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I was age out in a club and my boss and his friends were there at a stag, he introduced me to his friend who was hot so initially I was delighted. Had one drink with him and next thing I wake up in a hotel room, naked in a bed with him, the double bed was covered in my vomit, my first reaction was I just got too drunk and was consensual, he was horrible told me to go clean myself up and he would drive me home, he laughed at me when I asked did I need the morning after pill, I knew I did? I had only had sex with one other person, I’d bruises all over me and was sore. I knew something was wrong, he drove me home in his BMW acting like he had done nothing wrong. I got home, showered, knew 100% then I’d been date raped. Didn’t want to worry my mum so my best friend brought me to my doc and he refused morning after cause he thought it was abortion so we had to drive hours to get it. Also had to get std tests. I’ll never forget the smirk I got from my boss when I went back to work. The shame, guilt, embarrassment I put on myself over it, I drank too much, got in abusive relationship, and had about 10 years of feeling so negative about myself. Counselling, talking to friends and now meds have helped. I’m now embedding consent into my own kids and letting them know the dangers out there. It’s happening too often and it needs to stop. I wish I had of reported him, wish I knew then that it wasn’t my fault, that it was him being pathetic, sad excuse of a man. Fuck him and fuck all of the others that think it’s ok to rape. Hope you all rot in hell. And sending massive love to the women who have the courage to stand up to them, you are amazing xxx

I have had several experiences in my life that at the time I didn't fully access the severity of. As I got older, I started to recognise my own boundaries better and started to protect myself. I always blamed myself for earlier experiences, believing I got myself into a mess and just had to endure it. Reflecting back, I realise that I was raped and am going through various motions of grief and trauma. Part of me thinks I got this far without addressing it, maybe I can keep progressing and leave it behind. Another part of me thinks, maybe a lot of the issues I have had over the years are related to these experiences. I don't really know. I have brought it up to therapists, but they skim over it and go back to the formula they have preset in their notes. Sadly I haven't got the money for a good therapist. I haven't really told my story much or at all in some cases, but I have wanted to in a safe space and anonymously. So herr I go. I will tell two of my stories. There are more, sadly, but this is all I can manage for now. My first experience I was 14. I was groomed by a man in his mid twenties. Before I even realised what was happening, he was taking me back to his apartment to have sex. I didn't have time to think about whether or not I wanted to be there or if I could say no. Suddenly I was there and I hated it. It was painful and I felt horrible. It happened again another time. I was also coerced into oral sex. All of these events happened so fast, I always thought maybe I had missed something or didn't realise that I had agreed to move in this direction. He told me he loved me and maybe he did. All I know is that when I moved away and got some space from the situation, I felt really bad about the whole thing. I had no one to talk to about it. I couldn't tell my parents for fear of judgment, failure or being blamed for bad decisions (being in the wrong place etc). My parents were strict, so I did a lot of sneaking around, which is probably what lead to me being vulnerable. I was in my late 30s when I finally accepted that it was wrong, I was groomed and he stole so much from me. A second experience had a similar structure. I was suddenly in a moment I didn't feel I could escape, wondered how I got myself there and just waited for it to be over. I had consented to having sex with a guy at uni. I didn't know him well, but we had a few interactions and he had flirted a lot with me from the off. Kept telling me how beautiful I was etc. I was charmed and we had sex. During the sex, he asked for anal and I said no. Well, he did it anyway. I said no and stop, but then resolved to waiting for it to be over, thinking I must have let him do it if it was happening. He continued to have sex with me throughout the night, despite me trying many times to untangle and sleep. That also felt like torture. I attempted to go for a shower and he followed me. I didn't understand why it was going on so long and prayed for him to be done. I didn't advocate for myself enough or really understand what was happening. After I had such bad injuries I couldn't walk, sit or move properly for a couple of weeks. I ended up in hospital with a kidney infection, a direct result of the encounter. I was in huge denial about the whole thing. Flatmates heard me screaming and asked me about it the next day. I laughed it off and said just a bit of rough anal. Another friend questioned my physical injuries and I did the same. He engages in regular anal sex with men and after asking a few questions, said it sounded like I had been raped. I laughed it off. He was concerned, but not close enough to pursue me more on the matter. It wasn't until I experienced flash backs 15 years later, I fully accepted what had happened. The flash backs were triggered by a consent workshop I had attended at a gathering, which opened my eyes. I have had more encounters, but these two are the ones that haunt me the most. I am a mother now and happily married. I am a strong woman and generally don't take shit from anyone. I don't think I jad the skills to really protect myself as a younger woman. I had always been educated to believe rape was by strangers in a dark alley. I hadn't prepared for assaults from friends. Nearly all my assaults have been by friends or acquaintances. I am so thankful for the me too movement. It is paving the way for better education and protection.

This story, my story, started 25 or 24 years ago, when I was 7 or 8 years of age. I was sexually abused (once only but enough to make an impact) by my dad, the first person that's meant to protect you. I never told a soul about it, no one but myself knew it during those 25 years, and even I did not want to think about it. As the years went I learnt to put it at the back of my mind, it was to painful, disgusting and worst of all, I was ashamed, ashamed for something I didn't do, but something that someone too close to me did instead. I learnt to push back if that memory ever came back to me. I grew (somehow) very closed to my dad, and pretended that never happened; only last year I learnt that very action has a name, and it's called compartimentalising. It was only last year, when I started to have issues with anxiety to another level that I finally, when I was about to have a nervous break down, decided that it was time to say it out loud. Weirdly enough, I never had considered myself a victim of sexual abuse... and the words 'sexual abuse' were really difficult for me to mention when talking about what happened to me, although, over time I grew used them and more comfortable (it still hurts though). I was on therapy for over 10 months, followed by a 3 months of CTB course, I still have catch up calls with my therapist every now and then. The worst part of my therapy was, what my own body needed, and that was to seek my dad's accountability, the one which, after confronting him, still hasn't acknowledge, and let's be honest, he won't ever do it. But I learnt to move on not expecting that to happened and at least, my dad knows the big impact that one action that happened that one time, has badly affected my throughout these past years, and my present. I discovered that most people that has suffered this type of abuse tend to develop any sort of chronic pain condition, which I did at the age of 13, mostly from what it felt like, was eating me alive from the inside of my body. Discovering the condition I have had for more than half of my life, is there because of my dad, was no easy discovery and that's where the panic attacks started. As you can imagine, and like all of you, it's been a long healing process. My 4 most important things that really helped me through my healing process (unfinished healing process) were: - My support network (my friends as family only found out after and they still don't know who did it). - Exercising, the best thing I have done for my mental health. - An incredible manager at work who supported me throughout my journey - And (unfortunately) antidepressants to manage better anxiety, as it got really bad at some points. I know, my healing isn't over, I know I might never get what I really want which is that accountability, but at least I know that what ever I decide to do, I'm now (mostly) in control, not my dad or my fears. We all still have bad days, but at least now I know, I'm not alone.

Survival. Fawn. He kisses me, I kiss him back. He touches me, I touch him too. He takes me, I let him take. Fawn. There’s safety in the fawn, A predictable safety, A safety perceived as consent, A safety that is survival. Frozen. My body responding, My mind screaming, My eyes pleading, When my lips cannot. Frozen. There’s a strength in the freeze, An unseen strength, A strength perceived as weakness, A strength that is survival.

I haven’t been able to talk about my story because I feel invalid, because it wasn’t of an older person, because we were both children, because we were the same age, because “it was just a crush”. A boy in my primary school used to like me for a few years (Year 2-Year 5) and I didn’t feel the same way. I’ll admit, in year two, I liked the attention, I liked having the nice compliments “Your hair looks really pretty today”, “Your eyes are so green I really like them!”. But from me, it wasn’t a crush, I didn’t have interest in him. One day in year 3, I was sat next to him in my class. We were placed at the back and our tables were in split for two people and were in rows, so nobody could really see us at the back or at least they didn’t focus on us. I was writing when I felt a hand gliding up my thigh and lifting my skirt. I stopped writing and turned to the boy, who was grinning at me and I had never felt more disgusted in my life. I whispered for him to stop but his hand kept inching closer up my skirt to my knickers, of which he started to push his hand underneath. It wasn’t until I finally squirmed away that he stopped and glared at me. I didn’t say anything because he was scary to me, he was bigger than me, and so were all of his friends. He used to kiss me on my cheeks, on my head, on my neck, and I would tell him to stop but he said it was okay because everyone did it. I was 6. I feel invalid because of that. I feel that there’s no need for me to speak up because I was so young, and he was 7 so he was young too. Nothing would happen. I was scared, he would tell me not to tell anybody or he would hurt me. One day, I was walking back inside and I felt him run up behind me and start grabbing me from behind and (massaging) my bum. I kicked and squirmed until he let go of me and I ran inside to tell a teacher because I was so scared that he would chase me. I told her everything, I trusted her. She told me (and I quote) “You know sweetheart, he probably has a crush on you. It’s just what boys do. He might be going through something, you know what he’s like.” I left home early because I couldn’t stop crying. I told my dad and he called my school, they hadn’t even put any of it on record. Meaning, there was no word of that kid touching me anywhere. My dad threatened the teacher I spoke to with police if she didn’t put it on file. I still don’t know if she did, but I would assume she did. I hate myself for telling somebody, because after that, until I left primary school, I was bullied constantly. I remember being cornered on the school field by 5 of his friends, they all lifted up my skirt and made fun of me because I was wearing pink panda knickers. I had never felt so dehumanised over one, small incident. I told teachers, and they did nothing. I was at my lowest, wanting to harm myself. From the age of 7. I was self harming by I was 8. That boy has made me repulsed by physical affection, and I push away a lot of good boys because I’m scared of something similar happening back from when I was 6. I’m sorry this post was so long. But it means the world to even just talk about it. I hope anyone who has gone through a similar situation heals and realises that, it’s not “just a crush” and it’s not “because they’re like that”. It’s wong, and you were taken advantage of, no matter how young, or old you were. You are loved and appreciated.