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In September I moved to Costa Rica for a few months, and in October happened to meet a really great guy here. We were just starting to date and it was going well, but I left to my home country Finland for Christmas and stayed almost 2 months. During this time I was out with two friends, drank too much and lost memory, and woke up with the other friend next to me naked in my bed.. I had thought of him as a good friend, although we had just met the summer before. He supported me when I had issues with a narcissistic ex, and I actually tried to help him get back with his wife which he did for a while. Even that night that we were out, I was trying to hook my friends up with other women. I had no will or intention to sleep with him.. So when I woke up like that I was shocked, I was worried, I felt guilty for not remembering and possibly hurting the guy in Costa Rica... The more I thought about it the more I realised if something had happened it was not with my consent because I never wanted that with him :( I was so worried and took a morning after pill, even though my 'friend' claims he didn't do anything. He would have 'felt it' he said.... And he was kind of joking about it :( He claimed we had been jealous of each other during the night and kissed many times. Which I just find strange because I wouldn't want that... and I remember nothing. Anyways I took the pill and even got a period around my exact cycle 15 days later... Now I'm back to Costa Rica to be with the guy who is actually so good to me and who I was really starting to like a lot... And few days ago find out that I am pregnant :( And the timing is exactly around that night... atleast the doctor says.. Seeming that something HAD happened after all made me feel so violated :( I was definitely in no condition to give consent.... this 'friend' has already 2 children from 2 different women.. I felt so terrible, I never wanted a child this way, I wanted it with the man I was dating :( And it is too late to have an abortion since it is illegal in Costa Rica, and now that I have already heard the heartbeat and seen the embryo in Ultra sound... I just couldn't :( And my new partner here is now 'thinking things over'.. obviously it's a shock and a lot :( But I am now dealing with a very possible break up, knowing my consent and body were violated by someone I thought of as a friend, facing single parenthood.. :( Has anyone had any similar experiences and could share me some advice on how to deal with the emotions? :(

I was born to two mentally unstable parents,with a history of domestic violence,neglect,sexual abuse,mental illness,and incest.My father was violent,angry unstable and used to make comments about my body and touch me,as well as hitting,verbal abuse,and emotional abuse,my mother was quiet and unavailable,just trying to look out and survive for herself,defending him,and distancing herself from me.My father's father began grooming me when I was a toddler leading to an intimate and secret inappropriate abuse for many years,it ruined me to live with it.his wife,my grandmother never interferred,never came to check when I was alone with him in other rooms,she said he did as he pleased and she dosen't get involved.I was very unhappy with life and began to suffer mentally at a young age,I struggled in school,did'nt get on with other kids,felt unloved and unwanted,my teen years came,my mother left my father,his parents took him in and did'nt see or invole themselves with me anymore,my grandad attempted to text and call but I ignored it,it eventually stopped,I felt weird and empty,I began to go on online chats where I came across lots of unsavory men who exploited and used me for sex,which was what I thought my worth was anyway,so I gave into the abusive demands and became stuck in this cycle for several years,meanwhile secondary school was awful when I was 14 a 17 yr old student lured me to an empty hall and attempted to assault me,I ran told a teacher and she laughed saying it was his way of hitting on me,he got away with it,by 13 I had began self harming and was very depressed,my life was pain and torture,after my parents split,life was different,I now had everything playing in my head instead of trying to survive day by day,the memories,the reality of everthing was so much ugliet in the light.I despised myself,thought I was better off dead,then everything would go away,at 17 I had 2 unsuccessful suicide attempts,each getting worse,the third should have killed me but it did'nt,by then I was devastated that I was still alive,my third attempt left me unable to walk with extreme body tremers and halluci ations,I had to learn to walk again,a painful event due to the muscle and nerve damage in my legs,phyciatrists and doctors saw I needed more direct intervention at this point and sent me to a phyciatric impatient unit,in another part of the country,when I was well enough to walk and be released from the hospital,i was skeptical and scared,but I felt the different the moment I entered the door,my life turned around from that point on,I did a college course,I got my own pet,I became determined to make a life for myself,to learn more about myself,I was and am worthy of life,it is my life now,we are warriors,we can be happy,we can survive,to hear others stories means everything to me,it reminds me I am not alone,it gives me strength and hope,it is empowering,I hope my story helps and reminds people that you are never too messed up,you are strong,and enjoy and find the happy things in life,we already know we can survive the rest

We were dating for over a year at the time. We hadn't seen each other in a long time, it must have been almost a month. My Godmother's father had passed away 1 week before we saw each other. He was like a grandfather to me, it felt like loosing my grandfather all over again. I went to visit him on a Saturday and the funeral was on the following Wednesday. When he asked for the meet up I specifically told him that I was emotionally not in a good spot and I was processing a lot. He insisted that it wasn't an issue and that he still wanted to see me. When I arrived he was nonchalant and distant like he always was. Didn't hug me or kiss me hello, he took me straight to his room. No one was home that day. We sat and watched a series on your laptop, we didn't really speak to each other. You ordered food and insisted on using my card to pay. When the food came you had ordered 3 pizza's1 for us and 2 for you for later. We ate in silence and watched the series. I tried to open up to you about how I was feeling and how I was feeling about the funeral, I was almost in tears and your brushed it off and said "it will be fine" that's what you always used to say. There was never any sympathy, remorse, understanding or care. You didn't even give me a hug or offer me a tissue. You got restless and started fidgeting. You paused the series and put the laptop away. You simply sat on your phone and didn't speak to me for 30 minutes. Then you got up and everything changed. You were being cold and distant as usually but this time it was different. You sounded angry, passive aggressive. You started commenting on how I wasn't being affectionate, that I didn't kiss you and that I was being too emotional. You started talking about not seeing me for a long time and how you needed some sort of release. You were upset that I never gave that to you and you said "if I knew you were still going to be like this, I would've never invited you over". I told you that I was emotionally not in a good space and that I was tired. Tired and drained and anxious. I told you all of those things. You said  " I need a release" I told you once again that I was emotional and tired and in no state for anything physical. You got onto of me and took of my shirt. I froze. I was in shock. I didn't move. You struggled to get my clothes off but you did none the less. You took off all your clothes. You tried to push yourself in me but I was dry and tight and scared. You carried on pushing until you got inside me. You did everything and anything that you wanted to me. I just remember the defining silence and how painful it was. It was so dry and tight yet you kept thrusting. I honestly don't remember the rest. I don't remember the positions you did. I just remember you pulling out and cumming down my leg. Yes you weren't wearing protection. I remember how the liquid was warm and how it dripped down my leg. You got up, got dressed and passed me some toilet paper. I went to the bathroom with my clothes and I had to wipe all of your cum off my leg. It was disgusting. I remember scrubbing my leg in that bathroom but it didn't help. When I finally had it in me to go back to the room, you were simply on your phone. You stayed like that for the rest of the day, on your phone and in silence The day I died, you lived.

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.

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.

The day I ran from my abuser, I felt an intense urge to turn the car around. My sister’s voice kept replaying through my head. “Catherine, keep your eyes on the road. Don’t look at your phone. Don’t stop.” For five years, I had been raped, beaten, brainwashed, stripped of my identity and isolated from my family and friends. I knew if I turned that car around, I wouldn’t survive. At first, I couldn’t do anything for myself. My sister had to remind me to brush my teeth, bathe and eat. My abuser had controlled everything, and I mean everything. From what and how much I ate to what I wore, how I spoke, and who I spoke to. I didn’t know how to live outside of him and his needs. For years, I had been operating in survival mode. Everything had centered around him, what he expected from me and what would set him off. I was constantly walking on eggshells. The day I escaped, he told me I was pregnant. The only birth control allowed was the pull-out method. Rape is a hard word for me, because I think of it as being physically held down. But he had psychological control over me. I had no agency or choice. I was to abide by his rules or there would be repercussions. Although pregnancy may have been physically impossible because my weight was around 90 pounds, I was still terrified. I was in the South. If I were pregnant, there would be little to no abortion access. Luckily, I was able to get the Plan B pill within 72 hours. In my mid-20s, I was diagnosed with HPV. My abuser had prohibited me from getting health insurance and health care. The domestic violence hotline gave me resources for health care in my sister’s area, a small town in Georgia. None of these resources would take me because I didn’t have health insurance. The only one who agreed to see me was the health department; they only tested for certain STDs and did not perform gynecological exams. Like many women who have been in my situation, I felt lost. I knew I would be going back home to New Orleans for the holidays. Fortunately, I was able to schedule an exam with Planned Parenthood. They were sensitive to my situation and provided me with information and options. Most importantly, the staff treated me like a person. Since I left, my life has gotten much better, but I’m still on edge. Daily, I have traumatic flashbacks and second-guess and dissect most things.. With holistic therapeutic modalities, I’m healing. The only time the police were called was for me to escape. I had told my abuser I was leaving. He held me hostage in a hotel room for a couple of hours to keep me from leaving. I was able to get out once the police arrived. A year and half after my escape, I called to look into pressing charges. The police had never written a report. There was only documentation of the phone call and the time they arrived and left. They told me to file my own report, which at the time of the incident I didn't know about. So, I filed my report. When I spoke to an investigator, he questioned me on why I was looking at filing charges over a year later. I told him that I had dealt with intense trauma where I couldn't even eat and bathe without being told to do so. He said that it was too late, I. didn't have enough evidence, and it would go no where. And when I called back to at least get the report I filed, the woman was dismissive. And they had NO REPORT. Why would I go through a system that enables, ridicules, and disempowers victims? I am still healing and getting back on my feet, and because of this treatment from the very department that is suppose to have my back, I have decided to put it to bed. For now, my focus is on speaking up and helping other survivors.

I didn't know what I was being asked to do. I was 6 years old. I didn't realize what had happened to me until recently. I tried to walk out of the room but I was manipulated into staying. He was my cousin. I didn't think he would use me. I didn't know what he did was wrong until about 1 year ago. It disgusts me to be around him. I have always felt for SA survivors, without knowing that I was one myself. I have taken the path of healing silently. Knowing my experience I know that there are children that are affected by this every day. I hope that by sharing my story, I can help young children know what is happening to them.

This is pretty hard to write, but I need advice. I was somewhere in between first and third grade when I was sa. I was really close to this one friend and all I really remember is being in their basement a few times and them touching me inappropriately. I don’t think I ever told them to stop though, so idk if this counts. I also told my old therapist, but they said they didn’t need to report it. I have a new one now and I’m not sure if I should tell them and If I’m just being over dramatic.

I grew up homeless and in foster care in two separate states and was trafficked for many years: I want to impress upon people that true equity begins with giving people the resources and space to share their lived experience. Redistributing power to the Survivors allows them to influence better evidence based practice forward, lets them know they are not alone, gives them places to heal, and the opportunity to take something negative and oftentimes, horrific: and shine a light on a new path for children who are currently struggling with their own victimization. Survivors have the expertise to provide solutions that work in real time to protect children.

Hi. I am now 20 years old. This happened when I was 4 and 8 years old. I was sexually assaulted by my baby sisters father when I was 4, I watched him force my other sister (2 years old) to go down on him / lick his penis. Me as well. My siblings and I have different fathers. I remember running away from him, climbing onto a bunk bed. He grabbed me, and walked me back to my mothers and his bedroom. He threw me onto the bed and used a white sock to lock the double doors. I was wearing cartoon underwear. My memory cuts off when he penetrates, but I feel physical pain when I try to think of it. No one believed me when I opened up after I was 8. When I was 8, I woke up with my grandmothers ex husbands hands in my pants. He groomed me for years. He taught me to ride a bike when I was younger. I told my mother right away, went to therapy and testified against him. He went to prison, but for only 4-5 years. My therapist was the first person I told about my sisters father. However my mother didn’t believe me, because there was no damage when they checked at 9 years old. She thought he was a good man, and I was just making it up. Even when my baby sister came out and said her dad had been hurting her. Easter of 2019, my baby sister called me. Her baby sister, 4 years old, was being sexually abused by her father. They have court coming up next year, and it breaks my heart. The father is no longer allowed around his children, thank god. But if someone believed us, maybe we could’ve prevented it. I still struggle with this today. My flashbacks and nightmares worsen in 2018, once I was in my own place and comfortable to start processing the trauma. In the past 5 months, my grandmothers ex husband kept coming into my job. I recognized him by the back of his head. I haven’t seen him since the court room. I hyperventilated and had to leave work multiple times, until my managers finally got a chance to tell him that him and his mother is not allowed there. He pretended like he didn’t recognize me when we confronted him, but the second time he came in we made eye contact and by his reaction on the security footage he knew me. His parole officer called me, asked for my address so if he came near my apartment or job, his ankle bracelet would alert him. I am very relieved. I hope one day, I’ll heal. I’ll be okay. But for now I’m taking baby steps.

I, I don’t quite know how to start this. I’m confused, scared, and don’t have anyone to confide in when it comes to, this type of stuff. I’ll start at the beginning I guess. A bit of background, my parents were never married, there was a custody battle going on until I was about 6 (lasted from when I was born until I was 6), and my step mom was in the picture, and my younger sister was born when I was 2. As a kid I was, fascinated for lack of better words, with private body parts and sexual acts. I have no recollection of how I learned of these things, and that’s what haunts me. I can remember being a young child, maybe 5, being infatuated with pregnancy, birth, sex, among other personal things of the sorts. It makes me nauseous just to think about it now. My dad used to watch the news & Two and a Half Men around me as a child, but that’s the only exposure I can recall when it came to sexual acts. I have a few memories of my dad spreading some sort of cream onto my vagina as a young child, and to this day I cannot tell whether or not it was not meant as a sexual act, and that perhaps I had a rash or something, or if it was meant as a sexual act. Either way that’s one of the most disgusting memories I have. As I grew up, maybe about 3-7 range, my curiosity and infatuation expanded, I would touch myself and actively seek out books that contained pregnancy, for example, some health books at my after school program. I also struggled with potty issues, such as constipation and other things. Private parts have been well, very private, for as long as I can remember. And this is where I have the most trouble. As a child, perhaps 5 years old with my 3 year old sister, or maybe I was 6 and she was 4, either way we were both young. We would play “house” and whatnot with our stuffed animals, and would often have our “husbands” and “kids” but we often acted out the pregnancies, which I suppose is to be expected of two young impressionable girls. Everything stayed with just our stuffed animals, but I have one horrid memory between her and I. All I remember is sitting under some covers in my bed- the fucking bed I’m laying on as I type this out- I had my underwear off, and she was under the covers as the “baby”. God I feel like I’m gonna puke typing this. She mentioned that it was hot, and I think I told her to stay down there. I can’t remember, I’ve tried to hard to forget this memory. I feel so guilty. I’m scared she remembers. I’m scared she hates me. I love my sister, she’s my absolute world and I would give my life to make sure she’s safe. I was a child. A child who I don’t know if I was raped or molested as. A child who was dealing with the ever changing custody battle. A child who slept in her mom and dads beds because she was scared to be alone. A girl who slept in her dads bed until she was 11, and slept in her moms bed until she was 14. A girl whose scared of her past and worried of her future. I don’t know what to do, I feel so bad knowing that I may have sexually manipulated my younger sister and another childhood friend. I didn’t know that was wrong as a kid, I know it’s wrong now and I hate myself. I hate myself for not knowing if I was sexually abused as a kid, and I hate my child self for doing those things. I can’t look at pictures of myself as a child, only seeing her as a monster who was possibly molested/raped and who took her own confused and scared feelings out on two people around her. I don’t know what to do anymore, I just live with this horrid knowledge and accept the fact that it happened, and that it sits, simmering in my chest for years and years.

I was raped by my uncle when I was 11 years old. Most of my family didn't believe me. That was really painful and prevented me from getting the support and help I needed at the time. I developed an eating disorder and started self-harming as a trauma response. I had no other way of coping. I wish I had known more about SA when I was younger. Not to prevent it because I believe that it's the perpetrator that makes the choice to harm. But to understand that it wasn't my fault, that I was a victim and to report it when I still had time.

I work with survivors of sexual violence as a part of my job...and it can be really difficult to engage in my own healing while I am constantly hearing the trauma of others. Most days are fulfilling. It is special to connect with folks who have experienced something similar to what you have...but it can also be uniquely isolating. I long for the community of survivors I often refer my clients to, but for some reason I feel a barrier to engaging in these services myself. "Too many people know me there," I rationalize...would they have concerns about me working with survivors if they knew I was a survivor myself? I was sexually assaulted by a massage therapist....something that I have very rarely said out loud but still think about nearly every day. I can still feel his sweat dripping onto my body...and have a visceral reaction to even raindrops falling on my bare skin. God I hate that guy...I don't even know where he is now, but I always wonder if what I did was enough. Did his boss take my accusation seriously? Why did I insist that I not be contacted again? I really wish I knew the outcome of my complaint... Despite this unknowing, I really feel like I have came a long way. The anger is still there yes, but my hatred for myself has slowly been materializing. Day by day things get easier, as I try to find spaces that make me feel seen and find people who understand why I do what I do. I hope I can do enough to make this world a little easier for those, like me, who often feel like they are suffering in silence. But I also hope I can rest. And love. And feel peace. Because now I realize I deserve that too.

At the age of 7, I was sexually abused by my school bus driver on my way home from school. As I grew older, I realized that I didn't remember most of the things correctly, and even forgot some parts. I didn't get psychological support from a professional and I grew up as a child who was very sensitive to physical touch. I had thoughts of self-harm many times when I was younger, but I never could. I'm now 19 years old and traveling the world while studying abroad. I love myself, my friends and my family. As someone who grew up thinking that I was never fully understood, I would like to remind you that you are not alone and that this life is worth living by finding the good in you, no matter how much negative trauma you have experienced. Whoever reads this has clicked on this page for a reason, first of all, love yourself and remember that I am always there for you.

i made a vow to myself that i would prove my mother wrong—that i am none of the things she said, and that one day i would become a successful person and let her know that i made it despite her. i refused to give any of the people who did me harm any power over me. being defeated, miserable, or staying in a state of depression would be allowing them to win. i could not give them a reason to think they had an effect on me. i wanted to be the best version of myself and to empower other people when the time presented itself. i now have my power back. i am no longer ashamed of what happened to me. i am now comfortable in my own body. this body has been through a lot, but now i look at it as armor. i may have been wounded. i may have some scars, but they are only reminders of what i survived. i still have my soul, and my mind is intact. when i look at myself in the mirror all i can do is smile and admire who i am, and how far i've come. i won. i won because i did not allow those people to rob my soul. i did not let them steal my chance at love, or of being the best person i can. instead i became a healer, a warrior, a lover, a leader, and a proud mother. i am who i am because god loved me, and i learned how to love myself. and when everyone thought i was defeated… i rose up. survivor

I was abused by my mother. She was strict with me, hitting me, telling me I was stupid and wishing I'd never been born. I felt like I didn't deserve to live. My mother wasn't just a scary person; she was also kind, especially to my younger brother Name. I met my current husband at University, got married, and had a child. I was overcome with anxiety that I might do the same to my child as my mother, and I cried and complained to my husband many times. My husband recommended that I see a counselor, and I'm currently receiving counseling. I always thought my mother was strict because of my fault, but now I realize that I'm not the only cause. By talking about the things my mother said and did to me that I'd kept hidden, I feel like I've lightened the burden I felt. I'm sharing this here again, hoping that it will bring some comfort. Thank you for reading.

Hi all. My story with abuse begins 2 years ago. My assaulters are my ex boyfriend and his cousin. When I first met my ex boyfriend I was a teenager and had never been in a relationship or done anything beyond just kissing someone. Very inexperienced. Conversations regarding relationships and intimacy were unheard of in my family, so I didn’t know anything about what was normal or not. A few months after I met my (now ex) boyfriend, he asked me to have a threesome with him and his “close friend.” This was maybe a week after the first time we had sex together. He told me that the friend was my age and was interested in me. I told him that made me very uncomfortable and I am not interested. He seemed to move on so I didn’t think any more about it. At this point he seemed like a very kind, understanding guy. Fast forward another month and it’s New Years Eve. Boyfriend came to my house (I lived on my own) and asked if he could bring some friends. No problem, sounds fun! He shows up with one friend (that I’ve never met) and says the rest cancelled last minute. I continued thinking it was innocent and the night would go well. We were all drinking and snacking and watching movies together, which was fun for me! It wasn’t long before I realized that they kept passing me shots and I was almost black out drunk. Completely incoherent which was not my intention. I don’t remember much between now and waking up, other than the worst part of the night. I vividly remember laying on my bed, pretty much unable to move or talk I was so out of it, and my boyfriend coming in and having sex with me. Then his friend walked in and did the same. I couldn’t move or speak or even fully comprehend what happened, but I know I never said okay to this. I would have never said yes to this no matter how much alcohol is involved. I woke up the next morning and had no clue what to do other than just continue on. I didn’t remember enough or have the guts to say anything. They left that morning like nothing happened. My (now ex) boyfriend turned out to be a narcissistic sociopath. I was I was exaggerating or joking. He made me believe I agreed to that and had fun. Not true. Almost a year later that friend reached out to me and clued me in on the situation (I think he felt guilty). He told me that my ex told him that I was his friends with benefits and was excited about this “threesome” idea. We were dating, or so I thought. I also found out that my ex set up the situation so this friend could lose his virginity. And the next fun bit of info, this “friend” is my ex’s COUSIN. I lapsed in sanity apparently and refused to believe this and continued dating “the love of my life.” The sexual, mental, emotional, and financial abuse continued with my ex for 2 whole years before I reached my breaking point. The trauma I’m having to work through now is something I wouldn’t wish on the worst soul on the planet. Please learn from my mistakes and DO NOT ignore red flags. They present themselves for very important reasons. Listen to them.

I must have been six or seven. For some reason being 5 sticks in my mind. I know I was young because my brother is 5 years younger than I am, and he was still sleeping in a crib. I remember a game and being lured to that crib in a nursery on the second floor in the back of the house, off another bedroom. Placed in it, with my Uncle's face hovering above me. Bewilderment and fear. Then nothing. No memory. Just darkness and a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach whenever I saw him, and even now when I think of him. He has been dead 16 years. I last saw him at another Uncle's funeral. I was pregnant with my daughter, and I had told no one yet. I gave him my back and refused to speak to him. I needed to protect my daughter, and finally myself from even having to be civil to him. A cost to survivors is being made complicit with civility toward our molesters.