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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.

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

HEY, THIS IS ALL WRITTEN IN CAPS SINCE MY COMPUTER IS BROKEN... AUH...BIG TW, BY THE WAY.. HERES AN EMAIL I SENT MY RAPIST; ILL NEVER CONTACT YOU AGAIN, I HOPE MY INTERESTS, MY NAME, MY STYLE, MY LAUGH, MY VOICE, AND MY EYES HAUNT YOU FOREVER. I HOPE YOU KNOW YOUVE RUINED ME. I STILL FEEL EVERYTHING YOUVE DONE TO ME, I SCRUB AT MY SKIN UNTIL ITS RAW, I SCREAM AND I CRY BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU DID TO ME. I TRUSTED YOU, AND YET YOU MANIPULATED AND LIED TO ME. YOU PUSHED ME THIS FAR. I WANTED TO BE YOUR FRIEND, I TRIED TO IMPRESS YOU BUT THE HARDER I TRIED THE MORE I DROVE YOU TO HURT ME. YOU DID THIS TO ME, ____. YOU CAN KEEP LYING TO YOURSELF, AND YOU CAN KEEP TELLING YOUR VERSION TO ANYONE WHO WILL LISTEN. BUT YOU WILL NEVER CHANGE THE TRUTH THAT LIVES IN MY BODY. EVERY TIME YOU SAY IT DIDNT HAPPEN, YOU ARE JUST TRYING TO SILENCE ME. YOU TRIED TO BREAK ME SO YOU COULD FUCKING OWN ME, EVEN IF I 'CONSENTED' YOU KNOW DAMN FUCKING WELL YOU MANIPULATED ME, YOU EVEN TRIED MANIPULATING ME INTO BEING IN A RELATIONSHIP TOO. YOUVE MADE ME REALIZE I DESERVE WAY BETTER THAN YOU. YOU ARE OBESSED WITH TRYING TO FIND THIS VERSION OF ME WHO WILL FORGIVE YOU, WHO WILL BE YOUR FRIEND AGAIN. YOU WANT ME AS A FRIEND AGAIN BECAUSE I TREATED YOU WELL AND YOU TOOK ADVANTAGE OF THAT SHIT. FUCK YOU. DONT LOOK FOR ME ONLINE, DONT LOOK FOR ME IN CROWDS, DONT TRY TO HUNT ME DOWN, DONT TRY TO 'GET YOUR REVENGE', DONT TRY TO GET ME TO TAKE IT BACK, DONT TRY TO RUIN MY LIFE. I SPENT SO LONG WONDERING WHY YOU DID IT, BUT I REALIZE NOW IT DOESNT MATTER. YOU ARE A HOLLOW FUCKING PERSON, YOU ARE PATHETIC COMPARED TO ME, ____. YOU REFUSE TO REALIZE THAT, YOU THINK *I* TRIED TO COMPETE WITH YOU? LOOK AT YOURSELF, IDIOT. YOU HARASS ME BECAUSE YOURE TERRIFIED OF THE SILENCE WHERE THE TRUTH LIVES? EVERY TIME YOU DENY WHAT HAPPENED, YOURE TALKING TO SOME FUCKING BRICK WALL. I OFFERED YOU A FRIEND AND YOU SAW A TARGET. YOURE MANIPULATIVE AND A FUCKING NARC! YOU TOOK MY KINDNESS AND TURNED IT INTO MY OWN FUCKING PRISON, BUT YOU FAIL TO REALIZE IVE GROWN OUT OF YOUR LIES? YOU NEVER LOVED ME, YOU NEVER WANTED ME AROUND. YOU JUST WANTED A FUCKING PLAYTHING. YOU ARE TERRIFIED OF LETTING ME GO, BECAUSE THE SILENCE IS WHERE THE TRUTH LIVES. YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENED! I KNOW YOU DO, YOU JUST REFUSE TO BELIEVE IT BECAUSE YOU, YOURE A VICTIM YOURSELF! YOU THINK MY FORGIVENESS OR MY "TRUTH" IS A DEBT I OWE YOU? BUT EVERY MEMORY OF US IS NOW RUINED BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU DID, I CANT THINK OF YOU IN A GOOD WAY WITHOUT THINKING "OH, RIGHT, SHE FUCKING RAPED ME!" YOU DIDNT JUST TAKE MY BODY, YOU TRIED TO TAKE THE TRUTH AWAY TOO? AND, FUCK, IF I HAD REACTED DIFFERENTLY. IF I HADNT GONE TO THE HOSPITAL, OR GOTTEN THERAPY, I WOULDNT HAVE KNOWN. I HAD TO BE TOLD YOU DID IT TO ME. I HAD TO BE TOLD BY SOMEONE YOU RAPED ME BECAUSE I REFUSED TO BELIEVE SO, BECAUSE I THOUGHT SINCE I CONSENTED, IT WAS OKAY. BUT MY CONSENT UPPED AND FUCKING LEFT THE ROOM. FOUR TIMES, DID YOU HAVE TO BE TOLD NO, THREE TIMES DID YOU HAVE TO BE TOLD STOP. THATS NOT RIGHT. YOU COULDNT HAVE NOT HEARD THAT, ESPECIALLY SINCE YOUR FUCKING HAND WAS KNITTED INTO MY HAIR AND YOUR FACE WAS NEXT TO MINE, RESTING ON MY FUCKING SHOULDER. YOU WERE FINGERING ME, AND I FEEL GROSS FOR IT. IM DONE TRYING TO FIND A REASON FOR YOUR CRUELTY! THERE IS NO 'WHY' THAT MAKES THIS OKAY? YOU HURT ME BECAUSE YOU COULD, YOURE HAUNTING ME NOW BECAUSE YOURE TERRIFIED WITHOUT SOMEONE TO HURT. YOU KEEP LOOKING FOR '(DEADNAME)' WHO WANTED TO IMPRESS YOU. THAT GIRL DIED IN YOUR ARMS THE NIGHT YOU DECIDED TO CHOSE YOURSELF OVER MY FUCKING HUMANITY. DONT GO LOOKING FOR HER. YOU WONT RECOGNIZE WHO THAT IS, YOU CERTAINLY DONT DESERVE TO KNOW THEM. YOU TALK SO MUCH BECAUSE YOURE SCARED OF WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU STOP? YOURE SCARED OF THE QUIET, THATS WHY YOU LIKED ME. I FILLED THAT SILENCE. YOULL FINALLY HAVE TO SEE THE MONSTER YOUVE BECOME. GO AHEAD, TELL EVERYONE IM THE VILLIAN. TELL THEM IM CRAZY! THAT IM AN ATTENTION WHORE. THAT I ASKED FOR IT. IT DOESNT CHANGE THE FACT THAT WHEN YOURE ALONE, LAYING IN BED IN THE DARKNESS, YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAT YOU ARE. THATS YOUR WEIGHT YOU HAVE TO CARRY, IVE GOT MY OWN SHIT TO CARRY. I HATE YOU. ILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU.

Dedication: To all of the women and children that are fighting domestic abuse. I witnessed domestic violence between my mother and her boyfriend every day from the age of 6 up until the age of 11. I witnessed brutal attacks, one time my mother actually stopped breathing. He was a very jealous man. He wanted me out the way as much as possible. He even resorted to breaking my dogs leg in a fit of rage. My mother became a victim of ‘cuckooing’ by a local gang and was introduced to drugs. Her boyfriend stole from them and my mother was kidnapped. We both had to go into protective living. I stayed with my nan for 2 months not knowing where my mother was or even if she was alive. The gang found my mothers boyfriend and beat him to an inch of his life. My mother was later given an ultimatum; Him or me. She chose me. After us he moved on to another family. Unfortunately those children weren’t so lucky. They all got split up by the care system. It has not been until these past couple of months that I have learned to accept what happened. It has been a rollercoaster of emotions. Confusion, anger and tears. I had to say goodbye to the innocent little girl that was once me. At a crucial time when my child brain was meant to be developing and understanding the world, I had to skip that part completely. I was quickly brought into an adults world. After it all ended I had to build a whole new foundation and create a whole new person. It was almost like Norma Jean transforming into Marilyn Monroe or Beyonce becoming her alter ego Sasha Fierce. Before this, I had no identity. At the age of 6 I was just starting to find my place in the world which was then quickly taken from me. It wouldn’t be until I was 17 that I would have to come face to face with my mothers abuser again. She came home one night in a complete drunken state with him in tow. I looked him dead in the eyes and told him that I was 17 not 7 anymore and I was not afraid of him and he couldn’t hurt us anymore. The police ended up escorting him away. My mother was always encouraging of me and always told me she believed in me and to believe in myself. That I am so grateful for. I am so grateful for life. Every day I would wake up and wonder if that day would be the day I died. I think the way I got through it was fight or flight. My body chose fight. I had a best friend at the time who I am still best friends with to this day. Her mother was also tackling her own demons at home, so our friendship grew closer. My mother ended up having a hard time coming to terms with dealing with what happened. She is unfortunately a shell of person he once was. The song by Jessie J – I Miss Her sums it up perfectly. She is still breathing but she is not really living.

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

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

I was raped when I was 18, just after my Leaving Cert. The man who raped me was a former partner. He had been physically abusive which had prompted me to end the relationship. Not long after it ended, he got in contact and asked to meet up to exchange items we had left at the others’ homes. I agreed, not thinking anything of it particularly. We arranged a time and agreed to go for a coffee in a spot we had often frequented as a couple. However, he was hours late turning up and looking back now, this was a huge red flag. I got into the car with him and he drove to a secluded location, incapacitated me and raped me. I will never forget the feeling of trying to prise his hands off of me and finally realising I wasn’t strong enough. It lasted nearly 4 hours and I was orally, vaginally and anally raped. He also used a foreign object during his attack. After it was over, he let me go and I walked for hours in the dark to get home. I didn’t tell a soul for days. The only medical attention I sought was the morning after pill. After about 3 days, I started to come to terms about what had happened to me, and that it wasn’t ok. That I wasn’t ok. I sought help from the SATU in Location and chose ‘Option 3’ which allowed samples to be taken and stored without a Garda present. I couldn’t speak highly enough of the care I got in SATU. They are angels. I later suffered a miscarriage at a relatively late stage in pregnancy, after finding out quite late. I eventually made a statement to Gardai and my perpetrator was arrested, although I decided at the time that I was not strong enough to allow the case to go to court. I suffered hugely at that time with symptoms I have now come to understand were PTSD and depression, and even considered taking my own life. But I accessed supports and met a wonderful psychotherapist and I later repeated my leaving cert and went on to gain entry to university, where I have had such brilliant support. I was lucky to access support that made all the difference to me, and my message to anybody reading this who was affected by sexual violence is that it gets better, and you can get through it.

Hi, thanks for letting me share my story. To understand it, I have to start from the very beginning: My parents got divorced when I was 7 years old, and my mother took care of me and my two siblings. My mum remarried within a few months of the divorce and my dad remarried after 4 years. But, I was never told what happened. It was never discussed. And I was afraid to discuss it with my Mum in case I would upset her or make her angry at me. But finally, when I was 11 years old, I finally asked her about the divorce. At first, she consoled me saying that she was sorry if the divorce ever hurt me or my feelings. But, as I continued to talk about it, she got angry and told me to stop "self-pitying". My Dad is a businessman, so even at childhood (back when my parents were married), he was always away for months at a time for meetings. But, I still loved him (obviously). Now, as for my stepdad, me and him were never close. But I still called him "Dad" - even though I didn't want to, that was just for my Mum's sake. He always used to say I was his "favourite" but I never understood why. When I was in 7th Grade, my Dad moved to a different country. When I was in 8th Grade (13 years old, nearly 14), me and my stepdad started getting closer. Eventually, he would start doing inappropriate things. He would touch my breasts and once, he put his hand inside of my trousers and rubbing between my legs. Before this incident, I thought that everything he was doing was "normal", as I never had a father figure to look up to. A few days later, I got the courage to tell my Mum. I went to her and told her and she looked so panicked and asked me if I was sure that this happened. She told me it was probably an accident, and maybe as he was giving me my goodnight hug, his hand accidentally went there. I realised at that moment, if I were to say something, my life would be ruined. So, I accepted that nothing happened and stayed silent. In the next 3 years, I pretended everything was normal. I pushed the sexual abuse to the back of my mind and pretended as if it never happened. Now, from my cultural background, it was weird and shameful for women to get remarried after a divorce, so my Mum never told anyone (other than immediate family) that she got remarried - even my Dad didn't know. My Dad also didn't tell my Mum or even us that he got remarried. He used to spend time with us every Sunday in parks before he moved away. The day I found out was when suddenly he brings this 1 year old boy and tells me he's my brother and introduces me to his wife. I was so shocked and so hurt, that I ran away back to my mother's house. My mother consoled me and said that I'm lucky to have another sibling. Now, when I was in 11th grade, we went back to our home country for my uncle's wedding. Before we went, my Mum said "we are planning to tell everyone about our wedding. Are you OK with that?" I pushed my feelings aside, and said it was OK. I just thought she would announce it. But, one night, we were all sitting down and she tells her friends about her plans for her wedding tomorrow. I had no idea she was getting married! I ran to the other room in tears. My Mum later came to the room and asked me why I was making such a big drama over nothing. I told her that I never knew about it, and she replied she didn't have to tell me anything. Eventually, I left it alone and the next day, I acted as if everything was fine. I took photos, I wore a nice dress, I chatted with my stepdad's family - did everything the "perfect daughter" would do. When my Dad found out my Mum was remarried, he broke off all contact with me. When we came back to the country we live in, it was my Mum's turn to host a party (we have this friend circle and every month we have a party at someone's house). Suddenly, they all came in with wedding decor and started surprising her. I was not aware this was happening so I just went into panic mode. I didn't say anything that whole night and tried to hold back my tears. After they left, my Mum and I had a discussion about the divorce again. She told me "Me and your father are separated, ACCEPT IT". I said "I do accept it, but all I'm saying is I wish you told me". And she replied "I didn't know they would do this much of a party, but don't you think it hurt me to see my eldest daughter not happy to see me married?" This is when I broke down and finally told her about the sexual abuse again. This time, my Mum got furious and asked me why I lied the first time. She also slapped me. She said since I lied the first time, I could be lying right now. Once again, I took back my statement thinking that I'd tell her after I had enough money to live by myself (because I was financially dependent on my Dad and Stepdad, as my Mum didn't work). But, later on that year, in the summer of 11th Grade, we went back to our home country and my baby cousin was born. As soon as I saw her, saw how innocent she was, I knew that I'd protect her at all costs. Then, my uncle was giving her to my stepdad to hold and I couldn't believe it. I also properly realised that my little sister, who was 11 at the time, was only 2 years away from when I was abused. I knew I had to tell, for their sake if not for mine. At that time, the two people I loved and I trusted more than anyone were my Mum and my aunt. I decided I would tell both of them. But, neither believed me. My Mum kept asking me questions saying that if I was telling the truth, then why didn't I say it earlier and she kept mocking me. My aunt said she didn't know who to believe, but she said my Mum already went through a difficult divorce so she can't go through that again. I pleaded to my Mum to divorce him but she said that wasn't even an option because she loved him. She then told me she got sexually abused herself by her tutor when she was 17. She said she knew the signs of sexual abuse and that I didn't have any of them. She also said that my Dad sexually abused her a few weeks before their wedding. Since my Grandfather died, my Mum had no one to rely on. She said that the reason she divorced my Dad was because he also used to physically abuse her. I was shocked to hear this and I started crying more. In the end, we all came back to the country we live in. I still lived with my stepdad and my mum, but me and my stepdad would ignore each other. He still spent his money on us like normal. My Dad stopped giving child support that year. Now, at the time of writing this (20th May 2023), I was looking for something on my Mum's phone (a document I wanted to send my friend) and I came across these messages of her and my stepdad telling my aunt that she was pregnant. In those messages, my Mum said she already told my Grandma and everyone is excited. I couldn't believe it, I started getting a panic attack. I confronted my Mum and asked if it was true. She said it was and asked what was my problem with it. I said "I don't want this baby". She said it was not my decision to make and that I shouldn't dictate her life. I asked that why did she have to get pregnant this year, why the year where everything in my life was going downhill. She told me to shut up and concentrate on my final exams. I told her that I can never tell her anything. She started mocking me and asking me what I couldn't tell her. I told her "this year has been so hard that sometimes I wish I could end it!" She started mocking me once again and said "Oh by living with your amazing father, is that it?" (My Mum still thinks I care about my Dad, but I couldn't care less about him). I said "no, ending my life" (at one point in the year, I thought it would be easier if I was just gone, then all the suffering would end, then I realised suicide is not the answer). She got up and stated hitting and slapping me. Then she started hyperventilating and screaming. She started screaming "Get out! Get out! I am NOT your mother! I don't want you! I don't love you!" repeatedly. I tried to go back and console her and she told me to just get lost and go to the other room. She told me that as soon as my exams were over, she wants to send me back to our home country to live with my Dad. I begged her to not do that and she told me that no amount of begging would make her change her mind. She said all love for me was finished in her heart. Later on that day, I tried talking to her again and she kept ignoring me. Then, she started crying and said "you said you hate living with me so much that you want to kill yourself, maybe if I send you to your Father, you'll get some sense". She didn't understand that it was my stepdad causing that, that it was her reluctance to believe me that was causing me to have these thoughts. She said "before I had a suspicion he did this, but now I know you are lying, you are just jealous!" I told her everything was true but she told me that she knows me better than anyone and that I was lying. In her words "In my 42 years, I have understood EVERYTHING but I have never managed to understand YOU. Why are you like this? Why must you make me miserable?" This happened yesterday, and now I keep getting panic attacks. The only people talking to me are my siblings. I feel so alone. My Mum refuses to acknowledge me. What I know for definite is that it was not my fault. It is never the victim's fault, we never asked to be abused. We are constantly told we are weak but my God, we are so so so strong. So proud of all of us for enduring this disgusting reality.

I can safely say here that last year I have been sexually assaulted by my boyfriend at the time. I was a virgin and wanted him to kindly lead me to make love but he took it from me and so til this date I am working through that. I have been introduced to this platform by a girl who reads my blog and so I am ever so grateful to be able to share these and to follow you on Instagram I am forever grateful Regards with much love, g.

HELLO PEOPLE , its nice we can share our stories over here . So im a 19 year old girl from india who has a very typical indian family of four , me my little brother, mother and father . So my story is , my father used to physically abuse my mother since i was some months old , it started . he beat her over silly reasons . then when i gradually grew up and reached class 1 i was 6or 7 years old at that time , my father made me study for an entrance exam for class 6th and the syllabus was all of class 6th and 7th 9(to be noted that i was in class 1 at that point) . so my father made me study high level subjects of class 6th when i was still in class 1 which was a very tough job for me . i couldnt understand anything , and then my father used to beat me . he never let me play with friends , go out , in short he never let me have my childhood as childhood . he was always very extremely focused on my studies but forgot that i was still a child . We lived far from my father's village where my grandmother lived so in every summer vacations he used to take me and kept me there in the village where he would give me tution classes for the examination prep so i never got to enjoy my vacations . When was home , again the same thing , study and watch domestic violence at home . i always had to hear really abusive words which as a child i got traumatized . so when i was in class 2 , my mother got into an extramarital affair which i found out eventually and i hated my mother for that i was very shameful and i wanted to tell my father about this but i didnt . eventually my father found out and i remember that day when he beat her so much after he catch her red handed . It was a divorce situation but even then they stayed. my mother was no more into affair stuff but still i hated her . i wished she would die . later as i grew up the violence continued at home where i had to stop them both , physical abuse , abusive words and everything continued . it was really toxic . they both used to abuse me and my brother verbally with words like slut , Name and any abusive slangs you can think of . this is to be noted that my mother was also not very decent or you can say nice , she didnt do household chores at time , didnt made food on time , was extremely lazy (to be noted that my father helped her in everything ) but she didnt cuz she was ill manned to be honest . and so all of this continues and when i was in 1 i had my first boyfriend and my parents found out and they kind of accepted it at the first so when i appeared for 10th boards , i scored a 90.2 percent despite being in love and stuff but my parents where not happy infact they shamed me for my result (to be noted that they have never been satisfied by my results even if i score the full marks or become the topper they just always compare me with other children which made my self esteem and confidence shatter ) . they blamed me and my love affair for the 90.2 percent i scored which was too less for them because i was not the topper , the topper was at 93 . and now im in college , 3 years have passed by after that result but still they abuse and compare me for my 90.2 percent . i attempted suicide twice but i survived and they dont know bout this . i always get suicidal thoughts . they have never given me any privacy , they take control of everything , dont let me go out , visit a friend , talk to a friend over call . its suffocating . now im 19 and im again preparing for an exam , they have continued they abuse , domestic violence and everything . they make me hear for anything i eat , they have locked me up in a room where i have a laptop and study and sit here the whole day . they verablly abuse me a lot . some days ago i had a packet of noodles when i was hungry because my mom hadn't prepared food and it was very late and my mom found out that i ate noodles and she called me slut and other slangs infront of all neighbours . they always have been toxic . please mind that i have no problem studying . but i dont think something which takes away your entire childhood from you is not worth it . So my entire teenage and childhood was destroyed . i dont know how my adulthood would go because they wont let me live they are always here to pull me down . i wish i could just die .

They planned it, they watched it, they laughed about it, they joked about it and then they blamed me. Ridiculed me. Sang songs every day at work about raping me. Gaslit me insofar as I believed it wasn't real. It wasn't serious. It was not rape. But it was. They still protect him even though he's behind bars. I see them around town but they saw me deeper than I'll never know. They know things about my body, that night, my most vulnerable state, my unconscious state that I don’t remember. They know more of their first plan to have me raped which failed because I couldn't ‘be there’. They still think I didn't find out. But I did. I wouldn't wish it on anyone, to wake up everyday knowing that people planned your rape TWICE and they just walk around like nothing happened. What type of people live in this same town as me can POSTPONE a rape because I was going to be studying for my leaving cert that night? Who could do that? They can. They are guilty too. I made sure to tell them. There wasn't enough evidence to prosecute them for aiding a rape. But they have blood on their hands. People know who they really are! But I didn't have to tell them. Because they know what they did. They saw me deeper. But we all know them better now.

I am not really sure how to do this since this is my first time writing about this, so I'll start at the beginning. I am a 40 year old man with a wife and 2 stepsons. I was sexually assaulted by a male cousin when I was maybe 9 or 10 and raped by another male cousin in my early teens. I don't really remember how it happened, it just kinda happened. I had an early awakening in my sexuality when I was about 3 or 4 I would notice porn magazines or videos my dad usually left laying around. I would look at the magazines and watch the videos and I would think "Okay, so this is what I'm supposed to do, everyone seems to be enjoying themselves, so it must feel pretty good." When I was maybe 9, my now ex cousin coerced me to perform oral sex on him, he was about a year older than me and I used to idolize him. Years later, I would discover that he is a narcissist. This continued for a year or two and then I told my parents who said they would take care of it. They said they talked to his father, my uncle, and he said he would talk to him about it, whether he actually did or not I don't know, but it did stop. Then when I was maybe 12 another male cousin coerced me to perform oral sex on him which then led to him anally raping me. This went on for a few years. I don't know why I let it happen, I am not gay nor have I ever been attracted to another man, I hated what he was doing to me, I guess I just assumed that it was normal. When I was 15, I told him that I wanted it to stop and it did. I never told my parents or anyone else. I self-medicated with alcohol for 10 years, I have been sober since 2009. I finally told my wife earlier this year. She was and still is very understanding and supportive. I have been diagnosed with anxiety, depression and PTSD, I am on medication and in therapy to help me through this along with other trauma. It wasn't easy telling my story and I suppose it's not easy for anyone but I did and it's made me realize that what happened was not my fault and they had no right to violate me the way they did. If you are reading this and are nervous about sharing your story, just remember if I can do it, so can you, it may be extremely difficult but it's a part of healing and you will heal. Thanks for reading.

I feel anger toward my father. To me, my father is a monster. He's bound by patriarchy. He's been a very problematic person since I was a child. He was verbally and physically abusive toward my mother. He had a big attitude at home. He put on a good face. My father moved around a lot due to his job, but I ended up skipping school. I was sexually assaulted in high school and went to a mental health clinic, which led to him calling me weird. I loved creating, but he said that was weird too. My older sister was also a victim of my father, but she was always smiling, no matter what my father did to her. He was emotionally attached to her. He was like a lover or a mother to me. I was rebellious, so he ignored me. My father used me and sexually harassed me (he did the same to me), and even when I told others, I was only victimized. He sometimes spoke as if he were some kind of great person. He was abusive toward my mother. Weird women give birth to weird children. Women become weird when they get their period. I myself wondered why I created art, and at times considered getting tested for Asperger's syndrome. I quit, but... My older sister was exploited by another man, married him, and committed suicide on their wedding anniversary. As my father gets older, I feel nothing but anger toward him, and in Japan, there's a culture that makes it seem like we have to take care of our fathers. My father deserved it, and I want him to take his sins to the afterlife, but unfortunately, he has surprisingly not changed his behavioral principles. Perpetrators never change. My mother's cognitive function is declining slightly. I may be the one who survives in the end, even though I'm the only one who's completely devastated. I'm wondering whether I should be present at his end or go to his funeral, but at this stage, I don't have any plans to be present or go to the funeral. I also have some memory loss about where my father's hometown is. On exhausted nights, I sometimes wish I could die. My doctor recommended that I publish my creative work. I'm considering my interests (Western music, etc.), the fact that I've earned a certain number of credits from a correspondence university, and the fact that I took the Eiken exam a long time ago. Taking these factors into account, I'm pondering how I want to live the rest of my life. Part of me is social anxiety, so I'm a recluse. Is my life worth living? There is still no answer.

How can I forgive my father, now deceased, for molesting me? I understand how people feel, and it is okay to feel anger towards that person who had stolen your childhood. I never forgave my father, and you also don't have to. I have been happy that my father, the molester, is dead, and now he can't abuse any more children. Look around at the innocent faces of my siblings, nephew, and nieces whose childhood has been saved and rejoice in it. The past we dream of is lost, but we still hold the key to our bright and happy future. A Good Friend sent this quote about how to forgive, "Forgiveness is taking the knife out of your back and not using it to hurt anyone else, no matter how they hurt you." Emotionally, the hurt never goes away; however, through the healing journey, what changes are the pain's control over the survivor's life. Survivors of sexual abuse have many losses to grieve, such as the loss of innocence and the loss of protection from someone they trusted. The pain of the memories, for most survivors, is initially likened to the destruction from a bomb blast. Still, the pain can take a back seat in the overall perspective of, and functioning in, life. Remembering opens the door to the future and the possibility of forgiveness. A significant hurdle for most victims is placing guilt where it belongs, not on the victim’s shoulders. When that milestone is passed, the Holy Spirit can begin to work in their heart regarding the possibility of forgiveness. God wants to heal the deep hurts of your sexual past. Healing is available, but it has to be individually applied to each wounding of the human spirit. The first step in the healing of sexual abuse is gaining the courage to face your pain. This process may be time-consuming and may require the help of others. Because broken trust is always involved at some level, you must deal with that fear which you fear most: recalling the trauma and becoming vulnerable again. Sometimes it's better to forgive; don't do it for the abuser; do it for yourself. Once you forgive the abuser, you'll take a bunch of weight off-of yourself. Forgiveness is giving up the hope that the past could be any more different and accepting past as it is. - Oprah Winfrey. Forgiveness can be proposed as a tool to help and heal the pain and suffering of victims of many sexual abuse cases. Many states that “Everyone can heal and have a great life,” but along with living that great life, one must also acknowledge what is really happening inside - not push it away. When feelings and memories are acknowledged, they are eventually released, and survivors heal. At that point, if they wish to forgive their perpetrators, fine. If not, that is also fine. But the goal is for the survivor to release the past and focus on their future. And, most importantly, acknowledge how awesome they really are. Please visit my social media page at link

A Broken Trust He was someone I thought I could trust—a friend who made me laugh, someone I was starting to like. When he invited me out that evening, I didn’t sense the storm ahead. Car troubles forced us to change plans, and instead of heading out, we stayed in. It felt comfortable at first, sitting together, sharing drinks, and laughing about life. We kissed a little—it was lighthearted, a step toward something new. But that was as far as I wanted to go. I wasn’t sure if something had been slipped into my drink. I hadn’t had much, yet I felt strange, like my body wasn’t my own. I told him I needed to lay down, just for a moment, to collect myself. I must have dozed off, but when I opened my eyes, everything changed. He was there, naked, on top of me, kissing me. My body froze as fear took over. I begged him to stop with the voice I could manage, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t stop. He stripped me of my clothes, my power, and my voice, ignoring every plea. The pain was searing, my body rejecting him in every way it could, but he didn’t care. He pushed on, each thrust a betrayal, each moment an erasure of who I was before that night. I cried beneath him, and when he finished, he looked me in the eyes—cold, unfeeling—as if what he’d done was nothing at all. I wanted to leave, to escape the horror of that room, but he wouldn’t even give me my clothes. Humiliated and broken, I sat there, trembling and sick to my stomach. Questions flooded my mind: What if I get pregnant? What if he gave me an STD? I’d barely begun to understand my own feelings about sex, and now they were shattered. When I tried to confront him later, hoping for some clarity, his response was a second betrayal. “You consented,” he said casually, as though rewriting the truth. His half-hearted apology meant nothing. It wasn’t enough, and it would never be enough. Years passed, but the memory of that night stayed with me, haunting me in ways I couldn’t explain. I felt trapped in a cycle of pain and anger, desperate for control over something that had taken so much from me. I thought meeting him again, facing him on my terms, might give me closure. Maybe if I reenacted that night, this time with me in control, the wound would start to heal. But even in that plan, I knew I was trying to make sense of something senseless. No action could undo what he had done. No reenactment could erase the trauma he inflicted or give me back the person I was before.

I was fourteen when I was called into the counselors office at school to discuss an earlier statement that I had made. "Everyone hates me, I should just kill myself" I said to my friends as a teacher walked by. Despite that I was joking at the time and didn't actually feel that way, meeting with the counselor changed my life in a drastic way. After questions like "how is your home life?", "what is your relationship with your family like?", I slowly began to process and reflect on my fourteen years of life. Leaving her office, I felt heavy. I wasn't sure why I was feeling so down after talking about my family. I loved my family. Over the next few months, I began to experience depression for the first time. I felt lower than I ever had. I could barely get out of bed, I didn't enjoy time with my friends, and I was fighting with my mom and sister a lot. Eventually, I came to realize that the dynamics of my relationship with my brother were quite a bit different than other peoples. I feel like I was aware that I had a special relationship with him, but it didn't seem to be as inappropriate at the time. Regardless of my feelings, I knew that I had a big secret that I had carried my whole life. Deciding to share this secret was not going to come easy. I knew that I wanted the secret to be out, people to know what was happening, and to know that everything was going to be okay. This was when I decided to write it down on a piece of paper to give to one of my teachers who I felt close to. I attempted to do that, but I just didn't feel safe. A few weeks later, my brother started to text me inappropriate messages, which was not out of the ordinary. I remember just feeling awful after getting those messages. Later in the week, I was with a couple of friends in a class when they asked to play on my phone. I handed it to them unlocked and they scrolled around and looked at a few pictures. Then they pulled up my messages. I think at this point, I felt like this would be an opportunity to tell someone. Before I could say or do anything, they had the messages pulled up and them questioning me if that was my brother. I told them that it was and that it was normal and fine and to just not worry about it. They, of course, did not listen. We were in the last class of the day, so when the bell rang, they had plenty of uninterrupted time to talk with our teacher. At first, my friend nudged me to tell my teacher what had been going on, but I didn't even have the words. I had no idea what to say or call it. This was my normal. As far back as I can remember, this was the way that I had lived, so I didn't necessarily know what to even tell my teacher. My friend eventually told my teacher that my brother had been molesting me. In that moment, everything changed and unfortunately, worsened. Since school was out for the day and my teacher was unsure of what the next steps should be, she sent me home for the night and told me we would meet the next morning to talk more about it. I went home that night and knew that I had, what felt like, ruined my entire family. Even though my family didn't know that I had told someone, or even that it was happening, I felt like they were going to hate me. How could I split up the family like that? I laid in my pitch black room and listened to sad music all evening. The next morning during my first class, the teacher that I had told, came to get me out of class to talk. She told me that she spoke with the counselor and was going to have to report it. I immediately broke down because everything that I was scared of happening the night before, was now going to happen. I spent the rest of the school day in a pretty intense emotional state. My other teachers were confused and concerned with what was going on. As the day went on, nothing happened until my last class of the day. All of a sudden, I got called into the office where I was greeted by an State Police investigator. She met with me in the conference room, set a tape recorder on the table, and told me to tell her everything that had happened. I was terrified!!! I immediately said "nothing happened, everything is okay". She did not like that answer. She seemed to be getting irritated that I wouldn't disclose what had happened to me. How could she be so mad? This was my story. My life to share with who I wanted, and here this random lady making me feel bad about something that I didn't even want her to know. I ended up disclosing a few minor things, but definitely not more than that. Unfortunately, it was enough for her to call my mom and have her meet us at DHS. My sister picked me up from school that day and drove us to DHS where we would meet our mom and the investigator. During the car ride, my sister questioned me on what was going on. She was confused why my mom wasn't picking me up and why we were meeting at a random office in town. When I told her about my brother, she got mad. She started punching the steering wheel and yelled "I have spent so long trying to forget everything that happened and here you are bringing it all back up". This was no surprise as my sister had been through a similar experience when we were younger. Sadly, the way my family treated my sister after her disclosure terrified me. They never believed her and painted her to be an outcast in the family. This was heartbreaking to watch as a ten year old who knew that her sister was telling the truth because it had happened to us together. But how was I supposed to speak up when no one believed her? I understand why she was frustrated that I told someone about our brother. It would be hard to revisit every traumatic memory that our family has caused us. However, this is something that she has apologized for since. Once we got to DHS, my mom and the investigator were already in a back room. They told my sister and I to wait in the waiting room for them. It felt like a lifetime sitting in that room. My stomach was in knots and I was so anxious that everything was shaking. The investigator finally came out to bring my sister and I back to the room with my mom and her. Once I got into the room, the investigator asked me to show my mom the texts. That was not something that I had even thought about. I felt like my mom did not need to see the messages. They were embarrassing for me. I felt like I was in on this big secret and my brother couldn't be the only one to blame, and as soon as my mother read them, I felt validated in those feelings. She got mad. She started raising her voice, almost yelling, at the investigator saying "you don't know my son or my family, you cant tell me about my family"...etc. I just shrunk. From that moment forward, I have learned to make myself feel small or hide in vulnerability. I learned that shrinking yourself down helps with pain and humiliation. I also learned that maybe I'm not deserving enough to speak my truth and maybe I don't deserve to live without pain. Looking back, that is mostly all that I remember from the initial encounter with the investigator. I do remember us all getting into our cars and leaving to go home. My mom gave me a hug in the parking lot and I just remember it feeling inauthentic. I felt like she was mad at me. I just blew up her entire world. How could she not be mad at me? We have never talked about that exact moment ever since, but I still believe to this day that she was mad. The next day I was required to go to a Children's Advocacy Center (CAC), where I would complete a forensic interview. This was horrific. From the time we walked into the CAC, I felt uncomfortable and scared. Honestly, no one there made me feel any better. The investigator was supposed to be there, but was not able to make it, so I remember speaking with her on the phone away from my mom. She told me to be honest in my interview and tell them everything so that they could help me. I was just confused. Help me with what? You couldn't possibly help me with any of the things that I was struggling with at the time. This was also contrary to what my mom had been telling me. My mom had asked me to not to share anything with them and made it clear that if I told them anything, my brother would get into trouble. That was so scary as a fourteen year old. No one wants to send their sibling to jail, but especially at fourteen? I don't remember the interview as much as I used to, but I do remember feeling uncomfortable and somewhat taken advantage of. They weren't completely truthful about the cameras that were recording the whole thing, exactly what was going on, or what would happen next. Once the interview was finished and we left, we went shopping, like everything was normal. This was my moms favorite coping skill. Spring break was the next week and we actually had a big family trip planned to go see my brother, who was living in a different state at the time. We followed through with our trip and drove to see my brother. I was freaking out. I remember getting to the hotel and everyone just felt weird. You could feel the uncomfortability in the room. We got there late so we just ate dinner and went to bed. The next day, we all went to the zoo and spent the day laughing and hanging out as a family. I remember feeling heavy and like something bad was about to happen. I was just waiting for the ball to drop. Later that night we had dinner at the hotel in our rooms and hung out for a bit. It was pretty obvious that something was going on with my mom. My brother questioned her, but she wouldn't say much. My brother and his girlfriend eventually left to go back to their house. Not long after their departure, my mom and step dad followed behind them. My brother didn't know that they were going to show up their house later that night. My parents pulled up to his house and had him meet them in their car. They wanted to shield his girlfriend from these allegations that could ruin his life. Obviously I was not there when this happened, but my mom and step dad told me how everything played out. They said he got in the car and was confused as to why they showed up unannounced like that. They broke the news to him about everything that happened and they reported that he started to cry and admitted to them that he had messed up. I am assuming my mom told him about the messages because when my sister disclosed about him when we were younger, he denied every bit. I think he only admitted it this time because he knew the messages were there and he couldn't really deny those. We spent a few more days there, but I did not see him again. My oldest sister, mom, and I drove to my sisters house a few hours away, while my step dad and other sister went back to our house. I skipped the next week of school after spring break and spent it with my sister and mom at her house. I remember my sister letting me drink and of course my mom didn't know. I ended up getting so drunk that I told my mom about how I knew I had messed up and I was so scared that I had ruined everything. I eventually started throwing up so it didn't take long for my mom to catch on. The next day I remember sitting out by the pool and my mom came out to talk to me. She asked me a question, but in more a incentuating way than an actual question. She said "I mean you want us to save your brother and make sure nothing happens, right?". Of course I didn't want anything to happen because I didn't want everyone to blame me for sending my brother to jail. So I agreed with her. My mom then found a lawyer for my brother and hired him. I remember having to go meet with the lawyer before we finally drove back home after our two week "vacation". I had to defend my brother to the lawyer. I felt like I was the one in trouble. He told my mom and I that we needed to destroy any evidence (the text messages) that we had. I tried deleting them off of my phone, but for some crazy reason, my phone at the time was not letting me delete messages. I would try and they would pop right back up. I assume a glitch in the cloud. That was when my mom came to the determination that she would buy me a new phone and I needed to throw mine in the lake. So that is what I did. I threw my phone in the lake to destroy the evidence of what my brother had done. And that was it. I never heard more from the investigators, the CAC, or any law enforcement. I remember my mom telling me that the case was transferred to another state, but that was the last thing I heard. As time went on, things were rough. I was silently battling PTSD, having flashbacks constantly, always suicidal, and seeking drugs to numb the pain that my family left me with. Two years later, I was now sixteen and my brother was twenty five. I was staying at my dads house for a couple weeks during the summer. It was the fourth of July and my dad was having a family get together. Of course my brother and his girlfriend were there. During the day I had worn a plain black swimsuit. Later that evening when we went night swimming, I wore a different swimsuit because my other was still wet. The new one was cheetah print. After we swam that night and everyone went home, my brother sent me a snapchat. I already knew what it was about before I opened it. He eased into it, but eventually asked me to send him nude pictures. He made comments like "I liked the cheetah swimsuit the best, it was so sexy". What he didn't know was that I was secretly screenshotting each snapchat. I never did anything with them or had intentions to, but I liked to look at them when I was feeling sad. I think because it made me even sadder, which felt good. I deserved to be sad. A few days later, my sister was asleep in her room and my dad and step mom were at work. I was sitting in the living room by myself watching tv when I heard my brothers truck pulling up in the driveway. I immediately started sweating. Nothing had happened other than the previous snapchats in two years, surely nothing will happen now, I thought. I was wrong. My brother walked into my dads house and asked where everyone was. Once he realized that my parents weren't home and my sister was asleep, he knew he had an opportunity. He picked up a short metal pole and begin to poke at me with it. He tried to poke my vagina and was messing with my boobs. He sat next to me on the couch and asked me to give him a kiss. I froze. I just kept repeating "no". He followed each no with a "why". Each time the only thing that I could get to come out of my mouth was "because". He wouldn't stop. I didn't know how to make it stop. I didn't know how I was going to get out of this situation and I couldn't believe this was even happening again. It was my oldest sisters birthday and we had dinner plans with the whole family. I was going to have to see him again that night. I couldn't be mean and make things weird. Once he realized that I wasn't going to do anything with him, he told me that if I flashed him, he would leave. I believed him, so I did. Then he said "that wasn't long enough, I barely even saw them". I sat there, frozen, in disbelief that this was actually happening. I just wanted him to leave. I flashed him again, for longer this time, and he finally grabbed what he came for and left. I burst into tears the moment he walked out of the door. I was in shock. I got into the shower and sat in the tub and cried for thirty minutes. Then I got out of the shower, woke up my sister to get ready for dinner, got ready, and left for dinner. I sat with my family, including my brother, like nothing had happened earlier that day. I didn't tell anyone about this for a long time. I started taking my moms pain medicine in her medicine cabinet not long after it happened. I loved it. It made the pain from my family bearable. I was able to make it through the day with those pills. Eventually my mom realized that I had been taking her pills and confronted me about it. That was when I told her about what happened that week at my dads house. She was upset and somewhat mad that I hadn't told her sooner. But why would I? I had already seen what had happened when I did tell her about those things. This pattern continued until I was eighteen. I was constantly trying to find drugs to cope with all the pain that I had gone through. Not long after I graduated high school, I lost one of my favorite jobs because I was using drugs. That was when I decided to go to rehab to get help, and that was exactly when my healing journey began. I am now twenty three years old and have been on this journey for five years. Healing from a childhood full of trauma has not been an easy path. It has taken vulnerability, trust, and strength to be where I am now. This is a wavering journey that I will be on my whole life. I am grateful for the people who have helped me to get where I am now because without them, I wouldn't be here. While I have a ways to go, I am proud of myself and how hard I have fought for the life that I live now. I am also grateful to all the amazing women who have shared their stories with me along the way that helped me to embrace my own. We can get through hard things together... #metoo

“A story is a way to say something that can’t be said any other way.” - Flannery O’Connor Once upon a time, there was a boy who was neglected and sexually abused. My parents divorced when I was one year old. I have memories. Mom carries me into the kitchen, sets me down on horrible gold-flecked linoleum. Dad sits at the table by the window and eats his dinner. My diaper is full. My mother stands over me, yells and screams, her voice a tapestry of anger and rage and regret. Why doesn’t she change me? Why doesn’t she love me? I have more memories. I am six or seven or eight, and my sister tells me that if I have to pee, it’s okay to pee inside her. My sister teaches me to play five minutes in the closet. Confusion and fear and disgust fill the dark space. She teaches me other games. She threatens suicide. On one occasion, she brings her friend over to play with me. Years stretch on. I wish they would end, wish I would end. On a vacation with dad, she and I share a room, a bed, her on top of me again as she’d done too many times to remember. That dark, dreadful feeling in my stomach. She cries, stops, apologizes. I roll over, utter the only words my pre-adolescent, people-pleasing mind could find. “It’s okay.” My sister leaves for college. I am 12 or 13. I think it’s over. Every day, the boy would find ways to numb his pain and avoid the constant question in the back of his mind: “What’s wrong with me?”. I saw very little of my sister in the ensuing years. She would come home for the holidays, that dreadful time of year filled with constant conflict. Our overbearing, controlling mother would kick into overdrive, tripling the ever-present tension. Visitation with my father was always a point of contention, but especially so in December. While I never really knew him as a drinker, my father was an alcoholic, something my mother would never let us forget. In a twisted dance of wills, she would simultaneously push him away from us, yet keep him roped in to her life. Having my sister come home for the holidays just made everything so much worse. I started smoking somewhere around 13 or 14, and I’m only now realizing my long-time battle with nicotine is probably rooted in my abuse. I started drinking occasionally around the same time. And smoking pot. I floated through high school with only a few friendships, many of which revolved around drugs and alcohol. I kept my head down. At home, it was just my mother and I, and I did everything I could to avoid being there, to stay out from under her control. I got decent grades, stayed out of trouble (mostly). I hid my shame, my sorrow, my secret. I hid myself. Freshman year of college I lied, told the school I was living at home to avoid staying in the dorms. Too many people. Too many possibilities for my secret to spill. Instead, I lived with two friends in a crappy duplex a mile north of campus. I worked hard, attended classes, maintained appearances. I drank a lot, learned to be highly functional. We snorted coke, dropped acid, thrashed on our instruments at all hours. My secret faded fast, neglected, but not forgotten. During Christmas break that year my roommates went back home to spend time with their family. I drank wine by myself, watched TV, thought about ending it all. By chance, my two best friends from high school showed up at my door in time to keep those dark spots from consuming and obliterating me. I was still too close to home, too close to the pain. The following year I moved to another college a few hours away, abandoned the hard drugs, but the alcohol and cigarettes traveled with me. Five years later I left with a bachelor’s and a master’s degree. My secret lay buried under a mountain of grief, denial, self-hatred, and hard work, so far out of view as to be invisible. I had successfully tuned out the background noise of my abuse. I moved on, still hating myself, still hiding myself. I worked, married, had children, got a second master’s degree, excelled at my career, lived a seemingly reasonable and successful life. I drank sometimes. I smoked all the time. I forgot what I could. Somewhere in that life the overwhelming feeling of always being in the wrong room became unbearable, and I sought therapy. My first therapist told me that everyone hated their job and that I should just suck it up. I stopped seeing him, but I took his advice. I sucked it up, held it in. After my children were born, I realized I needed to try therapy again. How could I help my children if I couldn’t even help myself? My next therapist was much more compassionate. She helped me as best she could, but without the context I’d buried deep under those feelings, her help only took me so far. But, one day, many, many years later, the boy’s mother died. My mother passed away in July 2017. I was there, along with my brother and two sisters. She didn’t go quietly. My siblings would say she went out trying to sing. I think she suffered pain and torment and sorrow. I think she knew. Her funeral was not well attended. She was a creative person who likely had the creativity beaten, perhaps even molested, out of her as a child. She never asked for the help she needed, help that may have changed everything, and so she treated the world as if it were her enemy. I read some of her poetry at her funeral, and as I did so, I cried, my tears a blend of grief and relief. She was gone. I was glad. Because of that, the boy’s secret shame began to claw its way out. In the following months as we settled my mom’s estate, I spent more time around my sister than I had since she first left home for college. My anxious, restless shame stirred, clawed at my consciousness. I sucked it up, held it in. My sister left again, and I thought it was over again. I continued therapy. The progress was slow, as the work always is. I attended a writer’s conference in May 2019. These were people I was eager to be around, to grow existing friendships and make new ones. But the secret had begun burrowing out from under a lifetime’s worth of self-hatred, anger, and malaise. I should have been socializing, but instead I bought a couple bottles of liquor and hid myself away in my room. I drank. I smoked. I tried to keep on forgetting. The secret finally unfolded, a poisoned flower, and showed me in a mirror of bourbon that I can’t expect anyone to like me if I don’t even like myself. Because of that, the boy’s mind shattered, and his thoughts scattered in all directions. I could no longer ignore the memories, treat them like a bad dream. The drive home from Grand Rapids to Columbus was perhaps one of the longest of my life. My head exploded with fear, confusion, doubt, shame, and more shame. By the time I arrived home, I was so full of irrational thoughts I could barely function. I shared with my wife what had happened, shared my craziness, and she comforted and supported me, for which I’m eternally grateful. I phoned my therapist and made an appointment for later that day. I broke again in her office, spilled a staccato version of my story, a rush of half-spoken sentences between rib-cracking sobs. She met me with the compassion I’d come to appreciate. Because of that, the boy looked for help wherever he could find it. I was, unfortunately, sitting squarely outside my therapist’s area of expertise. But she took time to help me find another therapist who works with survivors of childhood sexual abuse. I made an appointment with the new therapist, scared of sharing my story, dreading what would be found there. Would my wife leave me? Would my sons be ashamed of who I am and what was done to me? Would I lose family, friends, my career? Until finally, the boy found more help than he ever thought possible. Despite my anxiety, I met my new therapist, and was relieved to find the same deep sense of compassion I’d experienced with my last one. He was kind and patient and supportive from the minute I walked in to his office. Through working with him, I continued to uncover myself and let go of the weights of shame that have been holding me down most of my life. I shared my story with others close to me. In June 2021, I attended a Weekend of Recovery, which in and of itself was a life-changing event. I joined a local support group as well, who welcomed me with a degree of love and kindness and openness I’ve rarely experienced. Over the past four or so years, he’s also provided me with a wealth of resources, including book recommendations and sites like MenHealing and 1-in-6. Slowly but surely, I’ve explored these resources, spending time reading, and listening to or watching stories of other survivors. The utter sense of isolation and all the feelings that came from are starting to lift. I open myself up a little more every day. I find courage in small acts and joy in being present for my partner and children in ways I could not have been before. I still hurt, but the pain is different somehow. There’s grief for the little boy who never got a chance to grow and be joyful. There’s anger, unexpected and unwelcomed, but I try to recognize it for what it is. I don’t suck it up and hold it in, I validate it and let myself cry. There’s tremendous comfort in knowing that we are survivors, not victims, and we are not alone. And, ever since then, the boy continued on his journey of recovery. In most stories, there’s an end. The plot wraps up, all questions are answered, and no more problems exist. That’s not how this works. I know my story is ongoing, that recovery is a process, not a solution. Trauma, all trauma, strikes deep and is enduring. It is not a problem to solve or a question to answer, it is a reframing of ourselves in such a way that we can move from surviving to thriving. We continue to work with ourselves and with others who have suffered abuse to heal and grow and once again become fully present and playful and joyful in our lives.

I grew up in an abusive household where we constantly moved and lived with my mom’s boyfriends. I watched my mom from my earliest memory until she took her last breathe fall into the pattern of abuse. When I was 8 years old my mom chose to leave her abuser for the sake of me and my brother. But that didn’t stop him from coming back and making threats and eventually coming into our new home and killing her with my brother and I there. Watching it ends with us showed me a different perspective. It showed me that my mom tried to leave her Ryle for the sake of us, to try to end the pattern. Unfortunately she was unable to and we lost her. As a young adult now I’ve been in 2 relationships where there was violence and abuse and despite my fears I’ve been able to leave for my sake and the sake of my future kids. I know I deserve better, every women and man deserves better. Please don’t settle for a significant other that is abusive verbally or physically. You are worth so much more.

When I was about 4 or 5 I underwent some sexual trauma at the hands of a family member. I carry a lot of shame with me. No one in my family knows about it. I'm 21 years old now and I just now started telling my very close friends about it. Here's what happened. I was staying with my aunt for the weekend and she left her son (my cousin) to watch me. He was 12 or 13 at the time. After my aunt had left he invited his friend over (someone who is till a friend of the family and who I have to see every once in a while). We were in an upstairs room and we were all three sitting on the floor with the dog. I don't remember pieces of this probably because I was so young but also because I have spent a lot of time trying to block this specific memory out of my mind. I don't remember how this came up or why they felt like this would be funny but my cousin and his friend forced me to touch the dog... inappropriately. I was a young child with absolutely no understanding of any of this at all. I remember not wanting to and they pressured me into doing it. I remember them laughing. After that, the next thing I remember is that I was sitting alone in my Aunt's room and my cousin approached me and asked me to touch him. He said "please touch me" and he was holding the waistband of this pants away from himself and looking down into his pants. I remember saying no but I don't remember anything after that. I think that there might be more traumatic things that happened after that point but I do not remember at all and I don't know what to do with all of this... A lot of the time I wonder is this counts as sexual trauma...? I have a lot of difficulty because I have a feeling that my cousin was molested by my Aunt's partner and that might be why he displayed that sort of behavior. I have trouble feeling angry towards him for what happened because he was also a kid. It all leaves me feeling really uncomfortable and confused. I think the hardest part for me is what I don't remember. I do not know what happened at all and I wish that I did so I could figure out some sort of way to move on. From that point until recently, I pretended like everything is completely normal between me and my cousin. I carry so much shame about what happened that I find it really difficult to imagine myself every telling my family because I think it would destroy everyone. Does this mean that I'm a survivor of incest?