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When I was in my early to mid 20s, I experienced my first serious relationship. It took me more than 2 years to notice I was being manipulated, gaslighted, and psychologically abused. I lost myself in that relationship, I felt like a different person, constantly depressed, and lacking self love. My firsts attempts in getting out of that relationship were useless, he manipulated me into believing I was the problem and that I was the one who needed to change. I was cheated on multiple times, he didn’t want to say end time sith me or my family. I always founf myself making up excuses for him. He made me think that everything was my fault and that I was asking for too much of him. When I decided to leave him, he made me feel like I was the problem and like I was a burden to him. It’s hard to identify when the abuse is psychological, you’re not crazy, you’re not wrong for asking for attention, for dates, for quality time, which I never had with him. Don’t let anyone, humiliate, control, gaslight, or diminish you! You deserve love, support, peace, attention, RESPECT! Try to identify the red flags on that questionable relationship, it’ll get better and it’s never too late.

I am 82 years old and still remember most of what happened to me when I was around 7-8 years old. A neighbor, two houses away from me was the first neighbor in my neighborhood to have a television. He would invite us kids in the neighborhood to come in to watch it. There would be maybe 3 to 4. I can't remember exactly. One was my next-door neighbor, and another was from across the street. They were girls that were friends of mine. He would put on cartoons, and we would laugh so hard. Then kids would leave by his invitation. He would let me watch tv a while longer and sit beside me on the couch. I remember him touching me and I didn't know what to say or do. This happened with me a few times and I was afraid to say anything to anyone. I knew it wasn't right, but I didn't know what to do. I remember going home one day with blood in my underwire. I remember him saying if that felt good, next time he would make me feel better. I went back, I watched tv and the next thing I knew he took me into a back bedroom. He took off my clothes and touched me. The next thing I knew I was in pain. I don't know if I had passed out or what happened but the next thing I knew he was telling me to get my clothes on and don't tell anyone about this. I did and went home. I don't remember any more other than my mother telling me not to go over there anymore. Then she told me he was a bad man and went to jail, I never told her what happened. I still to this day do not know if it was because of me or someone else. I have tried to find out if there was a newspaper article or someone in the neighborhood was molested the same as me. This affected my life all these years. I got out of gym in high school because I couldn't be around naked girls in the showers, my marriages have made me self-conscious being naked. Not to mention the memory. When I think of what he did to me, a little girl in the neighborhood, I feel sick. I was so afraid, but I was scared not to go there. I remember his name. He had a wife. This would happen when she walked about three blocks to catch a bus to town. He had plenty of time to do his horrible things to me and I don't know who else. I have thought of having hypnosis to see what happened that day in the bedroom but on the other hand I might not want to. I only wish I knew what happened to him. I would love to know how he went to jail. That's what My mother told me. I have tried to find out in the Publication archives but with no luck. I tried talking to the City Police, but they told me I could pay to find out, rather rudely. His name was Perpetrator Name. I lived a Address and he lived two houses away from me. His wife's name was Wife Name. They had no children. At least that I know of. They may have had older children, but I don't remember any one over there. This would have happened around 1950-1951. Maybe 1952. I wasn't very old. I want to stress how this has followed me and bothered me my whole life. I still to this day am uncomfortable around anyone without my clothes on. I'll never forget his molestation on me. I'm sure I know why I bled that day. Other than my husband. I have never told anyone about this. I was scared back then and it's just not something you want to talk about. Thank you for listening, I hope somehow this can help someone. Name. Phone Number

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

Just words. You have trouble talking about these things. You realize you have trouble talking about a lot of things. You remember being excited about your first job at Company Name. One of your friends works there and you know a lot of people work there as a summer job. It’s the 1990’s and it’s been grandfathered in that they can pay you less than minimum wage because it’s like a part time training experience for students getting their first work experience. Like a newspaper route. Those are for boys. You got so excited after being nervous you asked for an application along with your friend. You don’t remember meeting him then. So many people want to get chosen for that crap job because for some reason it’s become a sought after thing among the cool kids. You do remember the phone call that you can come for an interview. Walking home you wonder if being cute and having larger breasts than most almost freshman girls had something to do with it. You met Name and remember him for sure this time. The way you look has been a curse far more than a blessing. One reason people would not feel that bad for you. 'God sure blessed you, honey." You have so many bad memories, blocked memories, repressed memories because of Name. You are having second thoughts as tears build up. You need a drink. You quit drinking years ago and today you have three months and eight days sober. Your record is nine months and two days. You are strong. Most of the time. You are hollow. All the time. Name wasn’t the last but he was the first. You change his name although you don’t want to. He is the symbol of your hatred of all that is wrong with men. You were tricked. Name got what he wanted from you. Too many times. Too many times before you stopped going back. Just stopped. You could have just stopped after the first time he held you close and caressed you before your mom picked you up that night. The first time. You still don’t understand or forgive yourself for that. You had let a boy at a party and a boy at an 8th grade dance put their hand up your shirt. You had liked it so much those times. It had been exciting and happy. Name did not make you happy. You went back. You want to talk about something else now. Not the other men who thought your body was their plaything. Not the time you went to Ireland with your Aunts and mom. You miss mom. That was a good trip. You got back to that a lot. You sat down to talk about things you don’t talk about. On a family trip to Adventureland you asked your cousin if was considered losing your virginity of a boy did it to your boobs. You pretended it was a cute boy, not Name. It was hard to breathe with him sitting on your torso thrusting. You sometimes break things and scream. Never when your son is around. You have two jobs and don’t really like the one that pays the most. Your college degree does not count much. How much life is wasted on despair and doubt and taking the wrong path? You feel relief when he finally finished. You hate when he finishes because you know he is stealing his ultimate pleasure from you when he has a wife. He acts like it was just another day at work to keep you on his leash. You are pathetic. His remnants are inside you every time you go home after closing with him. Just another miserable day in the life. You say nothing. You tell no one. You are worthless except as a vessel for him. Your parents say nice things to you, about you. They always have. They have to. They don’t know what you really are. A black shame is the times you felt pleasure in your body while he was doing it do you. At least while you remained quiet and motionless there was some dignity. Defiance. Insult to him. When your body and voice reacted like you liked it it was a betrayal. Like you liked that tub of disgusting man on top of you and inside of you, fucking you on that tile floor, kissing you like a lover. You befriended a group of guys by mid high school. Over a year after Name was more than thorn in your soul. A deep callous. The group figured out what you were. They played football. They were important and had strong will. They shared you and passed you around. They told you they loved you. That you were the coolest girl. They took what they wanted when they wanted. Why? Name 2 was you lab partner for biology. He was the first. He was the only one your age. You went in his car for lunch and met some others. They wanted you. You volunteered. It is all you are good for. Draining them of their juice so they can be happy and feel like men. So you can feel empty and dirty. Even after they graduated they got together for group fun, or had you sneak out at night to go for a ride. You headed far west after you graduated. A fresh start. An exodus. An escape. You went to one reunion. The ten year reunion. Name 2 came with his wife. He introduced you as his ex-girlfriend. You let hm take you to the disabled restroom and have his quickie. You went to the bars afterward and ditched your real friend and let Name 3 take you back to his hotel room to live his fantasies just because he claimed that he always loved you. They say attractive people have sex more frequently with more partners than normal people. The darkness behind that statement is that for females it is no always because they want it that way but because of the relentless pressure from men and how they will do anything if they get the opportunity. You are not a nice innocent girl. Would you have been if it had not been for Name like you want to think? Would you have let your much older cousin you barely know take you back into the woods with him behind their house to the shack where he smokes pot after a wedding. Then wait there for him to call his friends after he found out you were a bad girl and wait for them too. Swatting flies in your underwear while you waited for them. You did not drink because your mom did not allow it even though kids younger than you were. But your cousin and his local friends did. Four of them counting your cousin old enough to be your uncle. Still, you acted like you liked everything they did. They took it so far like you were the world's greatest toy. Porn star, they called you like it was the best thing you could be. The anal was excruciating. It was easier to just wash off all your makeup than to try to fix it after all the sweat and sticky. Smiles and complements followed by the deep hollow feeling of total isolation in the station wagon on the way back home from Kansas city. Hating Name and feeling like you betrayed your aunt because one of them was her fiancé. You got an infection and it was embarrassing when the doctor told you. At least it was a female doctor. The idea of a male gynecologist is unnerving. The one time you were examined by one was terrifying. You were in college. He was way too thorough and talkative like he was working up to asking you out on a date and you decided never again. The only one you ever had that did not wear gloves for the breast exam. The most sensual digital vaginal exam you ever had to check the cervix and ovaries for pain. Was his thumb supposed to be brushing your clitoris? You even wonder if he was recording it on his phone that you saw him adjust twice as it was peaking out of the breast pocket of his lab coat. His stupid November mustache he asked you if you liked. So some days you don’t eat. You exercise to maintain the body they want. It gives you value to them. You are nothing. People always say nice things. Hollow things. What if you had never met Name? What if you never got fucked on the floor for $3.45 an hour. On your back, on your hands and knees, sometimes even on top of him. Your first orgasm on that floor that smelled like stale milk and bleach. Having to tell your mom pick you up 45 minutes after the place closes for your cleaning duties. You used tampons just to keep from his semen leaking out on the way home. You pretended to be a virgin when you were far from it. He told you not to worry because he had a vasectomy. That part must have been true. You don't got on dates even though they always try to set you up. Not a chance. Your son is a good excuse. And a real reason. Real love. The Earth spins in space. Why can’t it just freeze and die like me? Your boss doesn’t go all the way with you because he won’t cheat on his wife. You give him oral because he doesn’t think that counts. Preserves his purity. He says he wants to so badly, like he can take whatever he wants from you but he is strong and valiant. You are nothing. He is handsome. You let him kiss you and fondle you. You long for his touch. He is not a great man but you long for him. The closest thing to a good man you have known. A father figure. Your son needs a father figure. He is everything. He deserves better. He loves you. He tells you are a good mom and that is worth enduring the world for as long as it takes. You put on a good face but he knows you are hollow, deep down. A wounded duck pretending to be a swan. Always pretending. Was there no pretending before Name? Maybe not. The days begin and your mind pretends and it is hard and the days end. Bad dreams on both ends. Will he be a good man? The funny thing is you want him to be a prince because he is your prince but even if he is like most men you want his total happiness. You want beautiful girls, good times, and strong friends for him. You exist to fake it and to have let those men enjoy you but mostly to give your son the best life possible beyond you. You are not worthless. It is not your fault. You are stronger than you know. Hollow words. They have to say it. They always have. No creativity. No insight. No truth. Just words.

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.

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It's been 5 years this month since I left a job I loved after being retaliated against for reporting the sexual harassment of a young woman by her male boss, which culminated in a chair being thrown across a room. Speaking up had its consequences. I was isolated, banned from meetings, kept from my assigned projects. It was traumatic at the time, stressful, anxiety-inducing. I quit. All for speaking up and doing the right thing and trying to protect other young women from experiencing the same toxic masculinity. Five years later, I can tell you it still is hard. I often wonder late at night if I did the right thing. I set our family back financially. I lost my confidence. I did not lose my story or my integrity, though. I am slowly getting my fierce back. I accept I took the higher path, which is never the easier path. The most worthwhile things are the hardest things. I want to always be one of the helpers. For anyone else considering speaking up about what you're seeing happen to others, know that it will not be easy, but it will be worth it.

I was so small and I still have flashbacks.

I was 5 years old when I had first moved to Texas, I had to move in with family until my mom and I got back on our feet financially. My cousin, Name, started molesting and abusing me. I remember everything but don't want to write all of it but I will write the one thing he did that has ruined my life completely. When I was 11 years old, he had analy raped me, he then left me alone and the day after told me he would kill me if I ever said anything.

I am in very toxic relationship for 5 years where my boyfriend always treat me as slave andshout at me compare me with other girls body shamming demotivate me disrespect me don’t share anything don’t call me txt me.. he always ask for space and all.. if anything happen he blocked me.. from everywhere ..any occasion don’t matter to him not my birthday or anniversary if I wanted to meet he always deny and shouted at me hurt me with his harsh words He didn’t add me on fb or insta or any social media .. but he is added with some of my beautyfull girls .. Probably cheat on me also He hide the relationship to everyone So I decided to treat him silently if I cant bear this any more I will leave him Day one I told him I am feeling down so I need the night to stay calm He response very rudely (valo thakte valo lage na ja birohe thak pore amk kisu bolte ashbi na ) I don’t want to stay good so I do this shit eventually ..so say nothing to him I just did my own stuff be alone for a while going to hospital with ammu didn’t share anything with him at night he asked what happened I said nothing he said ( na bolle nai eto tel marte parbo na ) I don’t want to pamper u He was staying online till 3/ 4 am … idk what he do Day 2 He greet morning I also greet morning normal conversation And again I took my self out for dance cls gone to hhospital with ammu and had amazing riksha ride and talked a lot about stuff… After comeback to home I asked him what he wanted me to wear for shoot he showed me some pictures and blauses there also he told me (tmr moto nongra meye ami jibone dekhi nai jama kapor guchano na kno jama kapor nai fokinni er moto thako)I dirty.. I don’t know how to look goodhe never saw girl like me I am a road side stupid …I ignored as I wanted still I showed him saree and blauses and he choice 5 from them so he decided to meet at 9 am morning and asked me to awake himupp at8.30 Again he was online 3/4 am in insta fb whatsaap Day 3 He asked me to meet for saree shoot and meet me at 9 .. so got up early and called him to awak up.. he said he is already aweakn … So I got my self ready and 9.44 he said he will be out in5 mins so I already got my self out at 10 but he didn’t got out … so I reached there and he didn’t come… I waited for 2 hours and then he came at12.15.. he came but he didn’t say sorry for make me wait for 2 hours .. ulta amk bole ami kno age ber holam natok kore ore na bole ….on the other hand he says why did u got out so early did u tell me? Why um doing all this drama ? Then we pictures of mine and his as well .. Aftr the day he asked me to seat with him so I say u said u wanted to save yourself for your wife and this is the thing um also doing.. And I showed him that he is been online at4 am but he lied and didn’t aggred so I show himthe ss but still he lied over my face .. Then he asked me for my p .. and he blackmailed me immotionally and I was stupid again I gave him that …. He talked some emotional things about future and his plan of getting marry with me have a house of our own and all…. But some how I don’t belive those things its make me feel like this all are fake I cant trust him at all somehow I feel like he is with me bcz of this busess and money.. he don’t love me at all…

I'm a woman from a middle class background living in a small town in Ireland. I work full time just as I have for most of my life. Abuse of any sort was to me something that happened to others. I guess I lived a protected life going from my daddy's house in to my first marriage. The end of the marriage started my road of abuse. Which I now tell in a conversation to my abuser : “Ha ha you got me at a vulnerable time in life. Do you remember the party we met at, the one in the country hall? I pretended that my colleague was my husband to try and get rid of you. But you were so persistent that eventually you wore me down with your sweet funny chat and smile. I was captured by the spell of a promise, a promise of a different life. So we moved in together. Everything was fine for a while but now looking back I see how you monitored me. I used to wonder at request texts for money always came when I was at the pass machine across from the taxi rank. Later much later I discovered your spy, the taxi driver. I avoided that place and walked further in all weathers. You began to text if I was later coming home from work, never asking if I was ok but demanding to know where I was, demanding to know what was keeping me. Now I know you timed my walk home from work, and questioned me if I left for work early. But I covered my tracks at times because I left my work rota lying around with the hours adjusted to give myself some me time. Boy, little did I know that the texts and time monitoring were to be mild forms of abuse compared to what you were going to put me through. Do you remember the night you wanted burger and chips but we had no money and you threatened to cut me up and put me in the boot or the night you beat me with the steel lamp because I used to light it to sleep as I was afraid of the dark. I was so lucky you didn't kill me. Flying plates of dinner became the norm because the food was either to hot/cold or not what you wanted. No matter how hard I worked outside the home to keep a roof over our heads you got worse. Trying to intimidate me and my manager by coming to the shop where I worked, insisting that we celebrate your birthday by going to mass. You even abused me with the readings from the bible. I got to the stage that I tore random pages from your bible. It was my secret pleasure when you searched for passages to quote from and couldn't find them. The public abuse happened very little but it was embarrassing. But it also was my saving because at your nephews holy communion your lovely display gave me the courage to tell your family that I had a safety order against you. Do you know that even with all of your following of me I still managed to keep most of my appointments with the lovely lady from Organisation. She gave me the courage to go to the Gardai and complain about you. But I learned from them that you'd complained about me being a bad wife. What a massive mistake it was to marry you but that was before your abuse got physical and I didn't see anything abusive in your behaviour. I made enough notes about what you did to me for court. Boy was I naïve going in to that court room. Looking back now I should have taken the barring order when the judge was giving it to me. BUT no, I was going to change the world and us, everything was going to work out fine and we would all live happy ever after. Fairy tales ha ha. I settled for a safety order which the Gardai explained to you when they came to our house later that day. Nothing really worked because you though you could still follow me around on your bike. I could write a book on the ways you abused me, locking me out of the bathroom when I needed to use the toilet but then I rented a house with 3 bathrooms. Things grew so bad that when I got the courage to throw you out that didn't even work. Wisdom hit you and you'd get the Gardai around to tell me that because your name was on the lease I'd have to let you in. The night you raped me was one of those times and it was the last time ever you touched me. I thought I'd jammed my bedroom door tight enough to keep you out but when I was sleeping you got in. You pinned me to the bed and told me you loved me as you forced yourself inside of me. The pain and fear still live with me. The DPP decide the evidence was not enough for a court case so I moved to an apartment behind coded gates for my safety. Yes you were gone but the impact of what you did to me changed my life for years. Walking and singing as I walked kept me sane at times. I threw myself in to my job and even got a new job in the city. But the city meant more loud noises to make me jump a mile off the ground. If anyone shouted not even at me I shook and had to try not to cry. I witnessed a row one day and it brought everything back. The emotional and physiological damage done by you left me a shell of my former self. Yes in work I used to be a power lady but not anymore. YOU changed me. BUT you know what, with the help of the Organisation, Organisation and my social worker I have found myself again. I have a great job, a great life and wonderful supportive friends who are here for me. YOU did not destroy me. I am a victor over your abuse because I walked away and stayed away. Today I live in a happy home where the food is eaten and not thrown around. I am not beaten but loved and respected. I work full time at my day job, while I blog and have gotten my confidence back so that I am now a public speaker. To anyone reading this and suffering abuse I say to you "Please contact Organisation. You deserve to be loved and respected" Darkness only lasts for a short time and then the sun shines forever

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 :)

I was 17 years old and desperate for love and connection. I met someone who showered me with constant attention and I became addicted to that feeling. "Finally someone has chosen me!" I thought. He was very coercive and forceful when it came to sex. I was extremely naive and ultimately was willing to put up with anything in order to be "loved." One time during sex I became so overwhelmed with emotion. The act felt so animalistic and wrong to me. I knew he didn't care about me. I laid there and started to cry. He asked if I would stop crying and hold on until he finished. Which is exactly what he did as I laid there crying, feeling completely numb and empty. Another time I had my period and didn't want to have sex. We were in the back of his car. He ripped my tampon out, threw it out the window, and held me down and told me that he would hurt me if I continued to resist. After it was over I just laid in the backseat with the same numb feeling as he drove me home. Neither one of us spoke a word. These memories, along with other painful ones, play in a loop in my head daily. That same ache has stayed in my soul. I am now 31 years old and am feeling so much anger and sadness over how much this has negatively affected me for all of these years. There is also a loop of negative self-talk that plays in my head: "I will never be normal. I will never be loved. No one will ever understand. I will never have a healthy sex life. No one will ever see me." My experience with him is what led me into the arms of another abuser at the age of 26. I spent almost four years with him until I decided enough is enough. I feel even more damaged and hopeless now than ever before. I have recurrent nightmares that someone is trying to find me and torture/kill me. My insomnia, acne, allergies, and digestive issues have flared. My body feels tight and on edge at all times. I wish so badly that time would heal, but I know that I need to put in the work in order to heal. I am trying. I am so exhausted and can't see the light at the end of the tunnel.

I was abused by my mother. She was harsh with me, hitting me, calling me stupid, and saying I shouldn't have been born, making me feel like I had no value in life. My mother wasn't just a scary person; she was kind to my younger brother Name , so she could be kind to him too. I met my current husband at University , got married, and had children. I was overwhelmed with anxiety that I might do the same things to my own children as my mother did, and I cried to my husband many times about it. My husband suggested I talk to a counselor, and I am now attending counseling sessions. I always thought that my mother's harshness was my fault, but now I realize that it's not entirely my fault, and talking to someone about the words and actions of my mother that I had kept hidden until now has lightened my burden. I hope that sharing this here will bring some comfort to others. Thank you for reading this.

I was in my local pub, the landlady told me someone knew to the area was lonely so I asked him to play pool. We hung out a few times after that, one time walking home at the end of the night he took my hand I told him I had a boyfriend. Not long after I was out with my brothers and we met him, after a while they went home and then me and him were walking home, we lived very near each other in a small town so it was normal to walk together. I don't know who suggested walking through the playground which I'd done a million times with other people, but I remember he was kissing me and 3 times I said no and asked him to stop then I froze as I realised I didn't really know him and he could do anything to me, all I could think was let him do whatever he wanted to me as long as I survive and get home to my boyfriend. The next morning I woke up and went to the bathroom, I was bleeding from where he'd raped me anally and bruised where he'd held my arms down. I had love bites on my chest.I don't know how I got home. I started to drink more as I kept bumping into him and he kept asking me to go out with him. When I went to the place of work for work I'd bump into him on the street and need to run home and drink so I could calm down before going back to work. I rang support organisation, I was told not to tell my boyfriend as that would only upset him. 8 years later I went to rehab for alcoholism. It was that or suicide. I did meet up with him once more a few weeks after the assault as I needed to tell him what he'd done was not okay, he didn't care, said he didn't remember. I still feel angry and guilty for not reporting him but he's from another country and left my town many years ago so its not possible, I don't even know his last name. I just hope he hasn't done it to anyone else. I was also afraid that if I reported him that my boyfriend would leave me or that I wouldn't be believed because I was drinking with him. I wish when the landlady asked me to help him that I hadn't and never feel like I can trust my instincts since then.

Overcoming Adversity: My Journey as a Teenage Mother and Survivor At just 16 years old, I found myself navigating the challenging and often treacherous waters of teenage motherhood. My life took a drastic turn when I married my ex-husband, a decision that quickly spiraled into a nightmare. What started as an optimistic journey quickly turned into a painful experience filled with jealousy, control, and abuse. The first instance of violence came unexpectedly. After a seemingly innocent moment where I glanced at his brother, my ex-husband responded with a violent punch to my eye. In that moment, fear gripped me, and I complied when he insisted I lie to my mother, claiming that the cabinet door had accidentally hit me. This moment of submission set a dangerous precedent, and the abuse only escalated from there. As time went on, I became trapped in a controlling environment. My ex-husband would lock me and my two toddler daughters inside our home while he went to work, taking the phone with him and rigging the mini blinds to prevent me from looking outside. His jealousy was suffocating, forcing me to drop out of school and restricting my freedom to the point where I could only look straight ahead while driving. The isolation was overwhelming, and I became a prisoner in my own life. The situation escalated when he physically attacked me in front of our daughters. In a moment of desperation, I ran upstairs, and he followed me. He pushed me down the stairs, and as I lay on the floor in pain, he began to kick me with steel-toed boots. That was the last straw. I could no longer tolerate the constant abuse and the fear of being locked away with no food for myself or my children. With my mother’s help, I made the brave decision to leave him while he was at work. She rented a truck, but the relief was short-lived. Moving in with my mother was not an option as her live-in boyfriend was a stranger to me, and I quickly felt uneasy in that environment. I found myself moving in with Name, the son of my mother’s boyfriend, believing he would be my Savior. Unfortunately, he turned out to be even worse than my ex-husband. Name was a pedophile, an abuser, and an addict. His daily assaults became a grim reality. He stole my belongings, including my cherished floor-model TV and my DJ equipment, destroying my dreams in the process. He even sold my car for drugs and would drag me out into the front yard in just a robe, exposing me to the world. This cycle of abuse led me to involve the police, as I realized I could not endure this torment any longer. During this difficult time, I thought about my childhood. I knew who my father was, but I never expected to be around men who would hold back my dreams instead of encouraging them. My ex-husband and Name were not just abusive; they were dream stealers, taking away the hopes I had for my future. Ultimately, I took the courageous step of going to court to regain custody of my children and to finalize my divorce from my ex-husband. It was a long and arduous journey, but I emerged stronger than I ever thought possible. I realized that my dreams had been deferred not because of my failures but because of the toxic relationships I had allowed into my life. Today, I stand as a survivor, determined to reclaim my narrative and inspire others who find themselves in similar situations. My story is a testament to resilience and the power of breaking free from the chains of abuse. I want to remind others that it’s never too late to pursue your dreams and that no one has the right to define your worth or your future.

The summer before fifth grade, me and my brothers decided to have a sleepover in the living room. I always had the hardest time falling asleep, so I was the last one up. Or at least I thought I was. My oldest brother, who is 15 months older, came and sat by my feet. He somehow brought up his genitals, I honestly don’t remember the conversation, I just remember being uncomfortable. Then, he pulled down his pants and started touching himself. He then started touching my genitals too. I didn’t know what to do. So I just sat there. I still don’t know why. Everyday I wish I had just slept in my bed that night. Afterwards, he went back to his spot on the ground and fell asleep. I walked back to my room after he fell asleep and cried all night. I was so disgusted with myself. I felt so dirty. I couldn’t get myself to tell my mom and dad though. I stayed up all night waiting for the confidence that never came. For about a year after, this continued and progressed. I’ve never spoken about this to anybody. I don’t think anybody knows but me and him. I will never tell my parents.

I believe that my ex-boyfriend, Name — a bodybuilder currently living in State — has been engaging in serious digital harassment, including hacking my devices, spoofing text messages, and attempting to make it appear that I sent messages I did not. I have also noticed individuals around me—such as neighbors or coworkers—acting in ways that seem coordinated, including color-coding, winking, and using specific terms like “widgets” when referring to my family. I have reported this situation to the police, but so far there has been insufficient evidence to link these incidents directly to him. If anyone else has experienced similar behavior from this person, please come forward and share your experience.

I dated someone for 4 years and they were very abusive I forever wish I would’ve reported the abuse that went on but instead I kept quiet. I am forever thankful that I was able to wake up mentally one day and realize it was not fair to keep being with someone who was physically violent with me and that person did not love me. I am still recovering even years later from this but every day is a new journey and you have to take each day by day because it will get better.