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Daring Greatly I sit staring out into the vastness of the ocean. The waves look particularly angry today as they crash aggressively onto the rocks along the shore. Even here, on this tiny island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, the water seems to mirror how I feel internally. On this particular day, I’m wondering if I’ll ever feel like my life hasn’t been defined by that night. The night that everything changed. My life is split into the before and the after. I’ve always felt connected to the sea. It has been my safe place. The place I go when my thoughts feel overwhelming and all consuming. That night could only be described as a tsunami-like tidal wave that changed everything. It changed me and it left me broken. Broken but not irreparably so. The ebb and flow of grief has stayed with me since that night. I have grieved the person I was and the many versions of the life I never got to lead because of that night. Because of them. Because of you. The relationships lost, the paths not taken, the doors that were left unopened as I found my footing on this new path. Even now, there are days where I feel unsure about this path I’m on. As a naturally stubborn individual, being forced onto this path goes against absolutely everything that feels normal to me. Most of the time, I feel like I live in a dual existence of sorts. Pretending to be happy around those who have no idea on the days where it feels like I’m drowning. Keeping my walls up around me like armour, so that only a select few know the extent of how that night has infiltrated every crevice of my being; how it still lives in my head every single day. If something is broken, my natural instinct is to try, in whatever way I can, to fix it. This has been no different. The very first time I learned about trauma and how it has the ability to change your brain, I wanted to know everything. Learn everything. Educate myself; in my never ending quest to fix this. To fix me. Suddenly my world made sense again. The shame I felt. The darkness. An incredible woman I have been lucky enough to work with on this journey once told me that the cure for trauma is connection. It brings the shame out into the light. That changed me in ways she’ll never fully know. It allowed me to realise this is not my fault. I am not to blame. It’s ok to let some people in. Although fear has kept that circle small, I have let them in. I have let them see me on my very worst days. I have let them see me broken and let down by the justice system. I have let them see me drowning in grief instead of pretending. I have let them see all of me. I am not perfect. I act out and self-isolate and from time to time attempt to self-destruct. I am angry. I am grieving and some days I’m really sad. But I am healing. I have survived every single day I didn’t think I would when the shame and darkness felt all consuming. I am strong. I am resilient. I am a survivor. I am eternally grateful for my circle who allows me to be my sad but strong, grieving but resilient, still slightly broken self. For those who give me the time and space to bring the trauma out into the light. Every time you allow me that grace, you help a part of me to heal a little more. This journey is the loneliest, most isolating one I have ever taken. One none of us ever choose to take yet we find ourselves here. Learning to walk on a path we didn’t choose. I have often wondered if there will ever be a day when that night is no longer something I think of every single day. There are days I still feel lost. But I have learned that healing isn’t about finding a way back to the person I was before. She doesn’t exist anymore. And maybe that’s okay. Because I am becoming someone else. Someone who can carry grief without letting it carry her. Someone who can be angry but still gentle. Someone who can be broken yet still whole. I didn’t choose this road. I never would have. But I am here. Daring Greatly. And I am going to be okay.

I had my first real “boyfriend” when I was 14, he was 17. We dated for a total of 2 weeks and he told me he loved me after 3 days. He was my first kiss. After a week, I walked with him to his house and sat on his bed. At first, he was down at my feet, rubbing and kissing them. Then he started coming on to me, kissing me and climbing on top of me. I don’t remember what was said. But I vividly remember laying on the bed, repeating the word “no” as he continued to pull down my pants. I was uncomfortable, frozen, in shock. I didn’t enjoy it, I just wanted it to be over with. He finished twice but the entire act lasted no more than 5 minutes. Afterwards, he smoked weed and played video games while I continued to lay in bed, frozen, ashamed. I told my dad to pick me and he did. For the last week of the relationship, his 17 year old ex girlfriend told him I was crying in the bathroom taking a pregnancy test, which was entirely false. She was apparently friends with this girl I hung out with in gym class who learned the whole experience from the ex and told me “you know he has a foot fetish right?” I became extremely uncomfortable learning what a fetish was for the first time and connecting the dots with his behavior. At the same time, he was texting another ex girlfriend who was also 14 or 15 years old and said she was threatening to report him to the police. I don’t remember what for, but I can assume it was a similar situation. He came over to my house when my parents weren’t home and we had sex again. Immediately afterwards he cried, broke up with me, and left. I told my friends at the time about the experience, and for the next 4 years they all repeatedly said it wasn’t rape. After that, I’ve only been brave enough to tell one other person, terrified that they wouldn’t take me seriously either. I never told an adult. To this day, I still think about what was taken from me. My innocence, my happiness, my freedom, the person I could’ve been was gone. I still feel ashamed even when I remind myself, it wasn’t my fault. I’ve achieved happiness through years of heartache, but I’m forever weighed down by the choices of someone who did know better.

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.

I was used by my brother who has grown up a lot but I still carry scars. My brother is four years older than me and when I was going from elementary school to Junior high, that summer, he made me think that girls in junior high need to know how to give oral to boys. First he did oral to me to show me it was not a big deal. I thought it was a huge deal. But I did it and he got me trained and had me keep it a secret, except from by best friend. He had his friend over when I had a sleepover one night and had her do it to his friend. Then they would have us do contests where they wear blindfolds. At least I was not alone then. It changed me even though seventh grade itself had nothing to do with anything like that. It was a lie to get pleasure from me. My brother still had me doing it at home. And sometimes he would do it to me and I did climax. So I had this weird secret sex life and felt really messed up about it. Then in eight grade I had my first real boyfriend. My parents are so strict, even though they both worked and left me alone with my brother. To go to the movies with my boyfriend they made sure it was with a group and took me there and waited outside the theater. Well one time when we went to see Snow White and the Huntsman my same BFF and me went through with our plan to go down on our guys in the last row of the theater and we did it. It was only a month later I started having sex with him which never would have happened if not for what my brother had done. We snuck out from her place during a sleepover and met the boys outside and went to the nearby park and did it in the grass. That was my virginity. The really bad event, where my life got knocked off the tracks, is when we tried it from my house, sneaking out the window and going just out farther into my big back yard that opened into nothing but the side of a big hill and my dad caught us. It was awful. The world ended. I was treated like a huge betrayer and almost all my privileges were revoked and essentially I was grounded without any end date. And still by brother would make me do the oral. I was broken hearted because I was not allowed to have my boyfriend to the point my parents made me go to the school and talk to the principal and vice principal and they made sure I would not have any chance to ever see him alone. And my brother kept creeping in at night sometimes or when we were left alone expecting me to do what he had trained me to be used to. The next really bad part was two months into my new restricted life. My brother started doing his oral on me one afternoon after school and decided to take it farther and got up and started kissing me and had sex with me. I was in the moment and did not do anything to stop him and even participated. No condom. It was an afternoon when my parents were away and so we did not have to keep quiet or worry and he did it so much longer than my few times with my boyfriend, because he was older and knew more from being with other girls that I got sore for my first time and got a urine infection. I did not eat my dinner that night and pretended to be sick and cried myself to sleep. My brother really wanted to do it again, telling me it was the best sex he ever had, but I refused and one thing I could say for him back then was at least he was not a rapist. Even though he pressured me he never tried to force himself inside me. Four months after I had lost my incest virginity the school year ended and he graduated. I went to high school and he moved out to live in college dorms 120 miles from our home town. Public school was over for me, as was planned as soon as my dad caught me on the hill. I went to an all girl’s Catholic high school. My dad had to drive me a half hour every morning and my mom picked me up from my whole first year. Then they got me a car so I could drive myself but the mileage and my times were closely monitored. I did not have an intercourse throughout high school but seven times total I did oral on my brother during summer and winter breaks when we were both at home. That was the end of incest in my life. I went to college in Atlanta but not the same one as my brother. I rebelled against my parents and even though they tried to keep control, as a legal adult I did not let them. Turmoil and sadness lasted months until they finally got it. I separated from them financial and worked and took out student loans. I was very promiscuous in college. I drank, partied and used drugs recreationally and had several guys I was seeing on and off for mostly sex. That was my life and I thought I enjoyed it at the time. I became stronger and more assertive and when my brother first hinted during a Thanksgiving meeting at our relative’s house that we go for a drive I told him I never wanted to touch him again in such a powerful way that he knew I was off limits and even seemed like the scared one in our relationship. I didn’t enroll in classes for two nonconsecutive semester just because my party life was so much more fun. I traveled on and off. Sometimes with friends, sometimes with men, usually older, who invited me to exotic places. The Maldives, Portugal, The Virgin Islands. I let my married boss use me for a weekend in Key West. I had an affair with my Spanish teacher, who only took me as far as Panama City, Florida. So many risky one night stands. My identity was that I was not looking for anything permanent, a child of the universe. While I was used as a plaything so many times and believed I liked the game. I would tell them things about wanting to make their dick happy and stuff that would inflate their ego. I’m sure there are so many text messages out there that they saved about the size of their D fitting in my little P, about being a little girl wanting them to teach me to be woman and other depraved fantasies I thought they wanted to hear. Obviously directly related to what my brother did to me. I am almost positive I avoided being raped more than once by going with the flow when I did not expect to or probably want to. It may be good that some of them I probably don’t remember. Once was at one of the few fraternity parties I ever went to. It was three guys, not my usual style. Once was with my roommate's father who was visiting her at our rented house and found his way to my bed in the early morning. One of the more extreme traumatic events was with a police officer who pulled me over for driving when I had been drinking but was under the legal limit on his breathalyzer. He followed me home, like a mile away, “for my safety” and even followed me inside. I was in an apartment then and I thought my roomate was home and told him so. But when she wasn’t there he said I lied to a police officer and he had to do a more thorough search if I wanted to avoid being arrested. He was not attractive or nice. He had a gun thought he never took it out. You can guess what happened. I finally shed that wild life during my second to last semester when I saw the end of college coming. My G.P.A was 3.3. and my major was philosophy and it dawned on me that the future was not bright in terms of what I would do or how I would pay back my loans. I buckled down and decided to change. I had an offer to strip and ‘make a lot of money’ but thankfully not only did never considered myself like that, but when I went with a friend for her interview and they tried to recruit me they were so sleazy we both ran out of there disgusted. I reevaluated my whole life. I considered ending it, but some survival mechanism did not allow it. I did not want to be the person I had been for a few years. I looked ahead and saw it was not sustainable as I aged and had no real love or stability. I quit serving when I got an offer to work in a legal office. I slept with the manager who hired me as a receptionist but it was a drop in the bucket of things to be shameful of. He was the last one like that. I got all A’s and graduated cum laude. I got promoted in the firm mostly by title but used it to spring away and take a lower paying job in a nonprofit law firm where I had not slept with anyone. There I did sleep with a lawyer but I am married to him still and my life is back together. I love him and he loves me. He does not know the extent of my sluttiness in college or about my brother and I doubt he ever will. That darkness is fading and it is not part of my life now. It is not who I am. As for my brother, he has a family now and we are on good terms. We did talk about it once while I was studying like crazy my senior year, although it was not a big deep talk. I did mention that he used me, he apologized, we hugged, and that was it. Not the cathartic confrontation some might expect. My catharsis is my husband, and my life now that I am grateful for. We adopted two toddler brothers and I am their mom. Maybe we’ll have one of our own. Maybe we’ll adopt again. I was used and introduced to sex too young and early and it strained my relationship with my parents for a long time and I’ll never get that back. It derailed my life. I was set adrift for a while but God or the universe or random luck finally put me in a good place. Everything that happened led me what I have now. I can’t say I never contemplated suicide in darker times. But like in the move Cast Away, if I may quote, “I stayed alive. I kept breathing. And one day my logic was proven all wrong because the tide came in, and gave me a sail. And now, here I am.” Thousands of hours spent studying philosophy and I quote a movie that was not even based on a book. But it’s perfect.

My name is Survivor and I live in Huntsville, TX. In 2004, at the age of 15 I was introduced to a man who was a pedophile. This was just after my parents divorced and after growing up with a severely abusive father, I was desperate from male leadership in my life. Needless to say, I was an easy victim. This man began grooming me and would eventually begin molesting me. This happened once or twice a month for the rest of my high school. Little did I know, this man was working alongside a college ministry called Chi Alpha and the Assemblies of God for at least 2 decades and had already molested other boys. For which he served a mere 90 days in Alaska jail. Pastors in our ministry tried to convince students, many of whom who were victims, to write letters of lienance on behalf of the abuser. You would think after high school and turning 18 I would have moved on and left him. After all, why would anyone continue to let themselves get abused? Unfortunately, that’s not how grooming or the mind of a victim works. So, I’m sad to say, the abuse continued. When I was abused in 2005, the statute of limitations in Texas at that time were until the age of 23. At the age of 23, I was still being molested by this man. For a significant amount of time the leadership in the Assemblies of God, which was the denomination I had been apart of my whole life, knew that this man was a registered sex offender and did not take needed steps to rid our ministries of him. I was one of the first victims to publicly come forward in 2023. For nearly 20 years I told no one, not even my wife. Myself and 5 friends, some even pastors in the Assemblies of God, started making calls to friends figuring other men had been abused heard dozens of stories of abuse because we were trying to help over 40 victims get help, seek justice, and heal. We all watched in horror as NDAs were used to insulate organizational leadership to cover themselves, using the NDAs as a fog of ignorance and hiding behind it. Because of this, Justice has not been served. Since then the Assemblies of God has tried to dismiss valid civil claims of negligence, has sidelined victims in the investigation process, and has sneakily tried to get victims to sign NDA’s. I’ll also add that I am a high school teacher here in Texas, and every year I hear stories from students who have been sexually harassed or abused in all kinds of scenarios. The happy side of my story is the abuser is currently in jail and awaiting trial. My wife and I have a rule in our house with our kids - no secrets. Last night I talked to my 8 year old daughter (in kid language) how NDA’s are used. And she said “but if you keep it secret doesn’t that bad person keep hurting children?” I had the privilege of working with Elizabeth and everyone involved with Trey’s Law. It helped my healing so much to be able to meet and talk with other survivors. To hear their struggles and to know I wasn’t crazy or alone. Through that legislative process I found my voice and gained confidence in sharing my story. Thank you Elizabeth for helping me tag along!

🇬🇧 English I have hidden what happened in my childhood for years, and I don't know how to deal with it anymore I am writing this because I have been carrying an experience from my childhood that I have hidden from almost everyone for many years. About eight years have passed since what happened, and I still don't know how to deal with it or how I should see myself because of it. When I was a child, I was very innocent, quiet, obedient, and trusting. Some things happened between me and other children at that time, and I did not understand their meaning or seriousness the way I understand them today. The main person involved in my story was also a minor, but he was approximately three years older than me. At one point, things were presented to me in a way that made me believe it was something ordinary between children. I did not understand what was actually happening. Later, another person told me that he had photos or videos involving me and what had happened. He threatened that they could be shared or that he could tell someone in my family. I was a child and I was extremely frightened. I did not know whether he was lying or telling the truth. I asked to see the video, but he said it was with someone else and that he could not show it to me. This made me believe that there might actually be something, or at least made me terrified that there was. Later, another person made a similar claim and said that he knew what had happened and had a video. He never gave me real proof. I never saw any video. But at that age, I did not know how to distinguish truth from lies, or manipulation from reality. Eventually, I reacted and went along with something while I was frightened, confused, and under pressure. I don't want to describe the sexual details here. What I want people to understand is that I was a child, and I was not dealing with the situation with the understanding or judgment of an adult. There is one thing that has confused me for years. When I was with the second person, I told him not to film me “again.” That single word has stayed in my mind because I keep thinking: if I doubted what he was saying, why did I use the word “again”? Does that mean I was admitting that something had really happened before? Or was I simply frightened and acting as though what they were telling me might actually be true? About eight years have passed. During all this time, I have hidden the situation from almost everyone. I act as though nothing happened and try to live normally. I see myself as a confident, strong person with my own values, character, and morals. What makes this harder is that I still live in roughly the same area, and sometimes I see the person who harmed me from a distance. My friends who live in the same area do not know the real story, although some of them have heard rumors or other things said about me over the years. Those rumors have made me question everything: Was there actually a video? Were they lying? Did some people know something? Did someone give information about me to someone else? I don't have real evidence for these things, so I don't know where the truth ends and where rumors or manipulation begin. The hardest part is that I constantly blame myself for how I reacted as a child. I analyze every word I said and every decision I made, trying to find evidence that I knew what was happening or that I was responsible for it. At the same time, I know that I was a frightened and confused child and that I did not have an adult's understanding of the situation. I am not posting this because I want people to feel sorry for me. I don't want people to see me only as a victim. I am afraid that if people know my story, they will see me differently. Some people may become overly sympathetic in a way that makes me feel like my identity has become connected to what happened. Others might use the information against me or try to provoke me. I am a different person today from the child I was then. I have my own personality, confidence, values, and life. I don't want this experience to become the definition of who I am. So I would really like to hear from people who have been through something similar: How do I deal with something that happened during childhood and that I have hidden for so many years? How do I stop judging my childhood self for the way I reacted when I was frightened and confused? How do I deal with the possibility that there are rumors about me in my community, especially when I still live near people connected to the story? And how can I talk about the past without becoming “the victim” in other people's eyes? I am not looking for pity or judgment. I am looking for honest opinions and advice from people who understand these experiences, especially people who have managed to move forward and live their lives after something similar.

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

I always thought I'd never be married to an abuser, then I was. I didnt understand how i fell for it. But I did. That's when I realised I wasnt tricked. I wasnt fooled. It was calculated, planned and organised. It wasnt clumsy, it was methodical. Healing has been like letting a fresh wound bleed, messy. Chaotic. But needed. To realise I am still whole, still loveable, still wonderful... while carrying so much.

In my survival story, "Just Words, Dirty Words", I shared so much and I brushed over an experience with a male gynecologist. It was a much bigger deal that I let on because it had triggered my previous abuse as an adolescent on my first job. I wonted other girls and women to understand what is not okay for a gynecologist to do. It was not until after it happened that I realized the full impact. I realized I had let myself be victimized again without trying to stop it. I felt self-loathing and anxiety. I write this letter to that opportunistic predator. You broke your oath. You betrayed the trust. You are terrible! I have done research on what a breast and pelvic exam is supposed be like and understand you used the framework to sexually assault me. I was late for the appointment to get birth control at the university clinic when I had just moved for college. You let me in even though you had no nurse chaperon, it seemed that you might have sent them home after putting me in the room. You are a man and that is against policy. We shared our first eye contact and I ignored your lust and first glance flirtation. You saw I was vulnerable and needed something from you. You told me as a new patient you have to do a full first visit exam. Now I believe you may have lied. I nodded and put down my guard. When you returned I was undressed wearing a paper smock for a false sense of security. I was self conscious even though I had impeccable hygiene and grooming but worried I was not fresh enough so late in the day because you were a man and you made it sexual. You examined my breasts with no gloves. I said nothing. I knew you were massaging them for you pleasure. You went on for five minutes like that. I think five whole minutes while you kept talking. When my boss used to molest me just seconds was plenty to make me feel sick and used. He would sit on my torso, compressing my ribs to the point I could not take a deep breath and have sex with my breasts and he usually took less time than you. do remember you used the words “wonderful” and “amazing” when commenting on by breast health. We could both smell the musk from down below from stimulating me like that. I was embarrassed. You should have been the one ashamed! You mentioned the textures and gave some instructional anatomy to pretend it might be official. You asked random questions and you shared personal stories like it was a date. All the while you were groping my tits like a pervert. Both hands at the same time! I tried to cover for you by pretending like this was not insane and not a sexual assault. You were twice my age and your mustache was ridiculous. You finally moved on to the pelvic exam. You said the words, “Very nice” when you lifted up the paper drape to help my feet into the stirrups. That is not appropriate when viewing a patient’s vagina for the first time. You explained every step from “I’m going to touch your thighs now” to “take a deep breath as I insert the speculum”. That part was quick but then you explained the manual exam that you did for too long. You inserted two fingers to check for cervical motion tenderness but rubbed my clitoris with your lubricated thumb as you did so. That was wrong! You explained that you were going to move your other hand to check for tenderness of my ovaries to check for infection but kept working your other hand on my clit and inside me. You put what felt like three fingers in me! You were sexually assaulting me again. Breaching my trust. Ignoring you oath. As a last indignity you felt for masses in the space between my vagina and rectum. You left your thumb in my vagina while you put a finger in my anus and moved them both back and in and out explaining you thought you felt something for a second but it resolved on massage, meaning it was nothing to worry about. You raped me! That was rape! I looked it up and what you were doing is a real part of an exam but no gynecologist had done that before then or ever since! Instead of leaving the room while I dressed you stayed and helped by holding out my clothes! Totally inappropriate! You should not have a medical license! Sure I let you, and I cooperated, and even tried to endure it and put on a pleasant face. I was a different person then and you just continued my cycle of being abused by men. But the anus part was where I felt true terror and wanted to get out. You gave me a business card with your name on it and told me to call and ask when you were working to schedule next visit. Then you only wrote me for 1 refill on 30 day birth control! Like I would even come back to be assaulted again. You smug abuser of power and trust! I left with you thinking I enjoyed that and would see you again!!! You make me want to scream and pound on things! It was delayed, but my abuse anxiety was triggered that night, and days after. I will never see a male gynecologist again. Your lust and greed is not better than that of a rapist. You broke my trust in the medical system and I still get anxiety at any doctor visit. Just because a girl’s reaction to abuse is not instant, because of some survival mechanism, does not make it any less painful. Sometimes even more, because we feel guilty for not being strong and assertive. You were in a position of authority and abused it so badly. You should be ashamed, doctor! You should be in prison!

I worked at a Corporation as a Temporary. I have a Bachelors Degree that I studies hard for. I was working with a woman who worked at the iffuce for about 28 years. Also, others on the group who are there for about 10bto 18 years. Since I was the temporary they found an emotional outlet to emotionally exclude me from events. I went in on time, worked all days for 7 months did my job effectively. One of the women didn't like me so I didn't get my contract extended. I find it appalling that I now am overlooked and can't get my foot in the door. I also think 90 percent of the problem os that people making leadership decisions are on drugs. Shameful. Corporations need to hold these hostile companies accountable.

Coercion, Abuse, and Feeling Alone in My Struggle I’ve been coerced into sex by someone who I thought was a mentor and a leader in human rights. He’s a researcher, a women’s rights defender, and runs a civil service organization. He approached me romantically and coerced me into sex, making me feel trapped and confused. We were in a relationship, but the whole time, I felt pressured and controlled. There were some times I was sick, intoxicated, or under his influence, and he used that to manipulate me. I initially resisted even his kiss,but it felt impossible to escape later days because of his repeated attempts and influences. Looking back, I now realize that what he did was wrong, but at the time, I didn’t understand it fully. What hurts the most is the disbelief and blame I’m facing from others, especially on social media. People don’t understand coercive control and rape, and it feels like no one believes me. He kept reaching out to me online, using me as a sex object, and I’m devastated by how he used me for his own purposes. I feel worthless, like I’ve lost my dignity and self-worth. The trauma, nightmares, and pain are overwhelming. I’m seeing a therapist almost every day to try to make sense of it, but it’s hard to cope when society and the connections he has make me feel so alone. I feel like no one understands what I went through. I don’t know if I can handle this trauma anymore. Advise me what I can do, or I am so tired of being hurt. … Please Name

I met my ex at a time in my life when I was incredibly vulnerable. I was processing a lot emotionally and I had uprooted my life and moved home. I wasn't making much money, living with my parents and really trying to figure out my next steps but faltering. Reeling from a significant romantic rejection, I was dating in a desperate way. I just wanted to find my person, have companionship, enjoy all the benefits of having a partner. And so when I met my ex, I projected all my desires for stability on to our relationship extremely quickly. We were talking about getting engaged (in a year) after only knowing each other one month. We moved in together after six months of dating. In a normal healthy relationship this wouldn't necessarily be an issue. But I had ignored a lot of red flags up to that point. He baselessly accused me of cheating on him, once when I was sexually assaulted in a bar he asked me what I did to make the person touch me, he made derogatory comments about what I wore, he ingratiated himself with my family. I had told him on our first date that I didn't want children, something that I do out of respect for people's desires and time. Months into our relationship he brought up (while drunk and angrily) that he wanted children but was giving that up to be with me. Shortly after we moved in together I had a slew of weddings for family and friends, all of which he attended. At the first I was the maid of honor. He got overly drunk at the rehearsal dinner and picked a fight with me after. He stormed out of a room full of people because I had walked away from him (to avoid standing near the door and blocking traffic) and it set him off. He yelled at me for thirty minutes about how inconsiderate I am and all the other reasons we weren't compatible. The next weekend was my sister's wedding. I couldn't go with him to pick up a suit before the rehearsal dinner and this set him off again. He drank too much and berated me later. This time for not having been as physically affectionate in the week between the weddings. I told him it was because I was scared of him, which he then yelled at me about further. I cuddled with him to fall asleep so he would calm down, it felt like diffusing a bomb. The final wedding was the worst. Same formula. Something small set him off, he drank too much and then broke up with me and tried to leave the wedding but couldn't get an Uber. When I tried to hold him accountable the next day he said we were both drunk so it wasn't anyone's fault. For the months that followed I dealt with endless scrutiny. I went into an office for work and he worked remotely. He would smell my clothes when I came home, ask why I was wearing lipgloss, or backhandedly tell me I looked nice. He was heavy handed about money. Times when I would ask him not to pay for something or say that I had it covered he would intervene behind my back. He spent hundreds of dollars on a birthday gift for my dad that my whole family had wanted to purchase even after I asked him not to. Money was a source of control and self-worth for him and even when I could contribute it wasn't enough or if I said I planned to buy something (our meals for my parents anniversary dinner) he would find a way to try and undermine me and pay for it himself. I was both somehow financially insufficient and then in the rare times I could pay for something for us, too financially independent for his liking. We got a dog only a few months into living together. He had put his dog down the previous year and was itching for another one. She is a sweetheart and I enjoyed raising her for the few months I did. The first time we trimmed her nails we accidentally cut one too short and she started bleeding so she was understandably hesitant of nail trimmings going forward. One night we decided to get her nails trimmed. I held her and my ex was trimming her nails and cut one too short. She started wriggling as he attempted to trim the rest but couldn't because she was so impatient. He became irate and threw the nail trimmer across the room. He stood up and while I was still holding her on the ground, wound up and hit her. I was completely frozen. I used to think that I should've moved in his way so that he hit me instead. I thought it would make him realize how bad his temper was but I know now I probably would've just sped up his timeline. A couple of weeks before we broke up we were having another bout of a recurring fight which centered around him finding it laborious and monotonous to be physically intimate with me. As I tried to express to him that it was hurtful for him to tell that it would start "getting old" to be intimate with me, he just became more angry. He had also drank a decent amount that night. He packed a bag and said he needed to stay at his parents' for the night. His exact words were "When I'm angry I do things I regret and I don't want to do something I'll regret". It took me a while to accept that from the throwing of things, the time I came home to a whole in the wall, the slamming of doors so hard that pictures came off the wall, and hitting the dog that when he said this he meant hitting me. Even for the first little bit after we broke up I maintained that he never would have hurt me and I was just a victim of emotional abuse. With more time and therapy I now know that I got out with very little time left to spare. My emotional and psychological safety were long gone and my physical safety was hanging by a thread. I'm now over a year out from our break-up. The first therapy session I had after our breakup I said to my therapist that I didn't want to put myself in a situation like that ever again. My therapist responded "you didn't put yourself in that situation, he did all of that to you and you survived it". I think because I wasn't showing up well at that point in my life it makes me feel like if I was stronger--emotionally, financially, personally--I wouldn't have been susceptible to this. I hold a lot of guilt and shame for being in such a vulnerable place in life that all of that happened to me. If I hadn't moved home, if I'd been making more money, if I hadn't moved in with him at six months, if I had left the million different times he showed a red flag maybe I wouldn't have the mental scars and trauma. And though that thought process is hard to shake I know at the end of the day, I didn't deserve any of the abuse I dealt with. What makes me the most angry about all of it is the innocence I lost. I never would have considered in my mid-late twenties I'd consider myself innocent. But the unburdened and carefree way I was able to think about dating before this is something I miss. There's a level of optimism I'll never get back. I used to think the worst thing that could happen to me while dating was someone being apathetic or incompatible, not intentionally violent. With a lot of therapy and time I am starting to regain my light and open heart. But the vivid memories will always be there, though hopefully they will fade. Although I'm indelibly changed, I won't let this rob me of my ability to see the good in people. I'm still deserving and capable of finding love, I have hope for that.

In innocence lost, I bore the weight, A survivor, facing a cruel fate, Yet within my heart, a spark did gleam, To mend my soul and reclaim my dream. Through pain and fear, I found my voice, Breaking the silence, I made my choice, No longer hiding in shadows' embrace, I rose from the darkness and found my place. With courage as armor, I faced the past, A survivor's strength, resilient and steadfast, I'll not be defined by the harm that's been done, I'll rise, I'll heal, my journey's begun. Together we stand, survivors unite, In the warmth of compassion, we find our light, With hope in our hearts and love as our guide, We'll mend the broken, side by side.

While I was a Collge Student; I met The Most Precious Lady. She is so Beautful, Elegant and Refined. I was unable to buy Her a meal due to demands of expenses. She has been through unspeakble pain in Her Lifetime. Although I bought Her pizza and gave Her transporation; I wish that I could have taken Her to the finest Restaurant. This Lady is a Hero (Heroine). She has known the vile temperatures of Winter and scalding Hot Days of Summer in City, State. She gets dehydrated, hungry, damp, chapped lips, Her Braids have gotten frozen together, She trudges through slush in strong winds. She has been abused by Slumlords. Name is African American. From My travels to East Africa; I believe that She is Tribe. I am 56 years of age. She is over 35 years of age. In certain Cultures: She would be treated as a Queen; protected, kept safe, insults would not be allowed. Of Course She is a Human Being Who makes mistakes, but She has been severely discriminated against because of the color of Her skin. When I held Her hand, I knew that I was with Royalty. To All of Those Who Care about Ladies not being mistreated; Please vote for strong laws against abuse of Females. This Lady has been close to homelessness. Promised many great rewards by people who take advantage of Her; I hope that One good Day She is living so comfortable. She is could probably be considered "anorexic"; as She likes to look Perfect (Which She Is). There is great Sexual Exploitation in U.S.A. and throughout The World. Males make all sorts of obscene gestures to Females and think that there is no consequences. Actions have consequences, words have consequences. Victims of Sexual Harassment such as Name need just recompense. Myself, I took a Male who had abused Her and put Him on The Ground. It is probably wrong to take the Law into One's Own "Hands", but can We believe that a better day is coming? When Female Victims are protected. Bail Reform has allowed many Predators to be in Society. I am not a "vigalante", but it causes Me great sadness that Male Oppressors are not put in Prison for a long time. There has been magnitudes of Victimization. Name is A Victim. I'm sure that She does not want to be viewed as weak or made an example of. But She broke My Heart with Her tender voice, kindess, smile, strength, Spirit, Inner Joy and ablity to Survive. People of Wealth, Stature, Affluenza, etc... think that They can "Buy" a Female's respect. It is heinous, deviant and depraved. So Many Ladies like Precious Name deserve so much Better. Please have Honor in Your Heart, Mind, Soul, Words and Actions.

I was 16 the first time I was raped. Ten days following my 16th birthday to be exact. My rapist was the first boy that paid attention to me and groomed me with such sophistication for someone of only 18. I was an awkward, shy, overweight young lady who was bullied in school and repeatedly told by boys that I was ugly. I was the weird girl that was ugly, fat and liked pro-wrestling. My rapist latched onto that vulnerability he saw in me and made me feel like someone finally noticed me and that I was worthy of love from someone other than my Mom. On the day the rape happened, he wanted me to come back to his house, knowing that we would be alone because his parents were out of town. After resisting his insistence to have sex, I half-heartedly "consented." This "consent" in no way modeled the consent we understand now, which is enthusiastic and ongoing. After telling him apparently one too many times that I wanted him to stop because it hurt when he reached my hymen, he grabbed the top of my head by my hair and slammed the back of my head into his headboard. The last thing I remember before passing out was that all my fingers and toes were going numb and the sharpest piercing pain I have ever felt in my pelvis. I awoke to find him gone from the room, with me on the bed covered in blood from the waist down and in terrible pain, and with dried blood attached to my hair where my scalp met the headboard. Once I got up from the bed and managed to clean myself up, I found him in the kitchen standing at the refrigerator and he said "hey babe, you hungry?" Like nothing happened. I was so confused and I talked myself into believing that what he just did wasn't rape because how could it be if he wasn't upset and his first reaction was to ask if I was hungry? I didn't understand all of this and the way predators operate until I was an adult, and that everything I was feeling was actually normal. I didn't see him at all after that, until the following year and a half when I found he was employed at the same store I got a job at, not knowing that he worked there before applying. What followed was a typical pattern of grooming me all over again and six more months of abuse, coercion, and daily sexual assaults and/or rape. The abuse was so severe that I began disassociating. I also developed a drug and alcohol addiction that lasted until I was 28 years old. My subsequent relationship and marriage to the first boy that paid attention to me imploded and ended in divorce. My drug and alcohol addiction was out of control because I didn't want to feel anything, much less the emotional pain and scarring this did to me, and in June of 2006 I intentionally overdosed. I was told by the EMS and ER staff that I was deceased for a little over two minutes. Not long after this, however, a genuine miracle happened. I met my husband, who at the time was a behavioral therapist working with teenage sex offenders and understood the complicated nature of behaviors that develop after someone is sexually abused or assaulted. He not only helped me get clean and sober, which I have been for 15 years now, but encouraged me to go back to school and earn my two degrees in Criminal Justice and Criminology. He has also supported me in starting my own advocacy organization, Organization Name, in our state of State, and works with the community along side me to educate communities about the prevalence of domestic and sexual violence. I am still in therapy today, even at 43, and even with all my years of positive support because the process of healing is ongoing. I want all those who read this to know that life really can be beautiful, even after such awful darkness. You did not "deserve" anything that happened to you, even if you've been conditioned to believe that by your abuser. You, as the survivor, have absolutely no shame in what happened. Believe me when I tell you, the shame is misplaced and that shame belongs to your abuser, not you. You matter. You have a voice and you deserve to have it heard. For those on the beginning of their healing journey, please stay strong and keep going, even when it hurts to do so. If you do not have the support system that is crucial to your healing, let this space be your support. You will smile again. You will laugh again. You will live again.

Hi, when I was 8 my older brother, who was 5 years older than me, asked me to take my pants off and show him my private parts, I was confused, we were super close, people even used to call us twins, although we weren’t. For some reason, despite how strange it was and how confused I was, it didn’t occur to me that I could say no, so I didn’t. He thanked me and asked me if I wanted to see his parts, I did not, and I said no thank you. After that, he left, and I thought, I did what he asked, he thanked me, so I did a good thing and it’s over? Both of those assumptions were wrong. The next day, he came into the bathroom while I was showering. There was no soap in the shower, and I needed some. For whatever reason, my mom thought it was a good idea to send my older brother in to give it to me. And he gave it to me, but then he opened the curtain and looked at my bare body, called me pretty, and touched me. Thanked me, then left. I don’t remember feeling flattered or happy, just numb, I’m not sure what I felt, I just went back to showering and never gave it thought. The third and final time something like this happened with my brother was when he pulled down my pants and touched and bit my butt, I don’t know if I laughed or just stayed silent, either way, I didn’t stop him. Honestly, I didn’t even know what to do. After that instance, he stopped, never mentioned it, never acknowledged it, and neither did I, it just ended. And then began a similar situation with my sister. Still, I think I was 8 or 9, regardless my older sister is two years older, so older but still young, still a kid. And when we were kids we played this game together, we’d make up characters and stories and act as each of the characters, one day, a character she made and was acting as in this game liked a character I made and was acting as, I didn’t expect it, to this day it’s wild but the only thing I can think to make sense of it is that she must’ve been influenced by movies she shouldn’t have seen or our older siblings, I’m not sure but she got on top of me and began straddling my body, that’s the best way I can think to describe it, she rocked back in forth on top of me and acted out a whole scene. I was still the first time it happened, I mean I was stunned, not necessarily scared, I don’t think it had quite hit me yet, but that was the beginning and unfortunately things escalated and went on long before the end was near. She did all sorts of things, all of which I never liked, wanted, or agreed to, not that I could at that age. She made me kiss her, touch her, she made me do oral things, and it got to a point where I dreaded night time because I knew I’d “have” to do those things for her, and sometimes I’d rush to the bathroom afterwards to spit and clean my mouth with water for 30 mins straight till I felt “clean” again, I’d just shut down afterwards, once I got mad at her and lashed out, saying I didn’t wanna play the “game” the particular night, that I was tried, but then she cried and asked what she did wrong, and why I hated her, something of the sort, because according to her I’d act strange afterwards, and I just lied and told her that it was cause our parents were fighting, that I was sorry. I think I just didn’t want to upset her, I really don’t think I ever stopped to think no was an option. This went on for a long time, and one day, it stopped, not without words though. The night it ended, we were playing the “game” and she stopped and just told me she didn’t think we should be doing what “we” were doing, that our siblings played their games but we didn’t have to , I don’t remember it all, but regardless of what she said, she called it quits and that was that. I was relieved, but also angry? Not cause I wanted to continue, but because it felt like she had randomly turned me into a toy for her pleasure, and then once she was done, once she realized it was wrong she just put me down and gave me a moral lesson, that’s how it felt, and I definitely couldn’t express it like that at age 8 but it did something to me. In both cases, I felt like a toy, picked up, put down, moved on from. Much like my brother, never acknowledged. Years later, in my teens, at age 14, it hit me. Like a wave, up in the middle of the night, sitting on my bed in the dark, across from my sister, I went back to those memories that while I had never forgotten about, I never acknowledged either. And I cried, probably the whole night? Just shaking, holding my hand over my mouth in horror. I know it may seem dramatic, but I wanted to puke, I think I almost did, I felt so so sick. And it dawned on me, that what happened was probably sexual assault. In the present, I can say with certainty it was COCSA, but I only concluded after research and a whole lot of confusion and pain. It still affects me to this day, I cannot share drinks, because when I have someone’s spit in my mouth, it reminds me of being forced to kiss my sister or do oral and I have a meltdown and cry and puke, and shove my fingers down my throat to gag and spit till my throat hurts and I feel like my mouth is clean. I hope this isn’t too crude or graphic, but I’m traumatized. When I think about it, I feel sick, and I have never told anyone in my family, worse part is I don’t think my sister or brother remember or care, and while part of me resents them, not only do I still love them dearly, but I also cannot hate or blame them, even if I don’t know if I should. Because they were kids too, I don’t know who to blame and sometimes I blame myself. I feel disgusting, I feel guilty, ashamed, and confused to this day. I don’t really know what to do with myself. If I tell someone, and they believe me, I’m worried I’ll ruin my whole family, and if I tell, and no one believes me, then I look like a gross creep. I was taught sexual assault was a child and an adult, or two adults, a girl and a boy, so imagine how I felt when what was done to me was done by two children, I was related to, loved, and trusted, one of which was a girl same as me. COCSA is talked about enough if at all, I didn’t even know it existed for so long, and so I wasn’t sure if what happened to me “counted” as anything. I hope sharing this can maybe make a difference or even just help me cope. Because the truth is part of me doesn’t know or trust what it was that happened to me, I feel like I don’t get to say I’m a victim, that I endured sexual abuse. I once read that being forced to do sexual oral acts counts as rape, I’m not sure, but that’s what makes COCSA so hard, because it’s complex, and you can’t classify things the same way you do with other actions of the sort. But this is my story, thank you for listening.

What do you do when you are in love? How do you take care of each other? How do you give assurance that they are the best that you have? and that how do you not rest in love? I suffer depression. And having the thought of dying would solve and finish all the emotions that is drowning me. Just because I am begging for love. I am begging because I thought when I give love, they offer me love too. Love is an amazing feeling you can do while living. You get inspire to work everyday because of that person. You are motivated and eager to accomplish things because you know that's what makes him happy. You spoil him your love, effort and time. You pray for him and made promises and plans, but it was just a fairytale that both of you created. Well, it was 'both of us' at first until it is 'I' alone and leaving me dumbfounded. ..... and here I am today, still thinking what did I do? How did I not have a reason to walkaway first? and how did he not have a reason to stay?

I feel like nobody talks about COCSA. And I feel like no one talks about female perpetrators. I’m not necessarily here to talk about the abuse that happened to me, but for context, I was nine and the other child was a nine year old girl. What really haunts me is what I did after. I inflicted this pain onto someone else, I figure I was probably about 10 and she was 9. She was my mom’s friends daughter. My mom’s best friend, actually. And I’ve been thinking a lot about how much that must’ve ruined their friendship when they found out what happened. How much anger my mother must have deep down felt towards me. I didn’t mean to hurt anybody. And I tell myself “I didn’t touch her I didn’t actually lay my hands on her I didn’t do it” but I did. I hurt someone like that and maybe I have an excuse and maybe I don’t but all I can think is how horrible I feel to have done something like that to another person. It was never about getting caught or getting in trouble, im just disgusted with myself. Just recently I remembered that I was raped twice that night, not once. And now I’m terrified that maybe I’m forgetting something and maybe I did this more than once, but how could I have forgotten doing something like that? I would never harm a child today. Never. There is not a single doubt in my mind that I would ever hurt anybody like that again. All I think about now is if I’m this awful person because nobody ever talks about this side of childhood SA and the people that do are treated like monsters. But maybe that’s what I deserve.

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