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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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I was conditioned to think catcalling was a compliment, that if someone held your waist a little too long at work it was just cause "ahh they're just a bit touchy", that it's easier to just "go with it" than to say no and risk their response. It took me years to identify that no matter the degree of your experiences it still is never ok. We often get told sexual violence is one way but it isn't, it comes in many forms and sometimes you can't identify it at first - and that's ok. I am only recently coming to terms with the varying degrees of experiences I've had. I didn't want to say anything because I was made to believe I'd "rock the boat". Well some boats are meant to sink. Let's rebuild the boat so everyone can stay afloat, included and safe.

Having YOUR voice is the most important thing that you can have as an abuse victim. After going through abuse for multiple years at Location, I felt like everything was stripped away from me. My dignity, self respect, confidence, happiness, and strength felt like were taken by the age of 9. Summer after summer i went to this dark place that was supposed to be a positive experience. My parents thought they were dropping me off at a place to help grow my walk with the Lord. What they didnt know is that Name 2 told me that if I did the sexual acts he wanted me to do, he promised that I would become closer to God. He was a sick individual that constantly broke Location's guidelines and the law. The worst part is that Location had insight and knew these events were happening but did nothing. Leaving camp and going back home I remember feeling empty and depressed. You are not at a maturity level at this age to be able to grasp what has happened and how to process it. I went to child advocacy centers to get professional help and struggled to even talk about what happened because it did not make sense in my head and could not verbalize the events or the impact it had on me. As i moved into my teen years I became more depressed. Every night I would have a dream of Name 2 abusing me and I felt like every night I went to sleep, I was going to be abused again. The fear, anger and depression I went through weighed so heavy on me that I was close to not wanting to make it to the next day. After years of this cycle, I decided I needed change to be able to live a full life. I started to to work on my physical, spiritual and mental health. The biggest part of this is having your voice. You have to be able to share your experience so that you can get the help you need and to express the pain you have been through. That is why I am thankful for Trey's Law. This removes the ability for organizations like Location to silence victims after they put them through horrendous experiences. It gives the power back to the Survivor. Treys Law will save lives. It will allow for someone to stick up for themselves. It will allow for less criminals/organizations to get away with what is the worst crime someone can commit. If anyone is reading this and needs help, I am always happy to listen to your voice! Name

At the end of my freshman year of college, I was at a house party. Towards the end of the night, after I had already been drinking, I said I wanted to go smoke and a guy who had been interested in me asked if he could come with me. We were friends at the time so I agreed. We went to the area in the back, which was an enclosed greenhouse-type porch and no one was back there. After we finished smoking, he leaned in and kissed me. I was shocked but went along with it at first. He proceeded to kiss me more intensely and started to touch me. Feeling uncomfortable, I stopped and told him I wanted to go inside. I sat at a table inside and he was next to me. I started feeling the high from smoking as I was having a conversation with my friends who were right across from me. Suddenly I felt his hand move up my thigh and he proceeded to rub me over my shorts. I was in frozen in shock thinking, "what the fuck is happening right now? This is really weird and i'm not enjoying this. Am I too high to do something right now? There are so many people around me. and no one knows what is happening. What is going on?" After a what felt like forever I felt him try to go in my shorts and that's when I snapped out of it and just looked at him. I didn't know what to say, and I don't really remember what happened at this point. I was just. in shock. He said something to me, I probably said something back, and then he just walked away. The day after I cried and had breakdowns in the bathrooms of the student center. I was confused and conflicted with myself trying to process what had happened. I felt like it was my fault because I googled things like "what constitutes as sexual assault/harassment?" because I wasn't sure if what i had gone through had "counted." I thought that since it was only touching it wasn't a big deal. I thought that because I was under the influence it was my fault. That I shouldn't have been that fucked up. That I shouldn't have been leading him on and making him think that I was into him. That I should protect him because he was friends with so many of my friends. But at the end of it all, HE WAS IN THE WRONG. I WAS PUT IN A SITUATION WHERE I WAS UNCOMFORTABLE AND HE HAD VIOLATED ME IN A ROOM FULL OF PEOPLE. I'm here to say that no matter the action, no matter how small, if you were violated your feelings are VALID. If you did not give consent and you felt uncomfortable, it IS ASSAULT. It is still your story. YOUR trauma that you have to live with. Do not brush it off or belittle it because you don't feel like it's worthy of being labeled. You are worthy. You deserve to be heard.

I got out of an abusive relationship. It wasn’t till I left there was physical abuse and emotional abuse. Even if the physical was minimal. I’m so glad to be apart of a group of women who are healing. Healing is hard, it’s been countless sleepless nights, extra periods, and nightmares over and over. But the reward of being free is so much better than anything I could’ve imagined. I don’t wish to ever be back in that, and am glad I left every day

I had an aunt who had a son here in America. We were pretty close since our families only had each other here so we would go over to their house often. I was around 5 so he was like 7 or 8. We would play around the house while our parents talked and I remember us being in his parents room playing with some dinosaur figures one day when he closed the door and told me to go into the closet with him. I did and he shut the closet doors and started to tell me to do weird things like licking his hands and he would touch my privates. I cant remember exactly what else happened that day but I remember knowing it was wrong but I couldn't bring myself to tell my mom because I had done the things he told me to do. To be honest, I had forgotten everything until I went to Mexico for the first time and when I saw him, I suddenly remembered this day. I hate that I cant remember everything that happened and if it had happened more than once on separate occasions. I also hate that I'm scared of him and I don't know if he remembers. I haven't seen him since that day but it didn't seem like he felt awkward around me. I resent him so much because I have become hyper sexual but I feel sad because I wonder how he even knew this stuff. Was someone doing these things to him? I have only told my ex best friend and current best friend... I want to tell my mom, I know she will believe me, but I feel like it's already been so long that it won't change anything. I am now 19 and don't want to start any family drama. What should I do?

I was only 6 years old when I was sexually assaulted. The first time I talked about it with anyone and said it out loud was this year. I'm now 22... that means it's been 16 years later. But I am so thankful to have the support system I do have - the support system who has been strong enough to give me the courage to finally speak up for myself ❤️

Recovery Cake Ingredients: ½ cup journal writing 2 whole, barely ripe boyfriends 3 cups stiffly beaten sister 2 tablespoons peer counseling (can be sour) ¼ cup spicy lawsuit 2 cups therapy 2 teaspoons college 6 heaping tablespoons organic employment small pinch lukewarm volunteer work 1 whole unbleached husband 2 ½ cups sweetened children 4 cups wholegrain therapy 5 tablespoons sifted friends 1 grated, sharp book Directions: 1. Preheat oven to 575 F. 2. In a large bowl, beat together journal writing, boyfriends and sister until poised. Slowly mix in peer counseling, lawsuit and therapy, beating well after each addition. Set aside. 3. Stir together college, employment and volunteer work in a large saucepan. Set over low heat and let stimulate. 4. Wash and dry husband and children thoroughly then add ½ husband and 2 children to saucepan until all scintillating. 5. Pour the contents of the saucepan into large mixing bowl and mix until barely unified. Refrigerate for 5 years. 6. In a separate bowl, whisk together remaining ½ husband and wholegrain therapy. Continue whisking until sappy. Add to large mixing bowl and stir for 6 months. 7. Pour batter into a lubricated 10-foot round cake pan. Bake for 32 hours and 13 minutes, or until a cake tester inserted in the center comes out uncontaminated. 8. Cool in pan for 3 minutes. Turn out onto a cake rack and cool completely. 9. When cool, sprinkle with remaining ½ child, friends and book This is an impelling, complex tasting cake for very special occasions; delicious any time of year. Its beauty lies in how different the texture every time it is made. Try swapping out some ingredients. For example, more college, less boyfriend, or you may want to leave out the sister and measure equal portions of additional friends. Be creative and give it your own flair. Serves 10 tons of childhood abuse

My sexual assaults story is uncommon for most and hard to most people to grasp. Who would believe that children are capable of knowing and doing such gruesome things to person? Most children are not like this and their experiences are different. It first happened when I was 8 years old while, my abuser was 7 years old at the time. I remember the abuse happening gradually as we build our friendship. It first started with us doing typical kid stuff like us playing together and joking around. And one day, he asked me to play this new game with him. I said sure. I thought it would be one of those silly jokes stunts of his. Instead he pulled my pants down and rubbed his private part against my bottom. It was really uncomfortable moment for me since, I grew-up in a strict Christian-based family. I have never witness anyone on television or heard of the things he was doing to me. Afterwards, I remember me being shy to tell anyone and feeling like I would get into trouble. So I remained quiet. How would any parent react if you see children engaging in sexual behavior? Wouldn't you automatically assume it was the oldest child to teach someone this behavior? This went on for almost 2 years. His behavior became more advance and his request got more weirder. One time, he begged me to drink his pee directly from his part. I told him no. And he stomped across the room mad. He kept persisting and demanding that I try it. Eventually, I gave in but, I told him only from a cup. It was the most dehumanizing experiences of my life. It was not long afterwards, that my father caught us. I remember me trying shove the boy off of me. And telling him that my dad was coming and he kept going harder and harder. I guess he thought I was lying to convince him to get off of me. He wouldn't stop until my father walked into the room.

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Leaving my ex was a decision shaped by years of isolation and physical abuse, but the breaking point was when he tried to control my livelihood. He wanted me to quit my job, and when I refused, he didn’t care. Another time, he looked me in the eyes and said, “You’re not leaving this apartment alive,” before laughing. That was the moment I realized—why was I letting this man decide what I did with my life? Why was I letting him determine whether I got to be alive at all? The day I finally left, I called my mom and told her I wanted out. When my ex threatened to throw all my belongings away, I called the police. They gave me five minutes to gather what I could. I grabbed whatever I could carry and walked away. But leaving wasn’t the end—it was just the beginning. He stalked and harassed me relentlessly. Social media messages. Presents left on my car. Showing up at my parents' house. Nonstop calls. I eventually had to change my phone number. Even then, it took me a while to file for a Protection Order because, somehow, I still felt bad for him. Then, after months of no contact, I ran into him at the gym. He made a threatening remark, so I reported it, and he was banned. That set him off. As I left the gym, he tried to run me off the road. I managed to pull into a parking lot where bystanders gathered around me while he screamed. The police arrived and told me I should file for an Emergency Protection Order immediately—something I had put off, thinking I had to wait for regular business hours. I got the order and thought that would be the end of it. But exactly one day after it expired, he showed up again—and this time, he wouldn’t let me leave where I was parked. Panic took over as I desperately tried to get someone’s attention to call the police. Finally, I managed to get to safety, and someone had already made the call. As I started driving home, I realized he was following me again. Instead of going home, I turned back and told the police. They offered to follow me, and as I drove off, I spotted him on the other side of the road. I motioned to the officer, who immediately pulled him over. A few minutes later, the officer called me and said I needed to get another order against him, warning that he was "mentally unwell." He hoped that pulling him over had given me enough time to get home safely. This time, I had to file for a Peace Order, which only lasted six months. He even tried to appeal it—but in the end, it was granted. Looking back, I learned that the most dangerous time for a survivor isn’t during the relationship—it’s when they try to leave. Those months after I walked away were far more terrifying than any moment I spent with him. But in the end, I made it out. And that’s what matters.

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 :)

Im struggling to get my head around what to do and who to speak to. I was comfortably asleep and cuddling my boyfriend and had my head kind of on top of him, i woke up slightly and he was moving my hand to his crotch that was h*rd and at that point i was wide awake with my eyes still closed wondering what he was doing, i opened them a little and pretended i was moving in my sleep but he kept on using force moving my whole arm and hand to touch him and i didnt know what to do so i was still and he took out his phone like he was gonna take a picture. He knows i wouldnt want to do that and I dont know what to do or how to feel, i confronted him about it when i ‘woke up’ and i was in shock shaking, we were arguing and he started crying and long story short i ended up comforting him. he never truly said sorry once and i just feel lost because i have so much love for him but i genuinely never want to be with him again but the thought of never speaking to him again hurts me, and i know he wouldnt live without me. which is what scares me because im the only one there for him, i dont know what he would do without me. i just need help on a decision please im feeling very alone in this.

Free. That word has such a different meaning after feeling trapped and caged in an abusive marriage. I am free. I am free from the fear of what the next day may bring. I am free from the hateful words that cut so deep into my soul. I am free from his hands that bruised me. I am free from the emotional torture. I am free of being blamed for his misfortune and failures. I am free to love myself. I fought to get back my freedom and I will never sacrifice MY freedom for a man again.