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The first time it happened I had to have been 3 or 4 years old. The last time I was raped by my aunt I was 19. I’m now 30. For now I just want to share about the first time because it’s my most vivid memory. My mom worked and she would take me to my aunts house, it was the Lower East SideLocation in the late 90s. My cousin E comes over with a bag of coke and other aunt P and uncle G. We’re at my aunt I’s apartment. My cousin, my aunt and my uncle finally convince my aunt to do a line with them. My cousin’s daughter is 13, she also has a son who is 10, they’re in the room further most down the hallway. My aunt E is in the bathroom with her 14 year old daughter, my uncle is in the room parallel to it with his 16 year old son. My cousin and I are sitting on two wooden chairs in the middle of the living room, my 13 year old cousin tells us to sit on the chairs and close our eyes and don’t open them otherwise the demons will get us. I always followed the rules and I was afraid so I sat on the chair with one hand covering my eyes and another holding my cousin who is the same age as me’s hand. I’m 2 months older than her so it’s my job to protect her. She doesn’t close her eyes so when she hears a familiar voice calling her to the bedroom she gets up and walks over even though she’s not supposed to get off the chair. I scream and cry because the demons took my cousin and I have my eyes closed standing up and reaching out to try to find my cousin when I hear a voice calling my name from the bathroom. I go into that bathroom and that is the first time my aunt touches me. Over the course of the next 17 years I would be abused at her hands, she would pay the aunt that my mom paid to watch me to bring her over to her house so that she could have me. I thought I was my aunts girlfriend. I have so much more I want to say, I have so much more I need to tell someone but I think this first story is the most important. I never told my mom what happened to me until I was an adult. The last time I was raped I stopped leaving my house, I stopped showering, I lived in a freeze for 10 years and I’m now 30 with a bunch of horrible memories flooding back. I was so afraid of telling people what happened to me now I feel like it’s necessary in order to move on.

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 got drugged on a festival and ultimately it ended up with me performing sex with a stranger without me even being conscious. I went to the festival with three of my friends. One was already asleep when a drunk guy came to our tents. He was searching for his friend, he said but then he asked if he could stay with us a bit. He was kinda funny and pretty drunk so we thought as a group that it would be okay to give him some water and let him be with us a bit. After some time my remaining awake friends said they wanted to shower and left me alone. That's the last thing I can remember clearly. The rest is in snippets. I can remember him giving me something to drink and I drank. Then I remember him kissing me. And ultimately I woke up the next morning, naked in his tent. My friends searched for me the whole night and were really pissed, that I went with him, without telling anybody and I felt horrible for making them feel that way, so I kinda forgot that I had no memories of this incident and thought for a year or so that I was just a really bad friend, who walked off with a random drunk guy and made my friends worry. Just after that first year I started dating my SO and told him the story. He looked at me, hugged me tightly and said that this is awful. That's the first time I thought about the incident a bit more and tried to understand what happened. It was a shock for me, that he got angry at my friends because in my book they were the ones that did nothing wrong. The more I thought about though, the more I understood: he gave me some kind of drug, that basically knocked me out and had sex with me. I got raped. And this was even more of a shock. I'm still in my healing process. The memories sometimes still haunt me but way less then they did before. I still feel ashamed sometimes but I'm at a point where I can turn the train of thought around and tell myself that I don't have to be. I really hope that sharing my story will help others in one way or another and I can certainly say that it will help me be more open with my story.

I was assaulted by a man, who was an acquaintance, in my apartment. We had hooked up once before, and it had been quick but fine. Things started consensually, but at one point it began to hurt me and I asked him if we could stop. At that point, he pushed down on my upper back, high enough that my mouth was half pushed into the pillow. I froze, and couldn't move at all. I just waited for him to finish whatever it was he wanted to do. The aftermath was extremely confusing. I first thought that it was just a bad experience. But as the months went on, I realised it was playing on my mind too much to be dismissed as that. Six months after the assault, I sought some medical tests. It was a year after, amid a particular run of sexual assault stories in the media, that I contacted rape crisis centre to get help. I also reported to the Gardai several years after my assault, and while they handled it well they also warned that if I was to pursue an investigation that the process could be very exposing and I chose not to take it further. My assault took place only six months after I had come out as queer, and so it felt like much of what I had worked hard to accept about myself and to go through as part of coming out was impacted -- the freedom to be who I was and to enjoy my sexuality was taken away for a long time. My assault was not the first time nor the last time I experienced non-consensual behaviour, although was by far the most serious and impactful occurrence.

It was a first date. It was my first first-date in years. A couple of drinks turned into a good conversation. A good conversation turned into me accepting an invitation to go meet his cousin. Meeting his cousin turned into another drink, and then the cousin disappeared. I tried to leave. He physically overpowered me. I struggled, literally begging him to stop. I threatened him that I had no contraception, and that I would ruin his life if I got pregnant. I said I would have the baby, thinking it would scare him. He wasn't scared. I covered my vagina with my hands, begging. He slapped me across the face. He forced himself into my mouth. Once he was finished with the assault, he just went to sleep. I laid there, starting out the tiny circular window he had in his room, seeing just the hue of a streetlight in the distance. I got home and showered it all off of me. Not thinking straight. Not thinking about how it would affect my ability to come forward. I just wanted to wash away the feeling of his hands. Physically, my face was bruised, my mouth cut open. Emotionally, I was ruined. I turned to alcohol to drown away any thoughts. I became distant from friends and family. I was angry. I went to therapy, they told me it wasn't my fault. I knew that. Logically, I knew that it is never the fault of the victim. Internally, I felt that it was my fault for going on the date and stupidly trusting him. I still feel guilt for not reporting him. I feel like I have let down other survivors, I feel weak. I don't know how to heal. I don't know how to be a survivor.

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.

Hi, I don't know if it counts as abuse or not; I just recently (about two months ago) remembered a bit about what happened. It happened when I was 8 years old. I used to have a "friend" who was 9 or 10; I don't know what he said to me that day that made me say "No, that's not from God," although at first I "gave in" and had said no. I'm not sure if that really happened or if it's just my imagination.

I know it was his fault Not my 12-year-old self’s fault  We know it but the guilt sticks to us anyway  I have done plenty of things to feel guilty about since.    But then it was not my fault, yet I could have done so much better.  The guilt is there.  Like burn scars.   I did not block out the memory because I participated consciously.    It was my first job.  $6 per hour.  When my uncle started giving me massages in his repair shop, I was already changing. I had urges. New urges and sensations. I had kissed boys at school.  The massages were creepy and felt creepy.  Right after I started working there.  I declined them, but in a token, way. I did not try to move away. Not very hard.  I was a roller blader with my cousins. I took long skates around town. I ached sometimes. That’s how it made a little sense I would need a massage.  I ignored the obvious—that he sent both the man employees away or home for our sessions, and we kept it secret. Even from my friends. I knew it was not on the level.  I knew he was being a perv. My boss. My uncle.  The dragon. I would lay on the massage table in the back and let him touch me.  He bought it a week after he started the touching. I was still awkward about it and the table make it seem legit   It felt good.  My back and shoulders to start, but he spent most of the time on my legs and butt. That’s where most of the muscle is, especially on a skinny in-line skater girl. It was probably the most athletic time of my life. I did not do sports again.  Not eating was my exercise plan eventually.  I was sort of tall then but I stopped growing at fourteen. I would squirm when he would rub my vulva through my clothes while doing my upper thighs and he would tell me to relax. The first time he brought oil I did not take anything off because I was wearing shorts.   He had a plan. He got two bottles of oil so I could take one home and put it on so the smell would not seem weird when I came home smelling like vanilla.   It suddenly became normal that I would sit down, take off my shirt, and shorts or pants, and lay down. He would take off my panties.  No bra then. I never really needed one.    This was my job!   I was getting paid to do what he said.  I still feel shame that I kept quiet as he escalated it. It was such a gradual damn process from the occasional brush through the clothes to my vulva being fully part of the massage on the way down. I breathed hard while he did it. I couldn’t help it.  That was the routine.    It felt so intense.  Of course.   I got used to his hands on my body. I thought about it all the time.  I did not know what my clitoris was. Even though it felt crazy I thought it was less bad when he touched it than when he touched my labia because it was just a low part of my belly, not my privates. I’m crying right now.  To think what I didn’t know and HE DID!  He was a selfish immoral prick. A predator. Probably still is.  He warned me before he used his mouth the first time.  I was on my stomach.  He put his face between my legs.  I couldn’t see him.   I immediately tried to get up and said “No, no, no, no, no, no.” rapid fire.   He apologized. I rolled over. We hugged.  He spent some time rubbing my face, temples, and ears. He knew I liked that.  Then he got real stern. The only time he ever scolded me. Told me not to behave like a baby.  I worked for HIM.  Not the other way around. He was doing this FOR ME.   Used his strength to hold my thighs and went at it with his mouth and tongue until I went still. I stared up at the ceiling tiles. He stopped when he thought I had liked it. I think it was my breathing. I learned to breathe hard and make sounds to make him happy.  Shame. Guilt. I went from dreading that part to looking forward to it.  I felt cooler than other girls at school.  Cooler than my cousin.    Dragon and I were cool with each other, like we had a fun inside secret.    We would kiss sometimes. Make out.  He stopped staying fully dressed. I did not realize what he was doing until he showed me.  The dragon was masturbating.  Seeing it was so insane that it was scary.  I got used to these kinds of freaky adrenaline rushes. Revolting and exciting.   I was just a girl.    Then I wasn’t.  Never again.  He would use fingers in me and I would have something like mini climaxes.    Then he would stand and jerk it right over me at the end and drip it on me.  I thought it was gross.  So gross. We had a roll of paper towels by the table to wipe me off.  While he drove me home it was ALWAYS like it never happened. I did not know at the time that men completely change and lose interest after they purge it.  If he would have tried to have sex with me it probably would have kept going. No more virgin after three months of foreplay. Ignorant bliss that would crash and burn me one day.  BUT he wanted a blowjob one day.  Maybe he thought it was an easier transition.  He was wrong! I was so revolted by it that I vomited, got a headache, and that night told my parents.  Shame on me for waiting so long!  Shame on me for taking pleasure in his predation!  Shame on him for being a HORRIBLE MAN!  Shame on my parents for letting him tell most of the story his way!    Because I was too young to articulate it right.    Shame on me for keeping quiet while he apologized to me in front of them in the kitchen. I was not even sure what he told them before they called me in. My parents both seemed relieved after he cleared it up.  Most of all, shame on me for letting it sit that way.    A cowardly silence and head nod that was my signature on a contract with the devil.    I lost my soul without a fight.  Hating him costs hating myself.  That is my first guilt.

i just feel like im going to burst today with all the shame, and anger that no justice will ever be had. so i have many friends who are SA survivors and i by no means feel like my story is the worst but heavy nonetheless. we moved a lot growing up, i was always changing schools. my parents where pretty busy with my 2 younger siblings and i remember often feeling forgotten unless i was needed as a babysitter. i do have a weird memory of pretending to be asleep while something happened to me but its so foggy im not sure it really happened. my first time getting assaulted that i do remember was 8th grade. i had recently started dressing sexier and me and my 2 friends loved the attention we got. that being said i was still very inexperienced sexually and just liked looking good. there was a boy on the bus who started to force himself into my bra and into my panties everyday. sometimes while others watched. i strangely developed a crush on him despite being made to feel uncomfortable when he wouldnt stop when i said to stop. the bus driver contacted the school and i was interviewed by the principal but i defended this boy because i didnt want him to be mad at me. i even went to his house one day where it continued. i told my mother about this one incident years later and she said see this is why we were worried about you dressing so slutty. :/ he left a couple years then came back when we were juniors. i received an apology via aim ( im aging myself) where he said sorry and that what he had done was not very romantic. this is probably the only apology ive ever received. that same year another boy masterbated in the back of class while staring at me during a movie day. i pretended to be asleep because i was so horrified and frozen. i saw him a decade later he definetely remembered me and he did look quite guilty. i ended up in one of those boarding schools for troubled teens for 10 months which had its own fair share of trauma but non sexual. when i got out i inherited 8 grand from my grandparents and got an apartment with my best friend and went crazy with drugs. i went to florida with a friend i knew from the program and while there at a party one night i had a train run on me by 7 guys while i was super drunk. one of whom i had rejected a day before and he was literally making fun of me while fucking me. fast forward i start using heroin and get my very own heroin addicted boyfriend. we were a trainwreck and that relationship could be its own book but he raped me while i was passed out, and also raped me when we were experimenting with rough sex and when i said the safety word he continued while i pleaded with him to stop. he died 3 years into our relationship of an overdose. i started sleeping around a ton but had no more terrible experiences that i can remember. although i did sleep with people for drugs or a place to stay. i got clean but got addicted to a man when i was 25. would spend the next 7 years with someone who would sleep around because he was a man but i couldnt because i was a woman. he pressured me into doing anal which i hated and i often found myself having sex when i didnt want to but nothing as terrible as with my first boyfriend. although yes the bar was set quite low. the last and honestly most troubling thing that happened was that once i broke up with this guy i was on tinder. i connected with a guy on tinder that i knew through friends. things escalated and i sent him a video of myself masterbating at his request. come to find out it was him and a group of guys talking to me and all my photos and videos were being shared in a group text. one of these guys was my best friends baby daddy and he sent the video to my best friend pretending i had sent them to HIM. he is a very scary sociopath imo and he was trying to get a rise out of my friend as well as break up our friendship because i had encouraged her to leave his crazy ass. she knew i wouldnt do that and figured it was the guy i thought i was talking who had tricked me. i had no idea that they were friends or i wouldnt of entertained him. she did give me shit for sending a video like that and tried to put the blame on me at first. i shut her down and we still talk all the time but ive never forgotten that. i saw one of them at a dinner party years later, i had no idea who he was but he humiliated me in front of all these new adult friends i was trying to make. i hate him and this group of guys more than all the others because it was so calculated and cruel. i have never pushed charges on any of them because honestly on paper i am a very unlikable victim. i have been in the psych ward many times, drug abuse, and promiscuity. im married now to my best friend and we moved across the country. i miss my friends back home but a big part of why i cant bring myself to go back to even visit is the fear of running into any of these men. i also used to want to live in florida but i think about the train and decide against it. ive been in emdr and it helps a lot as well as working on my relationship with my higher power. i blame myself often because i did put myself in some very dangerous situations. feels good to get it all out thank you if anyone has read this.

Trigger warning. I was sexually abused at the age of 5. My mom’s boyfriend’s uncle took me on a tractor ride with my brother. My mom’s boyfriend’s uncle pulled down my pants and touched me. He dropped me off by the side of the road and took my brother with him. I ran after the tracker, calling my brother’s name. After he picked us both up, he dropped us off back at the house. I told my grandma what happened, and she wanted to call the cops. My mom said she would take care of it. She didn't do anything. The next time I was abused, I was 6. My mom was with someone else. He was my stepdad. He was drunk and got in bed with me naked. I don't remember what happened now, but my mom told me that I told her he raped me, and she said that I was bleeding. When I was 7, my step-sister wouldn't play Barbies with me unless I kissed and massaged her. She was 9. I should have just said no. I don't know what's wrong with me. When I was 14, my mom was dating someone else, and he would always touch me. I told him to stop, but he wouldn't listen. He said I was hot; he touched me everywhere, every day for four years. He chased me around the house, trying to get me to sit on his lap. He stood in my room watching me. I was afraid to go to sleep. I was also scared to change into PJs. I didn't want him coming in on me. I stayed up until midnight because that's what time he got up. When I fell asleep, I dreamed of him raping me. When I woke up, my pants were unbuttoned, and the zipper was down. I don't know if he did anything or not in my sleep. I told my mother what happened, but I don't think she wanted to believe it even though she saw him chase me around the house. At age 19, my boyfriend at the time raped me. I didn't want to do anything with him with his son in the room. He didn't take no for an answer, and he tossed me around like a rag doll. He took my phone and wouldn't let me call anyone. He called his two guy friends to take me home. I shouldn't have gone with them, but they didn't touch me. The guy I was dating gave me my phone back when I got in the car, and I called my grandma. After I went to the cops, they didn't do anything. At the age of 22, I was sexually abused again. I don't feel comfortable saying who. He did apologize, though. Watching Law & Order SVU gave me a sense of justice, watching the rapists go to jail. Mariska Hargitay is my hero.

My ex-husband verbally, sexually, mentally and physically abused me during our marriage. He tried to force me to have sex with others for money and luckily I was able to prevent that from happening; but not with out consequence. A miscarriage during our marriage forced me to see a therapist and working with her for almost two years gave me the strength to leave. It’s been over 25 years since I left and I still live with PTSD stemming from the abuse. I have since remarried and have two teenage children. They were little I have always talked to them about what a healthy relationship is, how to recognize potentially abusive behavior and to say “NO MORE”. My kids talk to their friends about what they have learned at home. I speak about IPV/DV to youth groups and to their advisors about what to look for, how to deal with and provide resources for help. I will continue to say “NO MORE” until the day comes when we don’t have to say it.

I honestly thought I was over this after all the years but somehow today on a day when I was already feeling low I saw one of my abusers and realized I've not really moved past the trauma. I feel trapped because they are family and coming forward with my truth would really hurt people who I mean no harm to. Especially his sister who adores him. I also hate that the story would also bring aspects of me that I don't think my family will understand given that victim blaming is very present in my family. This man is one year older than me but has been violent with me since we were kids. My earliest memories of him are him being verbally abusive then physically violent. He walked in on me getting dressed few times when I was in my early teens and only now that I'm older I realized those were not accidents. The sexual harassment and assault started in my late teens into early adulthood. I feel like he groomed me to fear him I always felt like fighting him off or saying no would get me physically hurt. I hate myself for having to pretend to enjoy the abuse and how it warped my idea of who I am and what I deserve. In in my late twenties and I know if I was in a room alone with him I'd definitely agree to stuff I don't want cause I'm still afraid of him and he takes me back to that terrified preteen. While I've experienced abuse from so many men this one hurts more cause I have to experience him through family and can't speak out so I'm doomed to feel trapped and unseen. I hate how small he makes me feel, how he makes me feel dirty and broken and trapped.

I knew the man that raped me, he is the father of my daughter which he also strangled. There are two sides to this man, one that's beautiful, loving and very calm and the other that is violent and manipulating. I was too scared to tell anyone because who would believe me. People that I thought were friends saw the smashed glass and the punches above my height on the door. They saw how unwell I became and that I attempted to take my life. It took me months after leaving to realise the extent of what we (me and my children) had experienced. But I left for my children because the truth was I still loved him, but the love for my children was bigger. Going through the courts dare I say is even harder to cope with than surviving the abuse itself. I have met so many amazing people and judges that have been hugely supportive, but sadly also so many corrupt people in that police reports and videos went missing, contact centres that lied which honestly I'm in such disbelief now and the shock itself made me ill. Judges and barristers know each other and gas lighting on a larger scale. I'm totally and utterly terrified and wish I never come forward. I am ashamed to say if I was a reader I would not believe this story. But it's my story to tell, that has imprisoned my life. I don't feel I can trust anyone because so many have lied without real heartfelt thought for my poor children. I'm so very tired of being scared. I'm not alone here in this country there are many of us silenced by the very people that ought to protect us. I desperately want to trust our family courts, but after reading about others going through what we have been through I feel scared about what will happen to my children as my punishment for coming forward. I have one child with this man but 4 children altogether. No one will really know what we survived only now to be at risk of having the remaining time of their childhood further stolen. How naïve I have been.

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

It started when I was nine. At my childhood home we had a wooden fence built in the backyard and behind those fences were a group of houses. You could look through the window of our old living room, and you could see the roof of the house behind us peaking out to greet you every time. A family of three, two brother close in my age range, and their darling little sister lived there with their parents, and since I was seven years old I had gone over there nearly every week to play with them. I had a lot in common with the oldest, he was the first one I met too. We both loved bugs and animals, he even gave me my own own bug jar to catch lady bugs in. He loved to come over to see my rabbit, even risked getting stung when he pulled a little wasp nest (at least he said it was or when he pulled it out to show us) out from my rabbit’s cage to help. The problem though wasn’t with this boy, it was his brother. A year younger then him. He was always little a bit off, always doing things like putting worms down my back to make me uncomfortable. But I brushed it off, thinking nothing of it, always told to give people a chance and time to show their best. And as the years rolled by he seemed to do that, and he stopped putting things down my shirt. He seemed to also show a nice side that I could appreciate. I started to like him as a genuine friend over time. Until, one day when he took me down to his room in his family’s basement, under the pretense of wanting to “show me something.” It was dark down there, quiet. Everyone was outside in the yard playing. His mom upstairs, unable to hear anything. When we got downstairs, I asked him what it he wanted me to see. He got really close to my face and whispered in my ear to kiss him. I had never been asked to do something so physical before. I was only nine. But I knew what kissing was. I’d seen my mom and dad do it, aunt and uncles. I watched a lot of cartoons that showed romance between kids; the classic Disney movies, a normal part of growing up they’d say. And it was always between two people who were in love. And as a little girl of course I would dream of finding my soulmate, the perfect wedding, dashing Princes from fairytales we’re what I dreamed of as an ideal match for me at that time. So when I heard what my friend wanted me to do, someone I never even thought of in that way. I was shocked. And startled. I was told to never do things that I was uncomfortable with and I was NOT comfortable with what he told me to do. I said no, and I tried to leave, exactly as I was taught. Unfortunately, nobody ever told me what to do when the person doesn’t take no for an answer. He wouldn’t let me leave, and he started pleading and begging for me to do it. Even though I kept saying no a dozen times he wouldn’t take it for an answer and he wouldn’t let me leave. I was scared, and confused. No one even told me what to do if it’s a friend that asks me to do something like this. Someone who, in my mind, I knew for a long time. Who I thought cared about me, or how they would use your friendship to manipulate you to get you to do what they wanted. No one told me that just saying no isn’t enough to protect you, especially if you’re only a kid. And I was being conditioned by several toxic people in my family life to value other people’s feelings over my own” cause what they feel “matters more then what I feel”. Schools are not exactly innocent in that department either. He told me that it would only be for a bit, and he was pleading with me as if rejecting him would break his heart. I was way too sweet at that time, and he knew it. I began to rationalize , thinking that since he’s my friend it would be fine, he’s not hurting me or anything, and he only said it would be for a bit. And he looks like he really want it. Besides there was no way he was going let me leave, and in the media, and with what I heard from my older cousins they always said what first kisses are like, so maybe it was time for me step into that threshold, I mean I was nine a “big kid” now. That’s the thing I was only nine, just a child. And already I was rationalizing my friend’s gross behavior. So I gave him what he wanted. I always dreamed my first kiss would be like fireworks like I saw in all those movies. But it felt gross and empty. I remember that slimy grin he had on his face, knowing he got me to do what he wanted while we kissed, and it went on longer then he said it was, making me feel bad if I pulled away “too soon.” He even tried to get me to take my pant’s down. Luckily, I didn’t let him coerce me into doing that, but he still got me to unbutton them. At least he didn’t touch me down there, but it’s still a frightening thought that a kid at such a young age would try to get another kid to do that. He forced me to kiss him some more and after he was done, he told me to keep it a secret. And I said I would. But I felt uneasy over what happened. But I figured since I gave him what he wanted, he’d never ask me again. But i was wrong. He forced me to kiss him down in that basement every time I came over. That little “secret” was starting to weight me down no matter how many times I tried to rationalize it. I even wondered if what we were doing meant that we were in, what the big kids called, a relationship. He talked like we were in one. “Was this how they worked?” I wondered. “It always looked so nice in the shows and movies I watch on T.V. The kids in those shows were about our age and they were always kissing and holding hands, smiling. So why did I feel like this?” It was a very uncomfortable and confusing time for me, cause stuff like this is never discussed in schools. They all think we need to experience a “childhood” first. They don’t get that by keeping us in the dark about this stuff, about our bodies, what consent actually is and isn’t, and teaching us to understand our bodies and healthy ways to cope with certain emotions and feelings were going through, the less time we actually be spend at being kids and more as victims, or in my friends case, offenders. People say kids can’t do this type of shit to other kids, but that is a gross misconception. Finally, I told my dad in the car one day about it and thankfully that stopped it. But things between me and his brother were never the same. I’m not sure how my dad handled it, but about a year or two afterwards him and his once sweet brother started to throw rocks at my house, and stalked, bullied and harassed me after we all entered middle school. Whether it was school or back at home, where there house loomed behind mine like a haunting. It caused a lot of stress I my life, and worsened my anxiety. I only found relief when I was at my father’s house. Away from them and their abuse. For a long time I blamed myself for what happened. Angry that I didn’t say no louder, try to leave harder, thinking my relationship with my friends got bad because I told “our secret”. However, years later as an adult woman, I am so thankful I told, and I understand that back then I did everything I could at that time as a nine year old to protect myself. It wasn’t my fault that my supposed friend violated my trust and took advantage of me like that, preying on my weakness. And instead of owning up to it, like a coward he got him and his brother to use acts of violence and harassment against me as a way to run away from the wrong he did to me. The only one to blame for the way things went was him. Though it does make me wonder what would make a kid in elementary school to do something so violating when the only thing he should get excited for is a scoop of double chocolate chip ice cream. As someone aiming to work with kids in the future I hope to understand it better and stop this kind of behavior from ever happening again. Since then I’ve moved away from that place, and started my own path to healing. Sharing this story and regaining my voice is part of the process. Though sadly this wasn’t the only time I suffered sexual assault/harassment growing up. But that’s for another time.

I just wanted to share that after leaving a domestic violence relationship, there is hope for healing and a healthy relationship. I had to learn to love myself again and find my happiness. I truly wanted to give up multiple times through my journey as I could not see a happy end to it but I am forever grateful that I kept pushing forward. I hope my story can reach one person going through the same thing and let her or him know there is hope. My ex husband verbally abused me for years and when the verbal abuse stopped working it turned physical. Anytime he would physically abuse me he would take away all means for me to seek help (ie cell phone, car keys etc) and I would not be able to get away until the next day. Following the abuse he would deprive me of sleep that same night so I was always be physically and mentally drained the following day. I tried to go to the police department multiple times the day after these incidents happened and they would tell me there was nothing they could do unless if I made contact when it was happening. I was baffled with the lack of support. My daughter would witness some of his events but was too scared to call anyone because she was afraid of retribution from her dad. No child should ever have to witness a parent abusing the other. She has had to be in counseling after the divorce because she felt guilt over not calling the cops and PTSD from witnessing his attacks on me. I finally got the courage to leave when he started to threaten to kill me and himself. Law enforcement again said that there was nothing that they could do during this time. We went to court and I thought I would finally get my chance to be heard and I was very wrong. The courts hired a guardian ad litem (GAL) to represent my daughter. I explained the abuse to her and she stated that she no longer cared about the abuse on me because I have removed myself from the situation by moving out. She also told my 10 year old daughter at the time that she needed to forget about it as well and start over fresh. She also said to my daughter to not be listening to me which made my daughter felt like she did not have a voice. My ex husband charmed the GAL into thinking that I filled my daughter's head with all of the abuse and negative talk about him and the GAL threatened to send me in for a mental evaluation. She also threatened to take custody from me. This was all because I was fighting so hard for someone just to listen to me. I had even provided professional witnesses that the GAL refused to contact. I've never felt so down and so voiceless in my life. This is when I decided I was going to fight harder and not give up. I volunteered to go talk to whoever they wanted me to talk to as long as my soon to be ex husband had to have the same evaluation. The judge ordered us to family and individual counseling. Within the first month of counseling the counselor diagnosed him as a narcissistic psychopath and me as having PTSD from domestic violence. She also recommended extensive counseling for our daughter as she was depressed and had severe anxiety. It was freeing to feel validated but the fight was far from over. The second he was diagnosed by the counselor, my ex husband stopped cooperating in counseling even though it was court ordered. I had to file months of contempt court motions and was forced to find a new counselor because he claimed that one was biased. The second counselor diagnosed him with the same thing. I was recommended by the first counselor to bring all of my proof to the police department and try to file charges against him. I had 24 months from the last attack to file a police report. I met one officer that had the kindest soul and was married to a domestic abuse survivor. He stated that State law so infuriating. He informed me that the prosecutor most likely won't even take my case since I've moved out and away from the situation. He did sincerely apologize and he listened to me. He sat down with me and let me tell him my whole story. He told me that he went through all of this with his now wife and it is so frustrating. He also shook my boyfriend's now husband's hand that came up there with me for support. That was the one law enforcement officer that listened to me out of many interactions but he made the biggest impact on my life. I have now been married for 3 years. I still struggle with certain triggers but they are less often. My husband is aware of them and is so patient with me. I had to retrain my brain to not be in constant flight or fight constantly. Some days are harder than others but the hard days are less frequent. I've learned to slow down and appreciate the smaller things in life. I slowly took my voice back. I filed a report with the State of State for the GAL and she was investigated for misconduct. There are many days where I felt like a black cloud was following me. I promise there is green grass and blue skies on the other side of that hill so just keep pushing forward.

I was seven years old. I can't remember much from my childhood or have any memories of being that age except for what happened at my afterschool daycare program. I know that I was 7 years old when it happened because he asked me how old I was and I told him. He told me he was 14 but it was okay because he loved me. Every day after school the bus would take me to my after-school daycare program. I was often picked up after most of the kids were since my dad worked late. One kid would also be picked up late and wait until my friends left to approach me. I don't even remember how I met him or the first time he talked to me but he had me come with him to this fort he made out of these large mats/blocks they had at the daycare center. When we were inside he grabbed me and kissed me. I was completely frozen and my mind went completely blank. I couldn't form thoughts or words I didn't even process what was happening. I didn't know it was wrong at the time but I felt so confused and scared that I would get in trouble. I remember him talking to me afterwards but I dont remember a thing that he said except that I couldn't tell anyone about it. I began hiding in different rooms or with other kids when I would get dropped off there every day. I think a part of me knew something was wrong but when he would eventually find me I couldn't say no and my mind would once again go blank. The next time it happened he started touching me. He would kiss me while holding me there with one arm and touched me places I didn't want to be touched. I couldn't breathe and I was again completely frozen. Afterwards I sat in the structure he made completely speechless and absent. He told me he loved me and wanted to have sex with me. I didn't even know what that meant at the time but I had some kind of idea. My dad arrived soon after to pick me up and I'm glad he got there when he did. This happened several more times. From then on I always felt this constant guilt and self hatred from a very young age and I was terrified of boys for a long time without even realizing why. It took me a long time to put the pieces together. When I was there I met a girl who was a couple years older than me who would sometimes sit with me under an air hockey table I hid under after my friends got picked up. She didn't know the reason I would hide but stayed with me anyway. I was so grateful for her. I stopped going to that daycare after my parents couldn't afford it anymore and I never saw her again. 7 years later I found out that she passed away from an illness the year she was supposed to have graduated. She'll never know how much she really did for me back then. What her simple kindness really meant. I think of her every time I pass the street my town named after her when she passed away. It wasn't until recently that I began researching COCSA and every definition I've found includes that it has to be unconsentual. If I kept going back and never resisted is it really considered SA? I still struggle with this thought. There was so much I could have done to stop this from happening but I could never bring myself to. I'm constantly plagued with the thought that he's victimized others as well and if I just told someone about it when it happened it could have been stopped or prevented. I've only told my now ex boyfriend about this and he encouraged me to tell someone about it so they can find him and get justice for what happened to me and maybe stop it from happening to anyone else. But I don't even know if that's possible. I feel so guilty to this day.

The first corporate job I've ever had after college was like something out of a movie. I was young, excited, and wanted to make a big impact in this high energy, exciting industry. I got to travel the world and collect mileage points. A VP I respected recognized my work ethic and befriended me. I asked him to be my mentor because I was having issues with anxiety, depression, and speaking up in meetings. He was quite persuasive and very influential amongst his peers. I was so excited to learn from him. We would travel together for work and got to know each other on a personal level. We'd all get dinner and drinks as a traveling team. When alone, he told me about his struggles with his marriage and how his wife had a similar upbringing to mine. Her parents fought a lot. I told him about my upbringing and how my mom and I never really got along. After a breakup with my boyfriend, he got even closer. He wanted to spend more time with me and I confided in him. Slowly, our conversations would get more personal. He'd ask me who I'm dating and if I'm having sex with them. At this point, our friendship seemed comfortable. He always told me we were friends and that I can trust him. He told me about his sex life and how him and his wife are in an open relationship. He'd get me out to drinks and dinner by myself and ask more personal questions. To be honest, I really liked the attention. He was persuasive and successful. I also really liked fancy drinks and the dinners I got to go to. Little by little, the boundaries blurred more and more and I was drowning in alcoholism, my anxiety increased, and I started getting panic attacks. Then one night, we all went out to karaoke as a team. I blacked out and somehow ended up in a hotel room next to some man from another office. My underwear was still on so I didn't think we had sex. I hurried to get ready and go back to the office. As soon as I got back to the office he asked, "So did you have sex with him?" I was shocked. I froze and didn't say anything. I felt so much shame and I didn't fully comprehend why. I think he took this as a "yes." He started to type away on his phone and walked away laughing. In February 2022, after a couple of years after leaving this company, he called me to check on how I was doing. I took the call because I thought, maybe it was just in my head. One of the first things he asked was, "Are you still sleeping around?" I responded, "You mean 'rape'?" He replied, "You evolved." I then began to tell him off. It was only until this point I realized I had been groomed by a very deceitful man that I thought I could trust. He hasn't contacted me since.

When I was 11 I had a friend in the grade below me. We were really close and hung out a lot, often I'd have a sleepover at her house and then when my mom came to pick me up she'd come with us to spend another night. It was great we had a lot of the same interests and then it turned. One day we were laying in my bed playing games with the door closed, she climbed on top of me and kissed me. It made me really uncomfortable and I didn't know what to do. As the weeks went on this continued. She'd guilt trip me and beg me to make out with her and it made me feel really sick. I didn't know what to do because I thought if I stopped being friends with her she'd tell people personal things about me and I thought that if I told an adult they'd get mad at me. I never really knew what to call this because I am physically bigger than her and also a year older so i felt that i couldn't call it rape or sexual assault. We naturally grew apart after she switched schools.

I was 21 on my university exchange me and my best friend were out one night and near the end of the night this guy pulled me to the side and we started making out. I was so drunk I’m sure I was falling over I told my friend I was going home with this guy. I had just had my heat broken by another guy I had met recently and was looking for any male validation I could get I guess. I was so drunk I don’t remember anything that happened after we left the bar I don’t remember getting into the Uber or his house. I told him at the bar that I didn’t want to have sex with him and he said it was fine we could do other things. I don’t remember getting into the bed or how it started all I remember is him putting himself inside me. I don’t remember saying yes or no and I don’t remember why I let him do that or if I even did. I remember it hurting and I remember wanting to stop but not knowing how. I remember letting him do me again in the morning I don’t know why maybe to make it feel like I wanted it. I was a virgin and would have never let him do that to me sober. Maybe it wasn’t rape but all I know is that it keeps me up at night.