my interior world. The voice never lets up, springs out of contexts that aren't even related to my rape, yanks my thoughts towards there. I incessantly spiral in revolting places grappling with it, I'm psychologically and emotionally drained. I am unsafe in my own mind, awake or in slumber thanks to the frequent nightmares around my trauma I started having about when I turned eighteen. I just feel so intrinsically gross and fucked up. I am angry. I am sad. All the time. This condition has only worsened over the years, trampled my ability to do what brings me joy (learning, being a friend) and I don't reckon I have much fuel left to push through. I wrote all this so that my experience would not exist solely in my head, if that makes sense. If someone read me up to this point, I thank you kindly for your time.

When I was 17, a group of my best friends and I were partying on one of our friends' family's boat out on the bay. Despite being underage, we were all of course drinking heavily. At one point, I blacked out in the bedroom nook onboard, and all I remember was my male "friend" ("S.B.") taking off all my clothes, as I tried to garner the consciousness to say "no" and squirm away. I just remember being fully naked except for my bra, and his fingers on my vulva, near penetration. But I was nearly incapacitated, slipping in and out of consciousness, so I has no strength or cognitive ability to defend myself. Furthermore, we were on a boat... in the middle of the bay.... Where would I even run to? I was immensely lucky to have another (male) friend ("J.S.") more coherent than I was, laying next to me. In what I later understood to be active bystander intervention (and a pinnacle example of male allyship), J.S. was able to non-confrontationally fend S.B. off of my naked body as I could barely hear remember J.S. saying to S.B., "Nah man, that's so fucked up, she's unconscious. Leave her alone. This isn't cool." S.B. called J.S. a "cock block" and eventually left me alone. I even barely remember J.S. putting my pants back on me and staying with me the rest of the evening. J.S. even went on to be mocked as a "cock block" for weeks among the group of guys. J.S. and I remained best friends well into adulthood and I could never thank him enough for his actions that night. I later learned that my two other female friends were elsewhere on the boat, similarly passed out, and two other guys (who we were less familiar with, but were friends of S.B's) weren't so lucky. One was stripped naked and digitally penetrated, the other was raped (penile/vaginal penetration) while she was barely conscious. I've never forgiven myself for not being there to intervene in their assaults the way J.S. was thankfully there to stop mine. One of my girl friends from that night and I only spoke about our experiences on the boat once... at least 10 years later. Through a lot of tears, it was clear she was very desperate to compartmentalize and not discuss it further, which I respected, Once in my early 20's, I ironically (and completely unrelatedly), went on to work in anti-gender-based violence advocacy on hotlines, crisis counseling, leading hospital advocacy programs, directing a Safehouse, and in research capacities. Even in the early years of my career, I never once thought about my experience as "Sexual assault" since it was "only attempted" and never completed penetration. And as I directly served survivors day-in and day-out who were escaping situations one-thousand times worse than my adolescent experience... my experience never even surfaced in my consciousness as a sexual trauma even remotely related to my work. It actually wasn't until my first Take Back the Night rally in undergrad (I went to college later in my early twenties after working at the safe house for a few years to help pay for tuition), that I heard other survivor stories that were similar to mine. Up until then I was only exposed to the worst-of-the-worst/chronic violence through my work with survivors. After listening to my peers' experience with drug/alcohol facilitated SA at college parties, where they were unable to consent, did I realize that my experience was indeed sexual assault and I had more in common with my clients than I anticipated. And that this buried trauma was able to better shape my professional life for years to come. The testimony of Dr. Christine Blasey Ford in 2018 was also a pivotal moment in my healing as her story was so very similar to mine... albeit decades apart and... let's just say S.B. is no where near the level of a potential SCOTUS nominee. But I couldn't help but crying uncontrollably through her testimony, since it was another reminder that my experience (although not completed rape), was indeed worthy of honoring and holding space for. I still work in gender-based violence prevention and response (and always will) but I'd be lying if I said I still tend to minimize my own experience. Even as I'm helping to shape policy, create a data standards, write reports, and build products and programs from my role in a global tech company, while fighting for the recognition of those with my exact same experience.

I was 7 the first time I was ever SA. I still remember every single thing about that day. I was so young that I didn’t know what was happening to me was wrong. But the family member who did it to me, he knew. I told my mom and she didn’t believe me. No one did. In fact, she started abusing me afterwards because I “lied to her”. I’m now 20, and have finally escaped from the awful life I lived, and now know what real love is supposed to feel like. Everyone has a voice, and if no one else has ever believed you, I DO, and i’m always here to listen to anyone. My instagram is instagram account is any of you guys ever need to talk or just need a safe space, because I know I did and I never had one.

I´ve never talked about sex abuse with my friends, at least not of when it happened to me, but I feel like people should know and specially I feel the need of getting it out. I feel that somehow, letting the story out, might help me release the pain I´ve been bottling up for years. I remember being touched when I was a little girl, I can't and I really don't try to remember how far it went and how many times it happened, it is not something I want to remember. It wasn't until a few years ago that I did. I was at a party, having drinks and fun with my friends, I was 17 years old. It was supposed to be just us, and it's part of why I drank so carelessly, but other boys arrived later that night. I started talking with one of them, I remember more drinks, smoke, and the smell of cigars that still give me chills from time to time. I could barely walk and he took me to the barn behind, I know there was someone if not him that recorded what happened, and that still followed me years later. I tried talking to my friends about it, most of the guys just said it was my fault, how could I do that, I should’ve at least used one of the rooms, some girls told me not to worry, and there was just one that said he would take care of it. He never did. I didn't realize it was abuse until a year later, before that I believed my friends and felt ashamed of not being able to stop him and doing it out in the open. I don't drink anymore like I used to, I don't go out as much, and even though I love horses I am terrified of being in a barn. I now stand up for girls that get abused, I take care of others at parties when I see they had a lot to drink, even if I don't know them. I went out and protested for safer places, I sign petitions, I listen to their stories and admire them for being strong enough to speak, and I try to help them, but this helps ME heal. I guess that in a way it is what I needed somewhere along the process, I needed protection and someone to believe what I was saying, someone to listen and to stand by my side. I feel like I am made of steel somedays, standing side by side with my sisters and my gals, sometimes I feel this strength even when I'm by myself. But there are other days that I'm just a castle made of poker cards, and with the most gentle touch I can fall apart. Every time I fall, I like to believe I come back up stronger, I truly do believe it, but boy it can be a long way down and really hard the moment I hit the ground. It helps me knowing that I'm not alone, and just like I will fight for every one of us, others will fight for me too. The abuse is not something that defines me, but it did shape me and is one of the thousands of stories that made me who I am. I am a fighter, just like all of you. I am bold, helpful, empathetic, loving and strong. I know you are too.

° Hard Candy° Does it get better ?. She asked me , little golden eyes filled with tears hands pressed so hard against her reddened cheeks I could hardly hear the words pouring out of that little 8 year Olds mouth. I took a long pause before I decided my next approach.. You see She this child resembled a frightened mouse, Cautiously pressed back into what must of been the safety of her room blended underneath a blanket,. Her body was so small you could barley see the tiny frame. Frozen in place. Instinctively I wanted to give this child space but as a adult. I needed to comfort this child. Or was it I who needed comfort after seeing how badly damaged she was emotionally and mentally?. I haven't decided. It took a while Don't get me wrong not only does seeing a child in any form of distress unsettle the soul,. But regaining their trust is a challenge in itself. There was no door in this child's room so I wanted to be respectful,. Taking my time with this one,. Each step polite and over apologetic,. I stepped over the forgotten toys that had collected dust from previous visitation,. I can still smell The hard candy melted to the oak dress from the summers heat,. Slowly I unraveled this child and moved her hair out of her face. Millions of little freckles covered almost every inch. Hazel eyes stared at me, strawberry blonde hair and a pale complexity, but there was so much more to it. curiosity and fear looked back. Where was the love for this child?. I touched her face slowly. And whispered. Yes sweetheart. It sure does. We are grown now. We are safe now. We will always be safe. Because I will always protect you The inner child in myself smiled and hugged me tight. Thankyou she whispered. You're welcome sweetheart . ♡ Initials

There is a picture in my family house which is perched on the egg white painted walls of the detailed designed dining room created by my dedicated mother. In its silver antique frame, there sits a young girl in a velvet peach short sleeved top with dungarees the colour of a pear. Her cherub face is adorned with a slightly crooked smile, her large doe eyes opened wide enamoured by the flash of the camera that she’s been asked to sit in front of by a faceless photographer. Her soft, long, natural auburn curls rest both in front and behind her slim shoulders whilst the fringe cut by her mother lays sprawled in all directions on her forehead. I look at that picture often and feel my insides squirm and my heart clench when I think of the young girl waiting patiently for her parents to tell her that she was done and that they could go home, or to get a toy or some food. My heart hurts for that little girl and all the ways in which I’ve let her down. How she deserved so much more than what I’ve given and let happen to her. Some would argue that I, in fact, did not let it happen to her. That it is not my fault. But whenever I see the articles or the videos or hear those words being said, all I want to say back to them is…’But it was my responsibility to look after that little girl and I didn’t’. I did not save her. I offered her up like a lamb to the slaughter. I had never thought about the word ‘consent’ before. I have been very fortunate to live a privileged life where it felt like I didn’t have to worry about much. Rose tinted glasses would be the poetic term, ignorant naivety would be the best fitting. It wasn’t that I didn’t know that there were men in the world that took advantage of women. I had read newspaper reports and heard accounts from woman both my age, younger and older. But I had never had personal experience with someone who had taken advantage of me. Sure, I had had a man sidle up against me to the point of invading my personal space, had men leer at me with hungry predatory eyes and pushed away hands that thought they had a right to my body. This was the age that I lived in, that all women who came before me had lived in and, sadly, it was one that was familiar and considered ‘normal’ to us. I was what boys would call a ‘prude’. A prude in the sense that I didn’t feel comfortable saying yes to a family friend who asked me to take my bra off on a webcam chat when I was 14. A prude in the sense that I didn’t feel comfortable giving my other family friend a blowjob just because he had asked me nicely and asked me to meet him for a friendly conversation beforehand in the woods nearby. A prude in the sense that I still acted like a child even though my body had begun to grow and change so that the entitled eyes and minds of men didn’t think I had a right to be one anymore. I lived just outside the real world. On the edge, close enough to see and hear and feel what I convinced myself was empathy but far away enough to be able to retreat back to the life that my parents had given me. And I wanted to explore it. Needed to. Craved it. So, that’s what I decided to do. I gained a sense of confidence that I’ve never really felt again when I took that first flight on my own to a place that no one in my family had ever been to. In all honesty, I felt like a badass. I felt untouchable and that carried on when I got home and broke up with my second boyfriend, who cried in my car and told me that I would never find someone who loved me as much as he did. I carried it with me on another plane to City, State where I made the choice to spend 3 months in America at a Camp Name where I could combine my love of travelling and horses. Like any 20 year old who felt like she was finally on the path to the life that she wanted, I strutted around like I was something to be had, something that anyone would feel privileged to have. I just didn’t realise that all of that strutting, all of the parading would land me in a bed at a Hotel Name in a college town, in a room full of 6 other people with my underwear somewhere scattered on the floor and the faint traces of my virginity lightly staining the cheap white sheets with no recollection of the event even to this day. I didn’t realise the shame that would slam into me every day since, even though it’s been 8 years, and the fact that I still blame myself for letting it happen. I still struggle to come to the conclusion on whether the terrible awful that I’ve come to refer to as that night/morning was actually my fault because I remember on the walk home to the hotel, where we were staying separately, saying ‘yes’. But I also distinctively remember from the pieces that have come back over the years of the moment that I said ‘no’, ‘no’, ‘no’ before the memory disappears and I’m left with nothing but a cliffhanger as to what transpired after that. And yet, I don’t feel a though that’s the worst part. The worst part was in the morning when the other 6 people giggled and chuckled at the sight of me as though they knew something that I didn’t. The worst part was the mention of 2 of them having sex themselves and using a condom, the horror of realising that I didn’t even remember if he had. The worst part was when they left and it felt like it was expected of me to have sex with him so that I could remember it. The fact that I felt like I couldn't leave. The predatory look in his eyes. Feeling my voice literally being stolen away from me, as though he was Ursula and I was Ariel and my voice was caught up in a shell. The worst part was that I did and he didn’t wear a condom and I left the room feeling dirty, low life and scummy. The worst part was having to stay in that pair of underwear all day, pretending to enjoy shopping with people I worked with, sitting through dinner and not having the chance to shower until 11:30 that night, not even being able to really rid myself or my body of the experience. Of feeling stained, dirty, tainted. Even now. The truth is, there wasn’t a worst part. It was all a ‘worst part’.