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I could never remember my childhood well, even as a kid. But I started to be hypersexual at 3, and so thats when I believe me and my brother started touching (hes 3 and a half years older). When I was 12 I remembered and told my parents, my mom freaked out and screamed at me. She said it was my fault and that it wasn't too bad if I didn't tell anyone. I fear thats she's right. When I was 14 and in deep psychosis, I felt like there was more to remember. I started to feel my brother's hands over my body and mouth. I remembered us having sex 3 times. The first time when I was 6 and the last when I was 8. One of those times he was hitting me and pinning me. I dont know how real those memories are because I recovered them in psychosis. I started doing really bad cus all I could think about was me and my brother fucking. A couple of months ago I remembered my brother fucking me with his hands around my neck (which was painful). Im so scared that really happened because I see my brother daily and hes my best friend. Im worried ill remember more.

It started as sexual harassment. And I let it happen. Do not let it happen to you! I was a college intern working on my supply-chain management major. In business school you know you don’t just get a degree and POOF! A job is magically waiting for you. Unless you already have connections. I was a single woman on financial aid and had squat for family connections. I needed to make some connections while still in school that I could use to climb the ladder. It is a very competitive world. A time when we don’t care so much where we work as long as it has prospects of advancement and making money. I was interning at the corporate offices for a rental car company. I got my first choice for a class in which we had to intern at a real company. My group of four was in their logistics offices and we had no clear job at the time but my school had sent students for a while so we had a contact person and some loose idea of a project that my group of four had to put together and execute for our grade. Well that was kind of of dud and I went along with the bad idea of planning more efficient distribution routes for their cars entering the fleet. It was naive because the company had real pros who designed the system. But, because of my feminine wiles, I got invited to come in and help in my free time by a top manager. Just me. I jumped at the opportunity and on my available days I showed up early in the morning and tried to be like part of the team. It was a very masculine environment. I tried to hang in spite of the pretenses for my special treatment. “You’re not one of those feminist types who go crying to HR if a man gives you a compliment or a pat on the backside, are you?” The man who first invited me had asked. We’ll call him XX. I assured him I was not, anticipating his expected answer. “Work hard, play hard,” was something I said in my denial of values he was obviously opposed to. So the couple times XX introduced me as his mistress I went along with the joke. Another stupid mistake. As an example of my environment, after a male Y in the department first showed me how to use part of a program that calculates stock outages, he had me sit and try it and gave me a massage I did not ask for early in the morning. Well XX came up and made a joke about Y getting his hands of his girl. They had some bro moment where the male Y asked him if he was serious, saying something about XX’s wife, to which XX backed down and said something like “It’s just a joke. I’d love to in my fantasies, but she’s company property, brother.” Company property??! I was sitting right there! I tensed up but tried to pretend I was so absorbed in the computer training as XX left and male Y went back to massaging me, but this time more boldly. He got down my lower back and upper buttock then went down the arms to my thighs, stopping me from doing any work as he blatantly brushed his forearms and hands against my chest. I felt so weak and almost paralyzed by the time I forced myself to stand up to go use the restroom, stopping it. I could have just done that at the beginning but did not. Later hat same day, XX had me go to lunch with him and have a beer at a bar and grill with a pool table. I was 20 but they did not ask for my ID because I was with XX. I hardly ever played pool and while we waited for our food he “showed” me how to play. He made fun of the cliché on movies and television where a man has a woman bend over the pool table to shoot just so he can push his crotch against her backside in a suggestive manger and lean over her with his arms on each side of her to show her how to slide the stick. But while he joked about it he actually did those things to me! That was a good day for my two main molesters and an awful day for me. XX hugged me as we stood up giggling and apparently his hands now had a license to molest my body whenever he wanted. I got numb to it in some ways, but emotionally more on edge. My butt was grabbed or spanked playfully in the department, even by male Y. A few other men were very flirtatious. My shoulders were rubbed, hugs on even minor greetings with XX and finally I was supposed to get used to little pecks on the lips too. I felt like I was in a constant state of mental anguish and defensiveness. My body could be attacked anytime. But I did not defend myself! I would say clearly to XX and some others that I wanted to be respected and considered one of the guys and have a job there when I graduated and they affirmed it. Both main abusers encouraged me, but still sexually harassed me. With my moronic blessing! The semester ended and I kept going in daily during summer break. It was my only lifeline to a possible job after I graduated in a year. I was so groomed that it was not a big leap at all when XX pressured me to give him head in his office. I refused with a smile and head shake and he came back with some rationalization about how I owed him and he really needed it just then. He would not take no for an answer. The first time I lowered myself to kneeling before his desk and took him in my mouth my hands were shaking and I teared up and had to sniffle snot back up. I was the one who was embarrassed! It was like an out of body experience and my mouth dried up to where I had to ask him to drink some of his energy drink. Internally there was a huge change immediately. I was gutted of all pride and self-worth. I was like a zombie. Hardly eating. Lots of coffee. Showing up and doing the reports that had become my responsibility and mechanically giving XX his daily BJ in the afternoon in his small stale office with a small window. I started to have migraines during that summer. I drove home for 4th of July and got so inebriated I ended up sleeping with my much older sister’s ex-husband in the back of his truck. That was a terrible wake up call. I knew I couldn’t pretend much longer without a breakdown so I put my two week in at the rental car place where I was working for free. To secure my future I made sure to keep it all friendly and “you know I’ll be back working here next year”. The idea of all the time and humiliation I had put in being lost to nothing was a major fear. I put myself through two last weeks of it. I had quickie sex with XX twice on and over his desk. I gave into extreme pressure and gave male Y a BJ too when he explicitly made it about a letter of recommendation. He knew about me doing it for XX. He did not even have his own office and we had to use the stairwell. During my final year of school I became aware that I was too traumatized to ever go back there anyway. The extent to which I had been used and abused became obvious to me, where before it had not. As if I had been living in a denial haze. It was a painful time. I was a bit reckless. I got a C in the high level economics elective I took. I said yes to several dates to avoid being alone and either slept with them or freaked out in anger at them. Seeing that I needed the car rental faux-internship on my resume I did email both abusers for letters of recommendation and got a good one from Male Y, but a very impersonal, generic one from XX. I was so dejected and angry. Finally, I told my sister, the one who confronted me about her ex-husband. I TOLD HER EVERYTHING AND THAT WAS MY FIRST STEP TO RECOVERY. To letting out the pain, screaming at myself in the mirror, punching the heavy bag at a boxing gym I joined, and to seeing my first psychologist and psychiatrist. The therapy helped more than the Celexa and antipsych. The support group helped even more. I met two friends for life who have my back in times of sorrow. I have to repeat that it is not my fault that I was abused, even though it kind of was. Don’t let it happen to you! They will take as much as they can from you. Plan your boundaries now and be assertive! Report harassment immediately. Doing so you are being a hero and protecting other women and yourself. If you have already been abused, GET OUT of the situation and talk to someone about it ASAP. There is nothing to be gained by letting the abuse continue! Talking to someone makes it real and lets you start the process of hating less and starting on the path to learning to love yourself again. You deserve real love.

As an only child, I had no one to look up to really as a kid. But I always looked up to my Dad. Even though he was never really around due to work (although Mam worked more than he did and still found lots of time to spend with me), I still idolised him. He was my hero. He would always say 'Dads know everything - remember that', so lying to my dad (even little white lies) were pointless. Though when I hit 13 I began to realise he actually DID know everything. He knew what myself and my friends would talk about, he would know exactly where I was and who I was with without even needing to ask me, and I would always wonder why. In reality he had my phone tracked and could read all my messages. Now that I have been through the court system and he has been imprisoned for the abuse he inflicted upon me, I can confirm that he was in fact grooming me from the age of 13. About a month after my 18th Birthday, began the horrific 7.5 year abuse that I suffered. My Dad, masked for the first 2 years as a stranger, blackmailed me into performing sexual acts with strange men in our home - the one place I should've felt safe. When I finally realised it was him, I couldn't tell you how it then turned into just open ended abuse and rape from him. He would advertise us as a couple on hook up sites and in order to avoid physical beatings I would go along with it. I feared for my life so much that endless rapes and sexual assaults were easier - imagine that being the easiest choice - until you're in it, you just don't know how you'll react. I stopped going out, I gave up my hobbies, whilst in college I gave up my part time job - he controlled every single part of my life. And if I even let my "everything is rosey' mask slip even for a second, especially in front of my Mam, well it just doesn't bear thinking about. Fortunately for me, once Mam did find out, he was gone out of my life within 30 mins. Unfortunately, he went on to groom and abuse others after that. He was convicted, and is currently serving his prison sentence - but the fear of him stilll remains.

I want to be a source of hope to the hopeless

I have lived through many battles, some visible and some invisible. Chronic pain has been a constant companion, and alongside it came experiences of assault, grief, bullying, and being overlooked or targeted in the workplace. Each of these left scars that ran deeper than I could admit at the time. For years, I tried to hold it all in — the pressure, the pain, the silence through alcohol and substances. But it built until I couldn’t contain it anymore, and I crashed hard. My mental health episode was frightening, for me and for those around me. What has made it harder is the culture I grew up in. In South Asian communities, mental health is often brushed aside, stigmatized, or seen as weakness. Instead of compassion, I felt shame. Instead of understanding, I carried guilt. I believed I had let down the people I loved most. But I am learning that what happened was not my fault. Trauma is not a choice. Crashes are not punishments. They are the body and mind crying out for care. I am still here. I am learning to see my sensitivity and survival not as flaws, but as proof of resilience. Sharing my story is part of releasing the shame and reclaiming my voice. My hope is that others who have lived through pain and silence — especially in communities where mental health is hidden — can know they are not alone. Our stories matter. Our survival matters.

I was 15. He was 25. And somehow, for years, I remained submerged in blame, drowning in questions that never should have belonged to the 15-year-old girl in the first place. I thought I chose him. I thought I loved him. I thought because I begged to see him, went back to him, defended him, and eventually had his baby, that what happened between us was a relationship. It wasn't. I was 30 years old when I sat in therapy, unraveling pieces of my past, when my therapist looked at me and said: “So, you were groomed.” Excuse me, what? The word felt foreign, and my immediate reaction was defensive. Groomed? No. You don't understand. I loved him. I wanted to be with him. I fought to see him. I had spent 15 years calling it a relationship. Calling it love. Accepting the word grooming meant confronting the possibility that the story I had told myself for half my life wasn't what I thought it was. And I wasn't ready for that. Not yet. It was 2006. I was growing up with an emotionally immature single mother struggling with alcoholism, a father who had been absent my entire life, virtually nonexistent supervision, and this aching, desperate need to feel wanted by somebody. Then a grown man made me feel chosen. He made me feel seen. Beautiful. Wanted. Important. And when you've spent your childhood wondering why you weren't enough for someone to stay, being chosen can feel a whole lot like being loved. The second time I met him was Date. I fought my mother HARD to let me see him that day. I begged her to drop me off while she went to the store. I argued. I pushed. I was stubborn and absolutely determined to get my way. And she gave in. At 15, I thought I had won. At 35, I wish she had let me hate her that day. I wish she had planted her feet and said, “Absolutely fucking not.” I wish she had been willing to endure my teenage anger because she understood something I couldn't possibly understand yet. I wish she had been the adult. Because I was not one. Instead, Date became what he called our “anniversary.” It was the day a 25-year-old man ignored my no. Two months later, I was pregnant. I was still 15. I later learned he had another teenage girl pregnant, too. And somehow, I still believed he loved me. He tried to choose what I wore. He corrected the way I spoke. He decided which friends I could see. Slowly, his opinions became expectations, and his expectations became rules. That's the twisted thing about grooming. Control can feel like care when you've never been properly cared for. Possessiveness can feel like protection when you've never felt protected. And attention can feel intoxicatingly like love when you've spent your whole life starving for it. So when my therapist finally called it grooming, my brain fought back. But I wanted to see him. But I went back. But I loved him. None of those things changed the one painfully simple fact I had spent years trying to reason around: I was 15. He was 25. Eventually, the control became suffocating and his behavior increasingly violent. When my daughter was nine months old, I knew I had to get us out. So I packed up my baby, moved to another state, and we never went back. He died in 2018. There will never be a courtroom. There will never be a verdict. There will never be that definitive moment where someone looks at the terrified, confused 15-year-old version of me and says, “What happened to you was wrong.” For a long time, I thought that meant there would never be justice. Then I realized something devastating. I'd spent years putting the wrong person on trial. Me. Why did you go? Why did you stay? Why did you love him? Why didn't you know better? Because I was FIFTEEN. That's why. I had been interrogating the choices of a child using the wisdom of the grown woman she somehow survived long enough to become. And I'm done doing that to her. She didn't need better judgment. She needed better adults. She needed a mother willing to let her scream, “I hate you,” if that's what it took to keep her safe. She needed a father who was there. She needed adults capable of recognizing the danger she couldn't possibly see yet. And when she said no, she needed her no to fucking matter. Then I look at pictures like this one. And gosh, I was so young. I thought having a baby made me grown. It didn't. I was a child raising a child. At 35, I look at that girl and I don't see someone reckless or stupid who should have known better. I see a painfully young girl desperately searching for love with absolutely no blueprint for what safe, healthy love was supposed to look like. I long to go back and grab her. I wish I could hold her face in my hands and tell her: You are not stupid. You are not difficult. You are not “mature for your age.” You are not responsible for the decisions of a grown man. You are a child. And none of this was ever supposed to be yours to carry. I can't go back and protect her. But I can stop punishing her. I can believe her. I can love her. And I can finally forgive her for every single thing she never needed forgiveness for in the first place. And if you've ever looked back at your younger self and thought: But I wanted them. But I went back. But I loved them. Please remember this: You're judging a child with knowledge they could only gain by surviving long enough to grow up. Stop asking why the child didn't know better. Start asking why the adult did. Sometimes healing isn't changing the past. Sometimes it's finally realizing that the person you've spent years blaming was never the person who needed to be held accountable. She was the one who needed protecting. And sometimes, years later, the person who finally comes back for her... is you. #grooming #teenagepregnancy #iwillnolongerbesilenced

It was 21 years ago and I have never told anyone. I lived with my first roommate, who I knew had some questionable friends. Nevertheless, I trusted her and our new, cute, little home. Until one night she had friends over. I didn't drink and wasn't into hard drugs. We had food, everyone else was drinking and having a good time. I don't remember anything after that, until I woke up in the middle of the night with a man, one of her 'friends', on top of me. He was inside of me as I laid on the middle of the floor. I could not move, I could not speak. It wasn't a flight, fight or freeze, I had been drugged and could not move a single part of my body. I couldn't even move my arms to push him away. And when my roommates MOTHER walked into our new home, into the dark room, in the middle of the night, she saw what was happening. All I could do was open my eyes wide with fear, but she turned around and walked out without a word and left him to finish what he started. He laughed when she walked away. By the time I had any control of my body, he was gone, I was alone and naked on the living room floor of my first place, where every person stepped over me as they filed out in the morning. It was the morning joke...what and who did she do. No one asked if I was ok that morning. No one ever did. It has been 21 years and I still don't know the name of the man who raped me that night, but I will always remember his face.

I was 17. I met a guy at the mall. I had never been approached before in public and asked for my number, and I gave it to him. We talked for a few days. He said he wanted to take me out to dinner, I had also never been taken out on a proper date before, it all seemed very romantic. We agreed on a day after school, I didn’t know until quite a while after but he had lied about his age, he was not 18. He was 26. Dinner was going well, and then he asked me if I wanted to come over to his place after. I gave him a firm no, and said I wasn’t comfortable with that because I barely knew him. He seemed disappointed. The rest of the dinner was pretty quiet. I remember him a few more times throughout the night asking things along the line of “are you sure?” And “it’ll be fun” to which I reinforced my answer. I was very uncomfortable at this point and he was my ride home. I hadn’t told my parents where I was, and he had promised to take me home after dinner so I bit my tongue. We left the restaurant and I remember asking him if he needed my address again to take me home; to which he just nodded no, and began driving. It was night at this point and I couldn’t tell where we were driving. We ended up at his house and I immediately told him that I said I did not want to come over. He told me to relax, and that he just had to grab something quick and I should come inside while I wait because it was winter- and he didn’t want to leave the car running. I didn’t feel good about it, but I went inside. I stood in the front entrance for a while until he came back out from his room and told me we’d have to wait a little bit for his phone to charge so that he’d have his GPS to take me home. He told me I could wait with him in his room. He made multiple advances that I pulled away from, and told him very upfront that I didn’t want to. He kept pushing. At this point my own phone was dead, and I was really afraid. I remember to this day the feeling in my chest. I asked if he could please just take me home. He said “come on, I’ll take you home right after” And I gave in. I cried on the ride home and he said nothing. I blocked all of his contacts. This was 7 years ago. I didn’t even know until recently that I was taken advantage of and this was considered sexual assault. I was coerced into an unwanted encounter, after repeatedly saying no. I felt so ashamed. For a very long time I blamed myself, thought of all of the things I should have done instead, asked myself why I gave in. And it took me a long time to realize that it wasn’t my fault, I was just scared and wanted to go home, and I was backed into a corner. Education and SA awareness is so important. There are so many people with similar experiences that don’t know what they went through was assault, and harbour that with them. Unable to heal. It was hearing other women’s similar stories that helped me heal. I knew finally that I wasn’t alone, and it wasn’t my fault.

I was sexually assaulted between the ages of 18 and 19 by my then-boyfriend. I remember when it first started, I didn't even think of it as sexual assault, only that I knew I didn't want to and always felt upset after it happened. There was one specific event that made me realise what I was experiencing was not normal. I remember repeating "no" to the point of almost yelling and trying to push him off me with all my strength. He had a grip of my jumper which ripped when I eventually broke free. I didn't know what to do, so I did nothing. I went to dinner with his family that evening and cried in the bathroom. To this day, I still haven't told anyone and I wonder if he even understands the gravity of what he had done.

Date, around time I went on a date with him (a correctional officer), thinking it was an opportunity to become acquainted with him as a friend, but it turned out to be a horrific night which I would only remember parts of. He picked me up in his white pickup truck; it smelled of cologne and winterfresh gum. Two smells I will never forget. He took me to a dirty dive bar without asking where to go. I already didn’t feel safe, and I regret that I never said anything to this day. I got my first drink, rum and coke. Keep in mind that my glass was smaller than a coffee mug. We started talking, and he told me he used to be in the army. He seemed to be trying hard to persuade and impress me, but I was not falling for it. The taste of my drink was no different than I had before. I was nearly done with my first drink when he asked if I wanted another, and I agreed. He returned with another and asked if I wanted to play darts, and I again agreed. I took one drink of my second rum and coke he brought to me and started to feel dizzy, tired, and weak. I didn’t say anything yet. I continued with darts. By then, he gave me a third drink, I don’t remember if I even had a drink of it. I do recall saying, ‘I wanted to go home,’ and we left out the side door to his white pickup truck. I don’t remember getting inside the front seat, let alone the backseat. My eyes flickered open and closed, waking up only to see him face-to-face with me. Raping me, I am frozen in shock. Disgusted by what he was saying to me. When he was done, he threw a towel on me and told me to ‘clean up.’ He tossed my shoe onto my nude body and said, ‘Now I will take you home.’ Twenty degrees outside, I was fully nude in a familiar parking lot. I got dressed. He took me home; no words were exchanged. Once I got in my house, I went straight into the shower and cried. I was a virgin He took my innocence from me that I can never get back. Date, around time Sitting in my office, He came in unannounced and sat down in a chair by the door. I looked up, feeling uneasy. I asked him, ‘what are you doing?’ He replied as he got up from his chair, ‘I know you want this cock.’ He blocked me between my seat, the wall, and my desk, I had nowhere to go. He unzipped his pants and grabbed a handful of my hair, and forcefully give him oral sex. This time I remember the whole brutal rape. Pushing, gagging, and choking only made him put more force and hurt upon me. His strength was unbearable. When it was over, he threw a piece of winterfresh gum at me and left. Crying, feeling dirty, guilty, and shameful, I put myself together and completed my day. Violated, not only once but twice, by the same guy. Once outside of work and the other inside work. After the first attack, I was broken inside, but the second attack really damaged me. If I told anyone, no one would believe me because he was a very well-liked person at work, and I was just a caseworker. My sisters were the first to know about the first assault in April 2020. I held back on the second as I felt they wouldn’t forgive me for allowing it to happen again. October 2020 I told my sisters about the second assault. I went to internal affairs, who sent me to detectives. They supposedly did an investigation, but boys will boys, and where I worked, they all stick together. The DA dropped the case. January - October 2023 I now moved out of that county because of the triggers and the hope that my PTSD will get better with time. I feel stronger I told my story and know I am a survivor. I hope my story will become someone else’s survival guide. This happens when you are a strong, outspoken woman at the County Name Jail inCity, State Name

DECADES When I was 22 years old, I was on a college campus with my finance and decided to go out to the car at 11 pm to get the left over cake we had brought from dinner. I man walked near me and I said hi, and proceeded to get the cake. The man came up behind me and flipped me to the ground trying to rape me. I screamed, time slowed down and I remember hearing my Mom say that my car keys are a weapon so I started jabbing him with them. I struggled free, ran to a building, falling on my way. A driver arrived who heard my screams from blocks away and the police were called. The police even thought they got him and showed me several photos of similar looking men, but I couldn’t make a positive id, so he was set free. After this sexual assault, I bought a gun, moved in with my fiancé, took self-defense classes, read books, saw a psychologist who diagnosed me with PTSD due to overwhelming anxiety that paralyzed me. The world was no longer safe. It resulted in triggers, and brought back my first sexual assault as a teenager in a crowded bus in another country of an older man pressing his erection against me as I keep moving away from him toward the front of the bus, until I finally found another teenage who I could sit on her lap to get this stranger to stop. It has been 64 years since I was attacked in that parking lot. I have been happily married for 64 years and have a positive self image. BUT, I still can’t wear skirts. I still can’t go in parking lots alone at night and am uneasy going anywhere at night. I can’t watch a movie or play that has sexual assault or the anxiety becomes overwhelming. I still own the same gun.

I grew up in violence- my neighborhood, my school, my home. I grew up with constant insults and indignities because of poverty and a violent brother. So when I met Jack when I was 22 and he was a bully, dismissive, insulting and emotionally difficult for me, it all felt normal. But, as I got older I knew I had to get away from him. He limited my relationships and always found ways to subvert my work while belittling me for not keeping jobs. I tried to leave many time but he bulleyed, frightened, pleaded, coerced, apologized, threatened until I took him back. Then when I was 68 and he was 69 he left to have a “selfish bucket list fling” with a former girlfriend. He expected to come back after 2 months. He didn’t believe me that I was divorcing him and signed the papers without reading them. It has been 2 1/2 years and I am still fighting the battle in court to actually get the court ordered alimony that is coming to me. I am not homeless. In fact I live in the home we bought and remodeled. I have a very good life. He had me convinced that I would be back in poverty if it were not for him. I feel more well off than I ever did with him. Plus, his negativity, meanness, and general bad behavior are out of my life at last. I wish I had had the courage and strength to leave years ago and save myself and my children from his abuse. But I am happy to heal my relationships with the people I love who he kept away from me for all those years.

Hi, thanks for letting me share my story. To understand it, I have to start from the very beginning: My parents got divorced when I was 7 years old, and my mother took care of me and my two siblings. My mum remarried within a few months of the divorce and my dad remarried after 4 years. But, I was never told what happened. It was never discussed. And I was afraid to discuss it with my Mum in case I would upset her or make her angry at me. But finally, when I was 11 years old, I finally asked her about the divorce. At first, she consoled me saying that she was sorry if the divorce ever hurt me or my feelings. But, as I continued to talk about it, she got angry and told me to stop "self-pitying". My Dad is a businessman, so even at childhood (back when my parents were married), he was always away for months at a time for meetings. But, I still loved him (obviously). Now, as for my stepdad, me and him were never close. But I still called him "Dad" - even though I didn't want to, that was just for my Mum's sake. He always used to say I was his "favourite" but I never understood why. When I was in 7th Grade, my Dad moved to a different country. When I was in 8th Grade (13 years old, nearly 14), me and my stepdad started getting closer. Eventually, he would start doing inappropriate things. He would touch my breasts and once, he put his hand inside of my trousers and rubbing between my legs. Before this incident, I thought that everything he was doing was "normal", as I never had a father figure to look up to. A few days later, I got the courage to tell my Mum. I went to her and told her and she looked so panicked and asked me if I was sure that this happened. She told me it was probably an accident, and maybe as he was giving me my goodnight hug, his hand accidentally went there. I realised at that moment, if I were to say something, my life would be ruined. So, I accepted that nothing happened and stayed silent. In the next 3 years, I pretended everything was normal. I pushed the sexual abuse to the back of my mind and pretended as if it never happened. Now, from my cultural background, it was weird and shameful for women to get remarried after a divorce, so my Mum never told anyone (other than immediate family) that she got remarried - even my Dad didn't know. My Dad also didn't tell my Mum or even us that he got remarried. He used to spend time with us every Sunday in parks before he moved away. The day I found out was when suddenly he brings this 1 year old boy and tells me he's my brother and introduces me to his wife. I was so shocked and so hurt, that I ran away back to my mother's house. My mother consoled me and said that I'm lucky to have another sibling. Now, when I was in 11th grade, we went back to our home country for my uncle's wedding. Before we went, my Mum said "we are planning to tell everyone about our wedding. Are you OK with that?" I pushed my feelings aside, and said it was OK. I just thought she would announce it. But, one night, we were all sitting down and she tells her friends about her plans for her wedding tomorrow. I had no idea she was getting married! I ran to the other room in tears. My Mum later came to the room and asked me why I was making such a big drama over nothing. I told her that I never knew about it, and she replied she didn't have to tell me anything. Eventually, I left it alone and the next day, I acted as if everything was fine. I took photos, I wore a nice dress, I chatted with my stepdad's family - did everything the "perfect daughter" would do. When my Dad found out my Mum was remarried, he broke off all contact with me. When we came back to the country we live in, it was my Mum's turn to host a party (we have this friend circle and every month we have a party at someone's house). Suddenly, they all came in with wedding decor and started surprising her. I was not aware this was happening so I just went into panic mode. I didn't say anything that whole night and tried to hold back my tears. After they left, my Mum and I had a discussion about the divorce again. She told me "Me and your father are separated, ACCEPT IT". I said "I do accept it, but all I'm saying is I wish you told me". And she replied "I didn't know they would do this much of a party, but don't you think it hurt me to see my eldest daughter not happy to see me married?" This is when I broke down and finally told her about the sexual abuse again. This time, my Mum got furious and asked me why I lied the first time. She also slapped me. She said since I lied the first time, I could be lying right now. Once again, I took back my statement thinking that I'd tell her after I had enough money to live by myself (because I was financially dependent on my Dad and Stepdad, as my Mum didn't work). But, later on that year, in the summer of 11th Grade, we went back to our home country and my baby cousin was born. As soon as I saw her, saw how innocent she was, I knew that I'd protect her at all costs. Then, my uncle was giving her to my stepdad to hold and I couldn't believe it. I also properly realised that my little sister, who was 11 at the time, was only 2 years away from when I was abused. I knew I had to tell, for their sake if not for mine. At that time, the two people I loved and I trusted more than anyone were my Mum and my aunt. I decided I would tell both of them. But, neither believed me. My Mum kept asking me questions saying that if I was telling the truth, then why didn't I say it earlier and she kept mocking me. My aunt said she didn't know who to believe, but she said my Mum already went through a difficult divorce so she can't go through that again. I pleaded to my Mum to divorce him but she said that wasn't even an option because she loved him. She then told me she got sexually abused herself by her tutor when she was 17. She said she knew the signs of sexual abuse and that I didn't have any of them. She also said that my Dad sexually abused her a few weeks before their wedding. Since my Grandfather died, my Mum had no one to rely on. She said that the reason she divorced my Dad was because he also used to physically abuse her. I was shocked to hear this and I started crying more. In the end, we all came back to the country we live in. I still lived with my stepdad and my mum, but me and my stepdad would ignore each other. He still spent his money on us like normal. My Dad stopped giving child support that year. Now, at the time of writing this (20th May 2023), I was looking for something on my Mum's phone (a document I wanted to send my friend) and I came across these messages of her and my stepdad telling my aunt that she was pregnant. In those messages, my Mum said she already told my Grandma and everyone is excited. I couldn't believe it, I started getting a panic attack. I confronted my Mum and asked if it was true. She said it was and asked what was my problem with it. I said "I don't want this baby". She said it was not my decision to make and that I shouldn't dictate her life. I asked that why did she have to get pregnant this year, why the year where everything in my life was going downhill. She told me to shut up and concentrate on my final exams. I told her that I can never tell her anything. She started mocking me and asking me what I couldn't tell her. I told her "this year has been so hard that sometimes I wish I could end it!" She started mocking me once again and said "Oh by living with your amazing father, is that it?" (My Mum still thinks I care about my Dad, but I couldn't care less about him). I said "no, ending my life" (at one point in the year, I thought it would be easier if I was just gone, then all the suffering would end, then I realised suicide is not the answer). She got up and stated hitting and slapping me. Then she started hyperventilating and screaming. She started screaming "Get out! Get out! I am NOT your mother! I don't want you! I don't love you!" repeatedly. I tried to go back and console her and she told me to just get lost and go to the other room. She told me that as soon as my exams were over, she wants to send me back to our home country to live with my Dad. I begged her to not do that and she told me that no amount of begging would make her change her mind. She said all love for me was finished in her heart. Later on that day, I tried talking to her again and she kept ignoring me. Then, she started crying and said "you said you hate living with me so much that you want to kill yourself, maybe if I send you to your Father, you'll get some sense". She didn't understand that it was my stepdad causing that, that it was her reluctance to believe me that was causing me to have these thoughts. She said "before I had a suspicion he did this, but now I know you are lying, you are just jealous!" I told her everything was true but she told me that she knows me better than anyone and that I was lying. In her words "In my 42 years, I have understood EVERYTHING but I have never managed to understand YOU. Why are you like this? Why must you make me miserable?" This happened yesterday, and now I keep getting panic attacks. The only people talking to me are my siblings. I feel so alone. My Mum refuses to acknowledge me. What I know for definite is that it was not my fault. It is never the victim's fault, we never asked to be abused. We are constantly told we are weak but my God, we are so so so strong. So proud of all of us for enduring this disgusting reality.

This is another incident from my survivor story, IT STARTED WITH MY BROTHER. I am working up to the police incident. Please read my story for context. This one brought back pain in writing it. Sophomore year of my philosophy major in college. I had recently gone on a trip to Portugal with nice older man who basically invited me to Portugal with the understanding that I would be his lover for a free trip. He had been one of my customers at the restaurant and I took him up on his proposition for the fun of it and had a great time. That was my spring break. This was a few year period when I was very promiscuous after being abused by my brother for years at home and repressed in a Catholic high school as parental punishment for starting a sexual relationship with a boy my age. When a girl in my logic course who was pre-law invited me to a fraternity party I thought it would be nice to hang with people my own age. Fraternities and sororities were not my cup of tea and still are not. After doing a keg stand to impress strangers I was looking for the upstairs bathroom because the line for the downstairs one was long. That one had a few girls waiting and a guy who had held one of my legs for the keg stand started flirting with me and offered to take me to a secret bathroom. The bathroom was legit but then he beckoned me into a bedroom across from it where two other frat brothers were. I was apprehensive but with the other guys there I was a little more at ease that he wasn’t just trying to take me to bed. I was open to finding a hot guy, to be honest, but he was NOT it. Neither were the other two. I sat chatting with them and drinking tiny shots of cinnamon whiskey and getting more nervous when somebody tried to get in the door to the room but it was locked. My guy yelled at them to go away. Then I tried to get up and leave but was pulled back to my seat the bed. I am small so I am easily overpowered. “You can’t leave yet. We’re just getting to know you.” One rapist said. “No teases allowed here.” “What do I have to do to get back out to my friend?” I asked something like that but used her name. They looked at each other with nasty smirks and I regretted the question. What one of them came up was a blowjob contest in which I have twenty seconds to make each of them cum but I had to go in circle until one did and then he was eliminated and I had to do all three. So they stood on three sides of the bed with me in the middle and took out their penises. One had a stop watch and without hesitation I started sucking the one nearest me. I wanted to get out of there and was physically afraid of them. This was away to avoid any violence and not even give them the satisfaction of thinking they forced me to do anything. So I went round and round getting very tired. 20 seconds was too short and they had pulled off all my clothes. I stopped and asked the one who made up the game for 60 seconds. Suddenly I was pulled violently back by my legs from the one behind me he held my legs apart as he quickly started banging me. I did not even see his face until later. The one who I had been talking to got up on the bed and started doing it to my mouth. I don’t me he put it in my mouth. He grabbed my head with both hands and forced it in and was banging my face as hard as the guy behind me was doing it. I had to stay up on my elbows arched to prevent him from ripping my hair up to keep me at his level. Nothing like this had ever happened to me. It had always been one partner at a time. They were mean and I tried so hard to keep up. After that craziness was over and both of them satisfied themselves in me, the original guy pulled me up onto the bed and said something like, “Only one hole left for me.” I was not used to anal sex then. I offered to go wash up if he would please not do anal with me. He laughed and shook his head. So, laying on my back with my legs spread, he squirted some aloe vera gel from the bedside table down there and watched me face to face as he worked his penis in one thrust at a time. He saw the pain on my face that I could not hide. I had to kiss him while her hurt me. Even when he got going fast it took him a while. One of them was watching us, smiling from the side and the other was playing with his phone and I think taking pictures. Phones did not do videos yet. The smiling one once asked, “Dude, is it really in her ass?” After he was finished with me he thanked me and left. Said he had responsibilities. The one with the phone left too. I tried to leave. “Not so fast.” The other one said pushing me back down. I told him I had done everything they wanted and more and asked to please leave. He told me I was the hottest chick he had ever F-’d and he wanted round 2. I just wanted to get out of there. One more obstacle. I worked my mouth on him for a while to get him even half rubbery again and worked it inside. That failed and I had to do it again. Finally I used every trick I could including faking orgasms, having a real orgasm, and talking dirty to him to get him to release inside me. I was so shaky and exhausted after being their whore for so long it was hard to get my clothes on. I was in fear he would stop me, and he did. I told him I just wanted to got pee and clean up and asked him if I could sleep in his bed with him—just a trick. I worked. I thanked him, nonchalantly closed the door behind me and hurried down the stairs without drawing too much attention. I kept a smile on my face as I made it out the front door and off the porch. I kept of the act for a block before I just started running as far away as I could. I was actually terrified someone might be after me until I was out of the neighborhood far from campus and to a gas station. I called a taxi and went home. My roomate was sleeping in her room and I just sat in the shower. In my story I used this as an example of how I avoided being raped by just going with it when I was in a rape situation. But this felt like rape. I went back to partying and using alcohol and marijuana to dampen the impact and feel artificially warm and fuzzy. And casual sex with hot men. But this was rape. I was gang raped. Maybe better for me than if I had tried to fight them and lost but it still sucks and leaves me with hurt and guilt and fear.

You feel like you will never heal,you will You will never forget but you will heal.. It took years for me to fine my confidence but I have it and will never lose it again...there are curtain things ....like the darkness ,I have nightlight in my house....walked thur hell and came out stronger... Hate roses to this day ,but love flowers... You will one day fine your courage to leave, It took me 17 years ,I did not do it alone had help Was hard ... its been 28 years. I could not save one,but I saved two..I watch my children and now my grandchildren grow and thank God they and I are here ...I am still healing ,but I am now living ... You will heal ...

At the age of twenty-six I was raped by a stranger. It took me many years to name what had happened to me as rape. Although, distressed when it happened, I blocked it from my mind for a number of years before going to a therapist for support. I decided to attend therapy as I was struggling with a deep depression. I didn't attend a Rape Crisis Centre. It took me a number of years before I disclosed to my then therapist that I had been raped. I had buried what took place deep within myself and I had never disclosed to anyone what happened that night. The person who raped me was a friend of some friends of mine. I was away for the weekend and thankfully, I never saw him again. While my healing journey has been long. It has been deeply supportive and has allowed me to heal from many different issues within my childhood and to heal from sexual violence. I no longer carry guilt or shame for what took place that night and would encourage any man or woman who is a survivor or sexual violence to go to a therapist who specialises in sexual violence and allow an experienced professional to support you on your healing journey. I have no regrets and am grateful to a number of wonderful women who have supported me to heal from a deeply traumatic experience. Healing can and does happen. Don't give up on you, as I have never given up on me. I have learned that I like so many survivors of abuse am a very resilient woman. I live life today, from a very grounded place and although, I remember what happened to me in the rape I have emotionally healed from the hurt and the pain of that traumatic experience.

In my original shared story, IT STARTED WITH MY BROTHER, I talked about my abuse from a bird’s eye view. It was my abuse life as I was able to share it at the time. I have been working up to sharing 3 instances of rapes that I only avoided by allowing the men to take what they wanted instead of fighting. The most traumatic of the three incidents I mentioned involved a police officer. This is that account. I was pulled over on my way home from a study group as junior at the university on a week night. We had shared two drinks toward the end. I DO NOT condone driving and drinking but I was not drunk, as the breathalyzer later confirmed. I was pulled over and already had the nerves associated with that, amplified by the fact that I was under the legal drinking age for another three weeks. That is when I first met the cop I will just call SIK. He gave me a creepy vibe when I first saw him and that never stopped. Still, I flirted with him to an extent desperate to not get it huge trouble. He had me get out of the car, take of my hoodie, under which I only had a basic sports bra. It was only sixty degrees or so that night. I was cold and shivering from fear and the temperature. I saw him look at my body with no filter. Another cop car pulled up with two officers while I was doing the field sobriety tests. He had already searched me in an uncomfortable way. One of the officers who arrived was female and also searched me after he had said I had some problems with the sobriety tests. Walking backwards on an imaginary line heel to toe was the only thing I had trouble with. It is hard! The female cop brought out the breath test I had asked for. I blew 0.035. That is less than half the legal limit. At that point SIK said he was just going to follow me home, rather than arrest me, and the other car left. The whole stop took maybe an hour. Cars drove by on the side street I had pulled onto. Headlights and tail lights in the dark. After the other car left SIK talked to me more harshly and threatening than ever. He said a girl like me is probably used to getting away with everything. He asserted that he could still take me to jail anytime he decides as as he takes me home and makes sure I am safe everything I do is still a test. He could bust me for possession of alcohol and I would lose my license. I was scared. I told him my roommate was home. She was a student too and was supposed to be there. After following me inside my apartment I called out for my roommate. Then I checked her room. She was not there! SIK then accused me of lying to a police officer and locked the deadbolt from the inside. He made me stand with my hands on my own dining room wall with my legs spread. I wanted to call her so he could talk to her and confirm she was usually there, but he stopped me and made me just text her to see when she would be home. He gave instruction not to ask or say anything more and checked before I sent it. She was at her sisters and would not be back until late. At that point he took off his utility belt and put it on my kitchen counter. He told me after all he had done for me was no longer free, since I lied to him. His gun was right there next to us. He made sure I saw it and he even twisted it so it was pointed toward me. I was scared and pleading with him. I really was willing to do anything. I am not sure but I think I told him that. He radioed from his shoulder thing that he was taking a “lunch” break. What I definitely remember was when he said he was going to do a proper strip search this time, down to full nudity and asked if I agreed to that. At that point I no longer had a doubt what was happening. I made the mental adjustment but what he did was more than I had prepared for. He gave me vulgar compliments about my body as he blatantly molested me. He kneaded my breasts like dough. He fingered me as asked if you could use a special appendage he had that went farther in. I knew what he meant. I was repulsed but I agreed. After the initial eager sex with me still having my hands on the wall leaning forward he slowed down. I had been hoping it was almost over but he decided to prolong it. He commanded me to my bedroom. He took off all his clothes besides his socks. He complemented his own anatomy and made me agree. His member was well above average in size but I doubt, if he had not had a wedding band on, that he would ever get to use it. He was half bald, had a prominent eyebrow like a neanderthal, and a pale beer belly with lots of moles all over his body. He had a mustache and goatee that did not completely hide his poor complexion that looked like he had scars from severe acne. Almost all men all taller than me but he was short and only towered over me by a few inches. Never had I lied bigger than when I told him what he wanted to hear about being sexy and wanting him. The only truth was about his large penis. SIK spoke a lot, mostly degrading me and confirming that I agree with him. Cliche stuff, like me being a whore, slut, dirty, and liking what he made me do to him, but also asked about my sex life and abuse history. He wanted me to say that my dad and coaches abused me, but I would not lie about that. Instead I told him some of the truth about my brother abusing me. That was probably the worst part. Saying out loud to SIK what I never used to admit to anyone, for his great pleasure, harmed me. That was worse that the physical stuff. Worse than making me kiss him during parts of it. He was also cruel. He tried to gag me and push all the way down my throat while he made him do oral. He pushed my ankles behind my head while he pounded me with his abusing thrusts. I could see the cruel lust in his eyes. I could see his wicked smile. He slapped my face many times, just not very hard. He did spank me hard. He realized he had me captive and vulnerable to his whim and he was finally living his darkest fantasies. I was doing anything he wanted and encouraging it because I wanted it to stop. So many times he stopped himself right before he was going to climax! He did not want it to end. SIK tried to have anal sex with me and I was accommodating him but he was just too big to fit. I was crying during most of this out of pain but trying to act like an eager partner to make it end. I later thought that might have prolonged it. SIK was probably the time that would prefer I suffer more, like I was being raped instead of hiding my pain. It was not much longer than twenty minutes but it was so bad and I relived it so many times in my mind before I got smashed drunk and high the next night after work. So the memory lived much more prominently in my head than a simple 25 minute encounter. I do reach climax easily, but I never had one orgasm from him because of his preference for causing sexual pain. When he suddenly released inside me he got quiet and barely said another word as he dressed, gun belt and all, and left quietly. I have no idea what that meant. It scared me. I was afraid while driving for a while, and avoided sleeping at home as much as I could, which sometimes meant sleeping with men and even male friends just to not go home. It was the main reason I did not renew my lease and moved it to a smaller apartment by myself. This was the same roommate whose father had already slept with me without my initial blessing. I did tell my roommate a short version of it and she reacted like it was cool story. I did kind of tell it that way, as a way of dealing with it. The easy path of least resistance. To not admit it may have been the worse sexual thing to happen to me. The true worst things that happened to me in my college years were broken hearts from losing men I loved. But those are stories for a different forum. I don’t put my heart out there to be trampled anymore. This incident was one of the wake up calls that stood out as an omen for me to change my whole lifestyle and try to salvage myself. It was also one of the things that took me the longest to mention to my therapist even though I thought about it during sessions.

I really feel like I need to get this off my chest in a space that can't be connected back to me. When I was twelve years old, I was molested by my grandfather. I came forward about it and he was shortly arrested. After a year of waiting, evidence showed that there was a large number of other children who he had been molested, recorded, or raped by him and there were over 200 counts of child pornography. After trials went on, he was indicted on all charges but mine since he never did admit to it. Fast forward to now, I'm 21 years old and living a good life. I'm in school, have had a lot of therapy for this and have fully moved past the trauma I faced almost ten years ago. Last week, my father received a call that my grandfather died in prison. Most people would be over the moon, but I was instead so sad. I began to grieve the relationship that I lost and all of the memories my brain worked so hard to suppress came rising back up. I've been in shambles for over a week and I don't know who to talk to about it. Everyone keeps saying Im a hero and that I saved so many girls from having to come forward, but I don't feel that way. I still feel guilty for sending him away even though what he did was wrong. I still feel ashamed to know that I was touched in that way by my own grandfather. I feel gross in my skin all over again and I don't know what to do about it. I figured I needed to let this out because I looked up his obituary and almost threw my phone across the room. They were praising him for being such a great father and grandfather. Do they not see what he did to me? Do they not see what he stole from me? Do they not see the damage he caused? I feel like a scared 12 year old girl again and I'm worried there's not coming back from it this time. If anyone is reading this and is a religious person please pray for me. Send me the warmth and comfort that God can provide. Please send me clarity and comfort.

It's been 2 years since I got away from my abuser, he was the first to abuse me and I have struggled through my recovery from all of it and learning to live my life on my terms has been both amazing and scary I am a survivor of physical, sexual and mental, emotional abuse my abusers this is the first time in my life I am free of abuse and living my life the way I always dreamed of, please don't ever give up I didn't and now I have the most amazing life I still have things i am working through but i am a survivor and I am happy