Community

I was a victim of child sexual abuse when I was 7 years old and my cousin's stepbrother was 9 or 10. He abused me for two years. I told my mother what happened, and his parents punished him. Most of my family didn't believe me. In a conversation with my mother, she told me I had probably made up the whole abuse and that I was a liar, and I cried a lot that day. My grandmother is proud of him because he's a doctor in Germany and has a good life, while I'm trapped. I can't stand being touched and I can't get over it, even though I've been to therapy. Yesterday I saw his Instagram and felt bad because he moved on and I didn't. He told me it was a secret and I trusted him (the three of us were alone because my uncle and his wife -who is the mother of my abuser- are doctors so they were always in the hospital). They would leave the food ready for us and he (A) would put it in the microwave. A pulled my pants down a little or lift my skirt (if i was wearing one). When A was on top of me he was kissing me- it was overwhelming and i couldn't focus on anything else but his breath and voice, he was grabbing his crotch, but I didn't understand what he was doing. We were playing normal with his little sister and then A exclude her from the game to be alone with me so A put her in front of the television so she wouldn't focus on us and was distracted. Then A guided me to the room, he close the door to the room he shared with his sister (my cousin's bed was near the door and his wasn't), so he would make me lie down on the floor next to his bed so no one could see us. At first, I would get on top of him, but then he said I was too heavy to be in that position (I guess it wasn't comfortable for him to abuse me). That led to an eating disorder that I still have; I even developed anemia last year. I remember once I ran to the bathroom because something didn't feel right, but he started banging on the door but then I realized there was nothing I could do, I mean where would I go? My uncles locked us out. I remember once, A didn't close the door properly because his sister came in, and he straightened his clothes and pushed me under his bed, but his sister saw me and asked me what I was doing there, and I stayed there for a long time. And her sister got under the bed to keep me company; she was saying something to me, but I couldn't hear her, or maybe I wasn't paying attention. I think I'm broken, because his kisses and his voice in my ear were too much, and I never noticed if he ejaculated or if something else happened that I overlooked or never noticed because I never went to a doctor, my mom never reported him. And we couldn't count on my dad because he abandoned us and went off with the neighbor and treated her daughter as his own while the abuse was happening. That's why I lived in their house during that time; that's why the abuse continued because I was in the provinces and my mother traveled to the capital because of a false accusation my father made against her. A year later, my mother's half-brother baptized me with my abuser's mother, and I never said anything. I just smiled in the photos as if nothing was wrong while I hugged A. Now I´m 22 and I still feel sick and dirty.

I was about 8 years old when I was getting molested by my older brother. He's about 4-5 years older than me. I'm an adult now and finished college. My brain had repressed the memories of it for years and I didn't really remember it well until I was in therapy while at university for stress and depression. I think talking about my upbringing in therapy and my relationship with my parents finally made the memories surface. I always knew something bad was going on, I just didn't understand it. I remember multiple instances. He'd have me lay face down on my bed and pull my pants down to "massage" me. I think he only ever groped on my ass cheeks, but I can't remember. He did that multiple times. He came into my room once and made me get naked and he got behind me and laid on the floor behind my bed, out of view if the door opened, and he told me to not look and just sit back. I felt his penis and began to freak out, so he stopped. I think he was trying to penetrate me. I don't think he ever actually did. The last major time I can remember, I went into his room because I liked watching him play video games. He made me get naked again and lay in bed next to him naked. I felt him rubbing his penis on me. My mom opened the door and saw we were naked and began yelling. I was so scared anytime my mom yelled at me. I got out of bed quickly and got dressed. I was shaking so bad it was difficult. I ran out of his room to my room down the hall as she continued to yell at him. I thought I was in trouble too, even though I never understood what was going on. I just felt weird and gross after. She never came to check on me. Not that I remember at least. We didn't talk about it, she didn't take me to get help, there was nothing. All these years later, my mom called one night and I confronted her about it. I have no contact with my brother now and she'd always ask if I talked to him or talked to dad (they're divorced). I finally told her what I remembered. She said everything I expected her to say. She said she was sorry, that she thought it was only once and didn't want to imagine it happened multiple times. She said she failed as a mother and she thought at the time that she had handled it after threatening my brother to never do it again. No report, no doctor visit, no therapy, no help for me. I don't think she ever even told my dad. Just that she's sorry and should have done more. She said everything I already assumed she would and had played out in my head a hundred times before I ever asked her about it. None of it made me feel better to hear. I know the type of person she is already. Emotionally stunted, self-centered, victim complex. She hadn't changed much at all since then. She got upset and cried and eventually we both hung up. For my brother, I just finally stopped talking to him. I blocked him and I don't go to my dad's in case he's there again. I think the last time I saw him was almost a year ago. We didn't talk anymore anyway. I'd try before I remembered what happened. I think he remembers too and can't face it either, so we were never close after we grew up. I'm still processing how it all affected me. I honestly hate my mother more than him sometimes since she was the adult and did nothing. I'm not sure what else to say.

Last year I was gang raped. I have an ear ringing called tinnitus that has not stopped since. I have nightmares. I flew with my mom to a wedding overseas. I was excited. She would be busy with her friends and cousin and I would get to spend time with my awesome second cousin who is two years older than me. After the rehearsal dinner we went out. It was fun because I was not legally able to drink there even though the age was lower than in my province, but they did not check ID’s. I did not drink much because it was not my thing and I had a boyfriend but I was able to go to some bars then a club attached to a hotel. So much fun up to when we met two soldiers in uniform who were cute and separated us from her friends because of our looks. My cousin is stunning beautiful. They had a private room at the club and several soldiers were there and two prostitutes also. Those prostitutes definitely hated us being there. I wanted to get out anyway and the cute ones that invited us acted like they understood and took us out of there. We stupidly let them take us to their hotel room where they totally dropped the cute romantic act and made us strip our clothes to music. They showed us a gun they had in a drawer. I was terrified. They made us lay on our stomachs bent over the bed side by side and had sex with us that way. They switched like we were interchangeable before finishing in us with no protection. We held hands. I was crying while my cousin was trying to be strong and cheer me up. We weren’t allowed to leave and our clothes were hidden. Before took our phones we had to text that we were staying at my cousin’s friend’s house. Then they called two other soldiers, one of them a huge tall dark guy with body builder muscles. He was the worst to me. They made us dance and then we had to use our mouths on the cute ones that had lured us there while the other two had sex with us. I vomited and my cousin cleaned it up but then it started again. They had cocaine and made us sniff it off their parts and sniffed it off us. Another one came and I think it was just those five during the night but they kept raping us and making us do things even when we would pass out. I would like to have been more unconscious but cocaine makes you so awake. I want to remember less and think about it all less. We showered many times. The big dark one peed on me and in my mouth the shower. He did it more than once like I was his toilet. The other men even had to tell him to chill out when he was making me scream liking his fingers and pushing them in my arse, but not when he made me crawl around like a dog using my hair as a leash. I remember one of them calling their friends to tell them to turn all their t.v.’s way up to hide the noise in our room. They watched sports news on the t.v. They had me and my cousin kiss each other and stuff. I could not act like it was a fun party like my cousin did sometimes and encouraged me to do. She tried to take some of their attention away from me over and over. I love her for it but they did not leave me alone. My chest is something they were obsessed with. They did not care that I was obviously distressed and freaking out or that in my country I was three years below the age of consent. There I was the minimum. We woke up in the morning on one the beds together with only the two soldiers sleeping on the floor. The black one was gone! They had sex with us again and another man who was much older and who they called SIR came in and had sex with both us but mostly me. They cheered him on and my head was pounding and I was crying and it seemed to last forever. Finally we got our clothes back but they took us for brunch wearing their normal clothes. They showed me pictures on their phones that made it look like I was having fun and warned us how bad it would be if we said anything different than we had a nice party. A nice party in hell! Before that I’d had sex with only my 1 boyfriend ever. One night of hell and now my number was seven!! We had to start getting ready for the wedding right away and I was exhausted. My cousin hid me and I took a nap in my dress, hair and makeup until the last minute. I cried in the ceremony but not for the wedding. I was so sore in my vagina, muscles, and brain that I got so drunk at the reception I barely remember any of it. Just part of being on the plane home. I told my mom the truth when I got back and she got all crazy, so did my dad, and they tried to call over there and the hotel and such but there was nothing the police would do. I saw my dad cry for the first time as I told the whole story. My boyfriend could not handle it and dumped me. I go to group and do therapy. I take a pill everyday and now benzo’s for break through anxiety. I try to hide my large chest under baggy clothes where before I used it for attention. STUPID! My cousin does not seem to have the trauma I do or the nightmares. In her country they are done with secondary school up to two years before us and are more treated like adults sooner. I said mean things to her once because of it. She forgave me but we talk much less since I asked if she has gang bangs all the time. I felt terrible because she even let them have anal sex with her to lure them away from me. I could tell it hurt her so much but at the time was just thinking about my own survival. My childhood is OVER but I do not feel like an adult. Her advice is -Don’t let it get you so down-. Like I have a choice in this!! She went to a therapist ONCE because her mom made the appointment and does not plan to go back. Her life did not really change!! She works reception at a tech company and models on the side and still goes to parties and clubs and dates. How??? It is unbelievable how attitudes toward something like this can be so different in different countries. I am a victim now and I usually feel like it. Definitely damaged. Everybody at my school knows why. I am THAT girl. My new more mature boyfriend is understanding but I feel like a sad little burden to him. I am hypersexual sometimes now and can’t help it. It is a coping mechanism that happens to some victims of sexual assault. I did not ask for it. I worry my boyfriend can’t trust me because of it. I had an older guy friend who’s been my neighbor for years take advantage of me after I told him the story of what happened at his house. We had sex and then he felt guilty for being turned on by my rape story. He admitted it and asked me to forgive him. The sex helped me calm the ear ringing for just short time periods so I did it with him more than once a day for a bit until my dad started to suspect something and talked to him. Since then I don’t trust myself. I want to marry my boyfriend in large part just to protect myself and show him I love him and am loyal even though I am not sure I can be. I worry I cannot love like a normal person. I worry I push him away being too needy and wanting to marry him so soon. I need him more than he needs me. Is that the way it will always be in relationships for rape victims??? I work hard at school not to ruin my future. It is so hard to focus. My ears ring constantly. Thank you for listening.

A friend and I dated within the same friend group, and I used to hang out with the guys a lot--I considered them as my brothers. One night when we were altogether, I felt too drunk to take myself home and felt safe with my friends ex to get a cab and drop me off. He came in uninvited and kissed me, then all I remember are flashes of us being naked, him being inside of me, going down on me, etc., but I felt like I couldn't move. I woke up to shower, my bed was broken, and he was gone. I called him the next day to confront him about it, and that I don't even remember what happened. He said he thought "i enjoyed it" (I was unconscious half of the time), and only stopped because the bed broke. Although he apologized he had the audacity to tell me not to share this with anyone, and to this day only very few close friends know about this incident. It truly broke my trust even with platonic guy friendships.

I don't know if what my brother did to me can be classified as sexual abuse. I was staying over at his house. It was late at night, and we were watching a movie. At some point, he asked if he could initiate some cuddling. I actually agreed, since we are really close and both enjoy physical affection. While we were spooning, he snuck his hand under my shirt. He didn't say anything, and I didn't say anything. As the night went on, he alternated between different caresses, kisses on my head or the side of my face, and words of affection. I idly stroked his arm back because I felt awkward just lying there. He eventually asked "is this okay?" in reference to his hand inching up my stomach. I was giving him the benefit of the doubt and still thought the action was platonic, plus it felt nice, plus I am a timid person and have a hard time with confrontation, so my brain thinks saying "no" to people is provoking them, so I said "yes". I didn't really want to say it I, though. I don't think I wanted to say "no", wither. I don't think I wanted to say anything at all. I was tired. We both were. His caresses smoothly progressed to the point he was caressing the underside of my breasts. That's when I started really questioning his intentions. He asked "is this okay?" again. I said "yes" again. When the movie ended, I got scared. I had been using it to distract myself from what was happening, and I was afraid that now that there was no distraction, he would shift his whole attention to me and try to initiate something; so I sat up. He lightly squeezed the underside of my breast as I did so, maybe on purpose, or maybe as a reflex. When he realized I was genuinely pulling away, he took back his hands, said: "I'm sorry. Your brother's a creep", and got up to take a shower. I think that's the moment I started freaking out. It's what confirmed my suspicions that his touches really had sexual intent behind them. I had been trying to gaslight myself into believing they were innocent affection, but those words were forcing me to face the reality of my situation. I remember running my mouth non-stop about random topics when we were having breakfast because I was afraid he was going to bring up what just happened and would want to have a conversation about it. I didn't want to talk about it. I wanted to pretend it never happened. I still try to. But it haunts me. He and his wife (who had been sleeping peacefully in their bedroom through the whole night) left early in the morning for their honeymoon (I was there to house-sit, and had come the night before to hang out with them before they left). Once I was alone, I quietly went to their bed to sleep (with their permission and insistance, since there were no other beds in the apartment). As I tried to fall asleep, I still could feel his hands on me, like a phantom touch. I broke down right there. I felt guilty, and disgusting, for not having stopped it and for having enjoyed it too. I felt like maybe I was the creep, and maybe I was the one turning this interaction into something inappropriate. The following weeks, I tried to suppress my feelings. Some days before Christmas, I was on a plane with my mother, about to start our holiday vacation. I was close to my period and my breasts felt sensitive. That triggered something in me and I suddenly teared up right there, in public. That vague ache reminded me of the feeling of that one squeeze he gave to my breast. My mother noticed me about to cry, but I lied and said that's just because I'm close to my period and feeling gloomy (I had been struggling with depression for a while, which she knew.) During the trip, I would get random flashbacks to that night, sometimes even accompanied with feelings of nausea. I felt like I was making my brain overreact somehow, since I hadn't been raped and I shouldn't be traumatized for touching that can barely even be considered intimate. When we got back home, I did something I'm not sure whether I regret it: I talked to him about it. I sent him a long text (he lives in another city, which actually made me feel safer about confronting him) which I barely remember anything about, except that it mentioned "that night" and how I had been upset by it. I broke down while typing it, and it probably wasn't very coherent. My brother sent me many short replies in quick bursts when he saw it. He apologized profusely. He said "I don't know what's wrong with me", "I'll get psychological help", alongside many things I don't remember. That had me freaking out a bit. What did he need psychological help for? Was he admitting he's got urges he can't control? But I didn't say anything related to that. I was afraid of accusing him, and I made sure to clarify I was also to blame for not setting down any boundaries. We were both replying to each other without thinking. We were panicking, and full of adrenaline. I was scared of losing him. He was the only connection I had in the city we both lived in (very far from our hometown, where our parents and my friends all live). I didn't want to upset him, because he's a very sensitive person and I already felt guilty for how I was reacting to it. We somewhat resolved the issue over text. Except we didn't. At all. I pretended we did, but I was still plagued by doubts and paranoia. More than the touching, what haunted me were his words: "I'm sorry. Your brother's a creep." They shook me to my core. All I had wanted was to be in denial about what happened, but those words wouldn't let me. The story goes on to this day, but I don't want to write too much about the aftermath of "that night", since I'd be writing for too long and I want to focus on whether it was an instance of abuse. At this point, I feel a little more grounded and able to accept that what happened had sexual undertones. I am still full of shame and guilt. I did consent to some of the touching. I'm not certain I wanted to, but it is something I did. That would usually make me think this is a consensual encounter and that I simply regret it now, but there are many factors that also contribute to my belief that this could potentially be an instance of abuse too. First of all, my brother was 38 at the time. I was 20, which yes, is an adult, but still; he is my much older brother. He was already nearly an adult by the time I was born. He's been a figure of authority my whole life, even though he likes to pretend he's not. He's a little clueless when it comes to what's appropriate or not in social contexts, but I do think someone his age should know better than to sneak his hand under his little sister's shirt and go up her body so much his fingers actually brush against her areola. Secondly, I am neurodivergent, though I hadn't told him at the time. However, when I did tell him, he said he already had suspicions. Regardless of that, I've always been quiet and withdrawn, so it upsets that he initiated touching under the guise of innocent affection and then expected me to be able to express my discomfort when it escalated without him specifying it was going to. I don't think his form of seeking consent was productive at all either. He only asked me if two specific touches were okay, and only after starting to do them. He didn't ask for explicit permission for anything but the cuddling at the start. What I want to say is that I was vulnerable. I am young, inexperienced, autistic, and he has always been an emotional support and almost parental figure to me. I don't know how he can be so naive as to think he doesn't have any power over me. Maybe he does know that, but wasn't thinking at the time. I still don't get why he would touch me like that. I find a little solace in thinking that maybe I didn't have any control over it after all. But I don't know. Maybe I did. I am an adult after all. And I do believe he would have stopped if I had told him to. But I definitely never gave any enthusiastic consent. I feel betrayed. I feel lost. I feel angry. I feel sad. I've been avoiding thinking about it for months. Tonight, it all came back to me once more and I broke down again. I truly don't know what to do. I don't want to tell anyone close to me what happened because I am ashamed. I certainly don't want to tell my parents. I kind of want to cut ties with him, but at the same time I don't because I truly believe he is remorseful about it and I don't want to make him sad. I can't help being naive. I don't know if that's comforting, or embarrassing.

It is with great shame that I confess here. I was a passive enabler of abuse. I had been molested as a girl by an older boy in grade school and should have been less of a coward. I finally turned in my husband and ended his incestuous abuse of his own daughter. I deserve the tears I cry. I was a swing shift nurse and usually slept like a rock with my pill. That night I got out of bed after a few hours and wandered past the kitchen to the other side of the house where my stepdaughter room was. It sounded a little like crying, or laughing.  It was hard to tell what was happening at first though the cracked door on the other side of house. My stepdaughter's room. But soon I made out that my husband was kneeling and leaning forward over the bed with his head between his daughter's spread legs. The noises were panting and squeaking from him performing cunnilingus.  This quickly concluded and he took a position lying in bed and although her body was mostly blocked because she was on the other side of him from the door, It was evident that she was giving her dad fellatio. Her head was rising and falling and he had his hand on her head. She was only nine! I left  and went back to bed, wanting to forget what I had seen. Why not talk to him and stop it right away? I should have. But my husband had lost his wife only a few years before, and my step daughter had lost her mother.  The woman had been paralyzed below the waist and had severe back pain.  She took her own life two months after the injury, days after being discharged home from the hospital. There was a lot between them because of their loss that I could never be a part of. The idea that sexual contact was a means of grieving did not sit well with me but I did not want to make waves.  It seemed voluntary on her part. I loved my husband. It had taken a long time to find him after much hoping and dating and heartache and searching. So maybe I was selfish for wanting to keep my husband. I did not know if it happened very often. I turned a blind eye..   For at least a year and a half I did not get out of bed if I woke up in the middle of sleep time. Then on a Friday night, after I had worked a night shift and stayed up to run errands during the day, then attended my stepdaughter's dance recital where she performed ballet, jazz, and hip hop with her troop, I crashed. But I got up, restless. This time the door to her bedroom was closed and probably locked, lights on from below.  The sounds of my stepdaughter in the throes were loud enough that I went out the back door and around to the window, and stood up on the central air unit to see through the large gap in the curtains.  I had a direct view of my esteemed husband, who is quite good to me, up on his knees on the bed, pumping back and forth. His daughter was bent over in front of him with her bare posterior in the air, down on her elbows.  I could see him moving in and out of her and shaking her whole body with his thrusts.  I felt sudden anger.   I regret that my anger was not about what it should have been about. My anger was jealous anger.  Thoughts of my thirty-four year old body and how it could not compete with the firm adolescent body I saw before me, and that we had watched this beautiful curve-developing girl while holding hands with my husband as she danced in different outfits. I was a little jealous then, not even knowing that he was thinking of her, that way. I kept watching him sex her, unable to consider looking away. He slowed his thrusts and collapsed on the other side of her. I saw her shiny body collapse too. Her breath was so deep and fast. They took a couple minutes to recover and I got more upset when I thought my husband was going to fall asleep with HER. But he got up, talking. He dressed and walked around the bed. She got up, seemingly at his command and they hugged, standing up. He smiled at her and turned toward the door. Only then was the spell broken and I hurried back to the door and went in. He was already showering. I never said anything and let it fade, pretending I did not think about it often. I was more passionate and adventurous with my husband, and colder with my stepdaughter.      A couple years later when I found her crying in her room one day while my husband was out of town, I went in to comfort her. It got around to me mentioning her sexual relationship with her father in an accusatory way. She broke down even farther and told me about how she asked him to stop when she started 8th grade. She had become aware how “crazy” it was and begged him to stop if he loved her. He told her he couldn’t stop because he loved her. Something snapped inside me and I helped her fall asleep and then drove to the police station. I turned myself in and my husband. It was very messy and my life has been since. But I don’t regret it. I only regret waiting five years to end a marriage that I should have ended after five months. I deserve all the tears.

I was 18. In college I was part of a ladies team on in college sports team. There were also male teams. There was a inter college tournament that our college was hosting for other male college teams within Ireland. We all had nights out planned and a 'play hard, play hard' attitude. It was great to be part of something - I genuinely loved playing and being part of the club. On one of the nights I was drinking and got to talking with a guy from another college mens team. It was fun and we ended up back at his hotel room, where we had consensual sex. After, I remember feeling groggy and then being suddenly awoken to all these lads barging in. They ripped the bed cover off us and I remember phone flashes going off. It was year so, not exactly amazing phones back them. Slagging of various types ensued but then I remember being held down. At least 2 different men. I remember saying no, please stop. Flashes in and out while I just stared at the corner of the bedside table, thinking how similar it was to the one in my parents room. Weird. I must have slept at some point because I woke up. I got dressed. I remembered nothing. Nothing but the sex with the lad I kissed. Naturally, the next morning is always awkward so I wanted to get out of there. Just as the hotel room door clicked shut I realised I had left my shoes. I knocked back and had to do so loudly as everyone was deep asleep. As I was doing that one of the other team members opened a door across the hall, he stared at me. I said sorry for waking him but I needed my shoes. He just said he was so sorry. I was confused, having no memory of what he was actually talking about, so I said I'm sorry I left my shoes. Eventually someone opened the door and I got my shoes. Leaving the hotel and walking to the nearest bus stop, I felt appropriately hung over but sore. Down there. I'd never been sore before. Guess we must have really gone for it, I thought. Fast forward to lockdown 3 during Covid, I began experiencing severe nightmares that weren't nightmares. The missing memories came back over 2/3 months and I realised that I had been rated multiple times. That my brain had protected me until now. My SA, unknowingly, had a huge impact on my formative years - I came out as bisexual just 2 years ago. I feel I would have had a very different 20's but I met a decent guy, stuck with him like glue and am now married with a child. Due to the memory block, I have no recourse. No sense of justice so I just hope those boys, now grown men, are better than they were.

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.

IF YOU DONT, THE CHILDREN WILL NEVER SEE ME AGAIN.... It was Mother's Day and that's what the father of our children said. If I didn't have sex with him, the kids would never see their Dad again. So I did. And it was the final straw. My depression really kicked in then. Looking back, I realise a few things. It's now called coercive rape, the children would have been better to have seen as little as possible of a manipulative, narcissistic father as possible and despite all that happened since, I and the children are together.

On the Date i got sexually assaulted by my cousin (this was in somalia) I was in my room then needed the bathroom when i was going to the bathroom my cousin stopped me to talk to him then he forces a kiss on my lips then i pushed him away and my auntie came and said ”sabrin doesn’t know somali leave her alone” then he said okay and walked away. Then when my cousin went home my other cousin came in and forced himself on me.

Inappropriate touching is how I would refer to what my ex-husband would do. We were together for nearly numberyears. There were countless times that I would wake up with his hands down my pyjamas, him having intercourse with me, him forcing me to do things to him, that this just became normal. I felt that this was part of my marriage. I now know that this should not have been the case and no man should ever treat a woman like this. That consent cannot be taken it must be given. We separated and he was still living in the house. I had a hospital admission. He was helping look after our three children. He would come into my bedroom at nighttime after I came home from hospital and rub my back and belly, even though I had asked him not to. This progressed on two occasions to rape, I had said no, he continued to do it. I did not realize at the time that this is what it was. Even writing this now is difficult. It was only three years later after discussing the inappropriate touching with a therapist that she used that word with me. Deep down I knew how fundamentally wrong this all was but never saw myself as having been sexually assaulted or raped by my husband while we were married or just after we had separated. I still find it extremely difficult to say this word out loud. Most of my friends or family do not know this has happened. It is a very lonely place but speaking to professionals certainly helps with the shame and guilt that I hold myself.

When that person tried to kill me, no human tried to save me. Only my cat, then 1-year-old, warmed my body which was going to be cold, losing 1 liter of blood. My mother told me "you choose who you marry" and went on to complain about my father, who was also abusive. I told her "You choose him". (I didn't victimize anyone except my cat, unlike my mother) Why I as a woman and women in East Asia are taken so lightly?

In year I divorced my husband of 11 years and escaped a marriage of coercive control and domestic violence. I had never been hit, I was a psychologist specializing and trauma and I didn't know I was being abused until the trauma built to the point of a mental breakdown. My life was in shambles, I had signed a divorce decree that gave myself and my children no protection, I had been shunned by the church that I had been an elder at due to a smear campaign intended to shame, isolate and harm. I found myself engaging in behaviors that were brand new to me as a women that had been raised in and continued to live in conservative evangelical christian spaces. In the wake of the divorce I began to explore my sexuality, tried drinking and began experimenting with THC. I had a lot of fear around these behaviors but couldn't seem to stop myself. Was I a liberated modern woman or did I have PTSD with all its myriad socially stigmatized behavioral symptoms. Living in the bible belt and being shunned as a scarlet letter wearing Hester Prynne caused significant emotional pain, however it was the time that my children were with my abuser that caused the most severe mental and physical symptoms. Within weeks of the divorce being signed the first agency investigation happened. I was terrified, powerless and had no social or family support, working full time and trying to keep my young children cared for a fed was more than my traumatized nervous system could manage and yet I pushed through. The weeks without my children were chaotic and filled with dating and trying to create a new life with relationships, yet I found I had very little ability to ascertain who was safe and who was not. I was raped the summer of the divorce by a tattoo artist who I had been working with for years and believed was my friend. This created more PTSD symptoms which heightened my overall state of fear and panic. I had matched with a man on a dating app named Name and had been talking to him for a few weeks prior to the rape. He had spent two years at a buddhist monastery studying the Tao. I relished the ability to have deep existential conversations as I had been deconstructing my religious faith which in and of itself was traumatic. I no longer knew what to believe in, who to trust, what was real. I had dedicated my life to Christianity and the church had hurt me so deeply. I began a frantic attempt to learn about world religions, ancient wisdom traditions, spirituality, esoteric philosophy and a handful of conspiracy theories along the way. Name and I talked about life, its meaning, Alan Watts, the contemplative life, mysticism and so many things that gave me life. Having very few people in my life led me to go deep quickly, even with strangers on the internet, and he was unphased when I shared my rape with him. Name often spoke in quips, riddles and parables- something I chalked up to his spiritual maturity. He was a man of the world and of wisdom and I was a little disgraced church girl learning about the big wide world. We discussed meeting for a date that finally happened just a week after my assault. I picked him up from a house he rented with his friends. He worked at a local hospital in medical technology with two bachelors degrees, one in biology and one in chemistry. He said his first love was chemistry and he thought of himself as a chemist. Alas the economy was not great and he found this contracting job working the technological components of surgeries, running and updating the computing systems. He was bright and his face looked older than his age. We went to restaurant and I cried, heart on my sleeve about my divorce and fear for my children, the pain of PTSD and the shame I carried being removed from the Church. In response he vulnerably shared that he was gay and closeted, and having worked with many patients who have lived this double life I felt immense compassion for him. At the end of the meal he asked if I wanted to go back to my place to smoke marijuana and I felt safe with my new friend to say yes. I drove us back to my place where he prepared a bowl, sprinkling something on top that he said would "enhance" the chemical properties of the cannabinoids. As a novice THC user and having never taken other drugs before I felt that the chemist would know what he was talking about and I looked forward to the warm high that took me out of my head while also numbing my panicked body. I had never smoked out of a pipe and so Name instructed me to take three big inhales, hold them as long as I could and then releasing them. On the third inhale the room began to crumble into fractals or bright colorful flowers and terror overcame me. I felt my soul get ripped out of my body, the fear and pain were immense and I had no understanding of what was happening. I felt that I had died. I was plunged into darkness, I saw the creation of the world, I was God creating the planet for humans to enjoy and then watched humanity tear it apart, I wept. I knew that I was dead and yet my children's names and faces called to me, I couldn't leave them. I came to conciousnes on my bed racked with fear, I screamed at him to get out, I never wanted to see him again. Who could I tell of what had happened? I was so fearful of losing my children, I was afraid that if I called the police or asked for help I would be blamed and so I survived and stuffed this trauma down with the rest of them and continued to function. When my children were returned to me complaining of suspicious injuries with inconsistent stories. I had a meeting with an early child interventionist who was working with my youngest as the children had been displaying behavioral problems subsequent to the divorce. During this meeting I expressed my fears and was shocked when she informed me that she had a duty to report. I had been in this role as a professional and to have the tables turned felt like a profound retraumatization. I was referred to the family abuse center and given the moniker "victim of domestic violence." Waking up to the fact that I was a survivor of domestic violence was its own kind of trauma and facing the weekend alone with three small children filled me with fear. I reached out to the people who had been community for me before the smear campaign: "I'm in crisis, I need help! can you be with the children and I this weekend?" No one would come alond side us. In that moment of desperation I reached out to Name and another man I had dated briefly and asked them to come jump at the trampoline park with me and my children that weekend. That was how he made his way back into my life. Over the months I knew him there was a second agency investigation in which a friend of mine after hearing about the drugging called in to the organization. I complied with drug tests and cooperated with the investigators who told me I had to chose between Name and my children. The obvious answer was my children and Name was never again around them. That is when his behavior took a dark turn. Unbeknownst to me everything Name had told me about himself, including the spelling of his name, was a lie. He drugged me a handful of times during the months before his death, I would be drinking tea he brought me as we swiped on "cute guys" together on our respective dating profiles and suddenly be shot into another world begging him to comfort me. He inserted something into my rectum at night while we slept leaving me seeing rainbows. I'm not sure what I was given however he did disclose that the first night we met he had given me DMT. I had never heard of psychedelics outside of the brief overview of the hippie movement in history class and had no frame of reference to understand what had happened. He began to brainwash me into believing I had, in fact, died that night. We had long talks in which I wept as he explained that my children had been returned to my house and found my dead body. There had been a funeral. My children were angry at me because my ex had told them I killed myself because I didn't love them. Name then comforted me in my brokenness of being such a selfish mother to do that to my children. He taught me that "life" since the night with DMT was "just a dream" a version of purgatory, my consciousness spinning in space and making up a story. He also told me that my soul had been a "dark angel" and that I was a satanic force, this broke me and I remember pleading and begging with him that I so desperately wanted to "be good" and "be of the light." Perhaps what it most shocking is that I continued to work and parent during this time. These two jobs were grounding for me and took me out of my head, it was in the times where my children were gone that I felt I was slipping into insanity and yet I couldn't speak about this to anyone because I might loose my children, and plus I was dead afterall. Name and I eventually developed a sexual relationship, he was at this point my spiritual teacher, giving me journaling prompts and opening me up to new experiences. He said "friends can have sex" and so even though he was gay we slept together on occasion. One night he hit my so hard in the head after I kissed a man at a bar that my ears rang for days. Shortly thereafter he violently raped me. I fought physically, screamed and exhausted all of my energy until my body gave up and he finished the act of brutality. The feeling I had after was not that unlike the DMT experience, it felt like I had died. "You raped me!" I said, the sides of my mouth so downturned it felt as though my face was a Dali painting melting to the floor. He informed me that it was BDSM and I didn't know what I was talking about, I believed him. Name ended up in the hospital a day after I discovered that my liquor cabinet had been emptied, I remember screaming at him "you're an alcoholic?!" I had never worked with or been around an addict before and the lies and manipulation were something I had no frame of reference for. He went to rehab for a week and returned saying he'd just fallen off the wagon. He got sick right after the new year and the days before my children returned I took care of him. His body seemed to be going out and I knew that he had chronic health problems. He told me he thought he was going to die, and then said he had the flu and winked at me. I wrapped him up by the fire and sang to him. The day after my children returned I hadn't heard from Name which was unusual however I received a call from agency asking me to come in. I took my children to the office downtown where they tried to separate me from them, my youngest wouldn't comply. I sat there as they explained the reason that I had been called in- Name was dead. I let out a scream, what had happened? He has been sick, but it was just the flu. When I attended his funeral I was introduced as his fiance. I was in shock as truth after truth came about about the man I had loved and who had also almost killed me. I came to learn that he had been an almost life long addict who had come to my town for inpatient rehab. His mother shared with me that after one rehab he had been in she had found a journal in which he had invented a whole story about being and army veteran which was not true. I discovered that He hadn't worked at the hospital but rather, when he moved to a sober living group home had gotten part time employment at office max... which just so happened to make the name badges for the hospital in town, he had made himself a name badge to perpetuate his deceit. In shock, I gave the eulogy for this man who I had known for 5 months, someone I clearly had not known at all. The combination of sexual, physical and spiritual abuse I have suffered due to this man is something that I have no words to describe. Recovery has been incredibly challenging and lonely. I wish I could say that the traumas stopped with him, however they didn't. What happened to me 6 years ago is being used to further abuse me in the legal system and in custody trial. Finding the Shine support group was life changing for me. I have a greater understanding of what happened, why it happened and how to move forward without the weight of shame and victim blaming that I carried for so many years. I hope that in sharing my story others may heal too.

it was the summer of 1979 i was off from school, mom, dad, and myself went out to see my grandma and grandpa for a week, in tridelphia, west virginia i was 12 years old we had a cookout and had our dinner outdoors, my grandparents lived up in the hills where your nearest neighbor was across the interstate so you were basicly cutoff from people, name and his wife came down from buffalo to see my grandmother because that was her side of the family, so i excused myself from the table because i wanted to stretch my legs and take a walk into the woods to go see the deer, i hear footsteps behind me name comes up to me and takes me by the arm and goes further down into the woods so no one could see what was about to happen, he made me take off my clothes and started feeling my naked body then pulled his pants and boxers down to try and make me swallow his penis, during this he started feeling my naked body and my genitals and said to me this is how people have sex, then he said to me dont you dare tell your parents or grandparents about this or i will say that you are lying, the next day he found me behind the house watching the 18 wheelers going by on the interstate, then took me into the basement made me strip naked and had me start masturbating well its a good thing i stopped before i had ejaculated because the basement floor was dirt and had sperm came out of me and grandma seen that the floor was wet she would have asked me what happened down here and i could never lie to my grandma because of our special bond, once i got dressed i walked around and spread dirt on the floor to cover my bare footprints to make like nothing happened during all of this name and his wife stayed at the ramada inn down the road from my grandparents house my parents and my grandparents, nor my aunts ever knew about any of this because of the shame and guilt that i felt, i wish i had said something that sick bastard would have died in prison, but hes dead now so i dont ever have to worry about his ssorry ass ever again.

TW: physical, emotional, sexual abuse Ever since I started primary school at the age of 4, I’ve been afraid of my dad. I truly believed I was the worst daughter in the world and that I was a huge disappointment to my parents. My Ukrainian immigrant parents were well educated and well respected people, they were quite wealthy and interesting people who had a “perfect” daughter. No one knew what happened behind closed doors, of course, and no one suspected anything as I was taught to hide my feelings and physical signs of abuse (still hate thinking about that word) really well. The physical and emotional abuse started as I started school and was a punishment for something I did or didn’t do, but looking back now, there was no consistency and no “reasoning” behind all of it. The sexual abuse started when I was 8 and stopped when I got my period at 14, when he told me it made me dirty and disgusting. Only at the end of high school I realised that not all fathers were like this and, in fact, this was very severe abuse. At 15 I was sexual assaulted by a coworker of my age at my job in a leisure center. At this point I was attracting the somewhat wanted attention of boys and I was naive. Even now, I am still trying to remind myself that I am not at fault. My 2 years at sixth form were made up of studying very hard and also trying to get help for ptsd symptoms. I met my current boyfriend of 2 years at sixth form too. I have told him about the majority of my childhood and he has been extremely supportive. I am so grateful for him. I am now having CPTSD support and, although I have bad days, I am keen to get better and to start a new chapter of life :)

In my story, IT STARTED WITH MY BROTHER, I briefly mentioned 3 instances of avoiding being raped by letting men just have me when it seemed like they were going to do me whether or not I consented. I do think I avoided emotional and physical trauma at the time, but the anger, self resentment, and feelings of being wronged and about it did snowball after. I never shared or released those stories. Please read my original story for context. In this instance the sex was already happening when I awoke, and my reflex was to take the non-confrontational path. The easy way, not the right way. I had gotten home from work as a server at my bar and grill restaurant and my female roommate had her father staying with us for the weekend. I had already met him since they drove straight from the airport to the sports bar I worked at. That’s were he told me, “Just call me, ‘Dad’”. They sat in my section, ate, and left. No issues. Then, back at our 2 bedroom apartment there was a small party for his benefit with a couple of our friends. I had a couple hard ciders and chatted about college and my roommate and heard stores of when she was a kid from. I flirted and humored “Dad”’s sexual innuendos directed at me, and ignored his eyes all up and down me. I was used to it. I played the good hostess and waited until it was all dying down probably around 2 or 3 am, before I showered and went to bed. It had been a long day with both class and work. I was stirred out of my sleep a few hours later with "Dad" already inside of me, thrusting in and out between my legs! By the light streaming in through my dark blinds I could tell it was day. But WTF was happening?! My panties were off but my T-shirt was on. Underneath it the dark figure who I quickly was able to identify as "Dad" was caressing my breasts with one hand while holding me down with the other. Still dazed and confused, I guess I put my arms around him and responded like a willing partner. He soon finished and then it got awkward.  He told me "That really hit the spot". He started to make conversation! The longer I had to think, the more I realized what happened. That he had just helped himself as I lay sleeping. I was 19 and dating a hot university baseball player at the time and would not have gone for this fifty or so year old guy on purpose. He was sure drinking that night but I had only had a few ciders. So there I was, realizing I had been kind of raped but held hostage by a sense of politeness! Not to mention as I was 5'3'' 110 pounds, so there was the physical intimidation from a much taller man with a dad bod.  I always pee right after sex but felt captive by "Dad"'s ramblings as he propped himself up on one elbow hovering over me while he ran his fingers over me and stroked my hair sporadically.  I shared his cold can of beer with him that he must have opened right before he came in to rape me because I remember drinking deeply the cold liquid soothing my dry throat. I suffered through some dad jokes and stories I did not care about, as well as answering some personal questions about myself and my sexuality. I was looking for momentary pause to get up and away from “Dad” when he said, "I'm ready to go again, baby." NO! He moved on top of me! Instead of fighting him off me or even saying "no", I spread my legs to accommodate him! WTF! The second time did not have the desperate eagerness of the first, unfortunately. As he even said, he wanted to teach me a lesson this time. I guess about how good he was is bed. A definite case of ‘whiskey dick’. So I let this man I had never wanted or considered sex with jostle me into several positions. He was large man and so much stronger than me it was a joke. After the missionary he picked me up to prove some point and did me against the wall right next to my window. I remember seeing through cracks in the blinds and knowing it was early because the parking lot was full and nothing was moving. Then SLAM onto the bed. We did 69 with me lying on him where I sucked him with all my might wanting to END IT while he was licking me. I failed! He had me being on top riding him at one point. I was on my hands and knees with him ramming behind me when I collapsed under his weight to flat on my face. He enjoyed never letting up on the thrusts as I was completely pinned down by him. I let him give me two or more orgasms in hopes he would just finish. I was so loud I was embarrassed my roommate would come rushing in my room any second. She was passed out drunk. He finally left as soon as he finished. I am sure his ego was massively inflated and the terrible man still thinks of me today! I lie there in my bed catching my breath and getting more anxious. I got up, pulled on some sweats, and B-lined straight out the door to my gym. I wanted to get away so bad. I drank water like I had just walked out of a desert. I showered for so long at the empty Saturday morning gym without any products but hand soap. Then I started to work out like crazy, on three hours sleep and exhaustion. I was trying to sweat him out of my system, to scream and thrash through my exercise. I showered again then went out and fell asleep in my car in the back of the lot. The rest of the weekend I only went to my apartment for minutes at a time to pick up things I needed. I sure as Hell did not sleep there! When he was gone I answered my roommates questions that I had been blowing off with lies and short answers. I told her the truth. She shrugged and looked at me skeptically, like it was just one of those things. I was promiscuous in college and she knew it. We sort of made a joke out of it and moved on. The easy way, not the right way. I still have big time guilt at how I was back then. At the time my things was not that "I wish I had fought him." What I wished was that I had been too drunk to remember!!! So that was that. Something I kept inside, festering. Other things added to it and it got swept under the rug of my damaged psyche. Not one of the worst skeletons in my closet but what I was willing to share for now. I am working up to the others. My first story I shared helped a lot. I hope it helped somebody else too. I thank all of you and I empathize. I will read your stories and support you in my thoughts and prayers.

schools fail to continue to teach students the importance of saying no when faced with peer pressure, whether it's during class and/or on Campus (if both parties attend College and live at the dorms) Abroad, girls still aren't protected from abuse. And as it is, most can still carry the risk of becoming a mother on her 15th birthday.

Ten days after my daughterX discharge from the hospital, where she had undergone brain surgeries for epilepsy, X was resting in her bedroom and my ex-husband asked me to help him buy something online. I said no (very unusual but I was fixing something for X. to eat) and he exploded, throwing hot coffee on me then trashing the kitchen. And for the first time, a light bulb went on in my mind. The light said, "This is going to stop." Once he saw that something fundamental had changed inside me - that I was indeed serious - he escalated his tactics week by week. We had been married for almost 20 years, and he was absolutely incredulous that I was leaving him. All he knew how to do in response was more assault, more threats, more stalking, more financial theft. He was out of his mind. At one point he stood on the steps outside our house screaming "Why didn't you abort the kids?" over and over. For about 6-8 months I'm pretty sure he was considering doing a murder/suicide. I had to leave everything behind to get away - the home, friends, my job. I sold everything of value that I owned. Since I had grown up in a home of domestic violence, I didn't understand it very well, even as I was being victimized. I didn't know that shoving someone, kicking someone, and throwing objects or hot liquid at someone are all against the law. I didn't know that insults, name-calling, and coercive sex aren't part of normal relationships. I didn't know how dishonest my ex-husband was (and is).

I'm hesitant to call it what it was because I'm not ready to admit that someone who I love and trust so much did that to me. I don't know why I didn't stop him. I never said yes to my best friend touching me while we were sharing a bed, but I never said no either. If someone else told me my story, I'd tell them it's not their fault and that they're so strong. Yet, I just feel weak and I've lost trust in myself more than anything.

I was between 3 and 4 (which I know because of the dress I was wearing and the fact I wasn’t in school yet). He was my dad’s friend and I liked him a lot, and I thought we were cool. He was staying in our guest room and he was with us for about a week. One night, I ended up downstairs in the guest room (I can’t remember how) and the rest from there is blank. Next thing I can remember is him touching me, he was molesting me. A lot is a blur, but I can remember him touching my private parts while muttering some stuff, stuff that still haunts my mind. I can’t even hear someone tell their dog that she’s “a good girl” without my stomach twisting and me becoming physically sick. I remember him on top of me. I can remember the feeling of him kissing my neck and feeling my head banging, almost like a migraine, because of the pain rushing to my head. I remember him humping me while I worried someone was going to find out, because even though I didn’t know what was happening, I knew it was wrong. I remember staying quiet, with only occasional whimpers of pain, because I was hurting and afraid. I blocked that experience out for years until the memories started to resurface when I was 12. I always knew something happened, but could never put my finger on it. I was extremely hyper sexual as a child and knew too much about sex, and I always wanted to attention of older men. However, the moment I stopped digging into my hyper sexuality is the moment the memories flushed in. I would cry at night, praying to God to help me. I wanted to throw my brain across the room. Yet, despite these emotions, I doubted myself and my memory. So, I continued to keep quiet and let out occasional small cries, just like I did when I was that 3/4 year-old girl. Two years after finding out about my abuse, my own brother began to abuse me, only I had already knew he had done it previously. My brother and I used to be best friends, but there were moments that got inappropriate, starting when I was around 8. I never initiated anything, but at the same time, I didn’t used to see a problem with it. Which I still slightly hate myself for, even though I know it wasn’t my fault. I can still vividly remember the time he pinned me down and closed the bedroom door. I remember saying, “what are you doing? Open the door, you know we aren’t allowed to close it.” He came right back and hovered over me. My memory is blurry, so I can’t remember where he touched me, or even if he did, but I know he had intended to do something if he didn’t already do it. However, it was when my older sister busted into the room and yelled, “what are you doing?!”. I remember my brother looking horrified while I, being naive and not understanding the severity of the situation, said in the happiest voice “we were playing and pinned me down”. I thought we were playing, but my sister’s tone when telling my brother to unpin me told me otherwise. The abuse started back up when I was 14 and continued until right before my 17th birthday. This time he was more subtle. He would expose himself and do everything in his power to get me to look. I caught him in my room standing over me while he thought I was asleep, only leaving once he realized I was awake. Then it escalated to physical contact, but still doing it subtly. He started rubbing up against me, first time in front of my mom. My other and I were talking about food, and he came up and rubbed up on me. I was very uncomfortable and froze, and what did my mother do? Change the subject. She changed the subject and pretended that nothing happened. I believe this is why he kept going because he realized he could do it in front of people and get away with it. So for 2 and a 1/2 years straight, he exposed his backside and rubbed up against me. I remember the first time I realized that I was being sexually abused by my brother, and I cried. It was in the midnight hours when I wept, begging for it to stop. It would stop for a short period of time, but then he would do it again. Remembering my past sexual assault and trying to process that while also being abused by my brother was one of the hardest things I’ve ever experienced. I used to have terrible nightmares which would end up with me waking up gasping for air. But I’m still fighting and still surviving. I’m finally accepting that I’m a survivor. At 19, I am a survivor of Childhood Sexual Abuse and Incest.