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I was used by my brother who has grown up a lot but I still carry scars. My brother is four years older than me and when I was going from elementary school to Junior high, that summer, he made me think that girls in junior high need to know how to give oral to boys. First he did oral to me to show me it was not a big deal. I thought it was a huge deal. But I did it and he got me trained and had me keep it a secret, except from by best friend. He had his friend over when I had a sleepover one night and had her do it to his friend. Then they would have us do contests where they wear blindfolds. At least I was not alone then. It changed me even though seventh grade itself had nothing to do with anything like that. It was a lie to get pleasure from me. My brother still had me doing it at home. And sometimes he would do it to me and I did climax. So I had this weird secret sex life and felt really messed up about it. Then in eight grade I had my first real boyfriend. My parents are so strict, even though they both worked and left me alone with my brother. To go to the movies with my boyfriend they made sure it was with a group and took me there and waited outside the theater. Well one time when we went to see Snow White and the Huntsman my same BFF and me went through with our plan to go down on our guys in the last row of the theater and we did it. It was only a month later I started having sex with him which never would have happened if not for what my brother had done. We snuck out from her place during a sleepover and met the boys outside and went to the nearby park and did it in the grass. That was my virginity. The really bad event, where my life got knocked off the tracks, is when we tried it from my house, sneaking out the window and going just out farther into my big back yard that opened into nothing but the side of a big hill and my dad caught us. It was awful. The world ended. I was treated like a huge betrayer and almost all my privileges were revoked and essentially I was grounded without any end date. And still by brother would make me do the oral. I was broken hearted because I was not allowed to have my boyfriend to the point my parents made me go to the school and talk to the principal and vice principal and they made sure I would not have any chance to ever see him alone. And my brother kept creeping in at night sometimes or when we were left alone expecting me to do what he had trained me to be used to. The next really bad part was two months into my new restricted life. My brother started doing his oral on me one afternoon after school and decided to take it farther and got up and started kissing me and had sex with me. I was in the moment and did not do anything to stop him and even participated. No condom. It was an afternoon when my parents were away and so we did not have to keep quiet or worry and he did it so much longer than my few times with my boyfriend, because he was older and knew more from being with other girls that I got sore for my first time and got a urine infection. I did not eat my dinner that night and pretended to be sick and cried myself to sleep. My brother really wanted to do it again, telling me it was the best sex he ever had, but I refused and one thing I could say for him back then was at least he was not a rapist. Even though he pressured me he never tried to force himself inside me. Four months after I had lost my incest virginity the school year ended and he graduated. I went to high school and he moved out to live in college dorms 120 miles from our home town. Public school was over for me, as was planned as soon as my dad caught me on the hill. I went to an all girl’s Catholic high school. My dad had to drive me a half hour every morning and my mom picked me up from my whole first year. Then they got me a car so I could drive myself but the mileage and my times were closely monitored. I did not have an intercourse throughout high school but seven times total I did oral on my brother during summer and winter breaks when we were both at home. That was the end of incest in my life. I went to college in Atlanta but not the same one as my brother. I rebelled against my parents and even though they tried to keep control, as a legal adult I did not let them. Turmoil and sadness lasted months until they finally got it. I separated from them financial and worked and took out student loans. I was very promiscuous in college. I drank, partied and used drugs recreationally and had several guys I was seeing on and off for mostly sex. That was my life and I thought I enjoyed it at the time. I became stronger and more assertive and when my brother first hinted during a Thanksgiving meeting at our relative’s house that we go for a drive I told him I never wanted to touch him again in such a powerful way that he knew I was off limits and even seemed like the scared one in our relationship. I didn’t enroll in classes for two nonconsecutive semester just because my party life was so much more fun. I traveled on and off. Sometimes with friends, sometimes with men, usually older, who invited me to exotic places. The Maldives, Portugal, The Virgin Islands. I let my married boss use me for a weekend in Key West. I had an affair with my Spanish teacher, who only took me as far as Panama City, Florida. So many risky one night stands. My identity was that I was not looking for anything permanent, a child of the universe. While I was used as a plaything so many times and believed I liked the game. I would tell them things about wanting to make their dick happy and stuff that would inflate their ego. I’m sure there are so many text messages out there that they saved about the size of their D fitting in my little P, about being a little girl wanting them to teach me to be woman and other depraved fantasies I thought they wanted to hear. Obviously directly related to what my brother did to me. I am almost positive I avoided being raped more than once by going with the flow when I did not expect to or probably want to. It may be good that some of them I probably don’t remember. Once was at one of the few fraternity parties I ever went to. It was three guys, not my usual style. Once was with my roommate's father who was visiting her at our rented house and found his way to my bed in the early morning. One of the more extreme traumatic events was with a police officer who pulled me over for driving when I had been drinking but was under the legal limit on his breathalyzer. He followed me home, like a mile away, “for my safety” and even followed me inside. I was in an apartment then and I thought my roomate was home and told him so. But when she wasn’t there he said I lied to a police officer and he had to do a more thorough search if I wanted to avoid being arrested. He was not attractive or nice. He had a gun thought he never took it out. You can guess what happened. I finally shed that wild life during my second to last semester when I saw the end of college coming. My G.P.A was 3.3. and my major was philosophy and it dawned on me that the future was not bright in terms of what I would do or how I would pay back my loans. I buckled down and decided to change. I had an offer to strip and ‘make a lot of money’ but thankfully not only did never considered myself like that, but when I went with a friend for her interview and they tried to recruit me they were so sleazy we both ran out of there disgusted. I reevaluated my whole life. I considered ending it, but some survival mechanism did not allow it. I did not want to be the person I had been for a few years. I looked ahead and saw it was not sustainable as I aged and had no real love or stability. I quit serving when I got an offer to work in a legal office. I slept with the manager who hired me as a receptionist but it was a drop in the bucket of things to be shameful of. He was the last one like that. I got all A’s and graduated cum laude. I got promoted in the firm mostly by title but used it to spring away and take a lower paying job in a nonprofit law firm where I had not slept with anyone. There I did sleep with a lawyer but I am married to him still and my life is back together. I love him and he loves me. He does not know the extent of my sluttiness in college or about my brother and I doubt he ever will. That darkness is fading and it is not part of my life now. It is not who I am. As for my brother, he has a family now and we are on good terms. We did talk about it once while I was studying like crazy my senior year, although it was not a big deep talk. I did mention that he used me, he apologized, we hugged, and that was it. Not the cathartic confrontation some might expect. My catharsis is my husband, and my life now that I am grateful for. We adopted two toddler brothers and I am their mom. Maybe we’ll have one of our own. Maybe we’ll adopt again. I was used and introduced to sex too young and early and it strained my relationship with my parents for a long time and I’ll never get that back. It derailed my life. I was set adrift for a while but God or the universe or random luck finally put me in a good place. Everything that happened led me what I have now. I can’t say I never contemplated suicide in darker times. But like in the move Cast Away, if I may quote, “I stayed alive. I kept breathing. And one day my logic was proven all wrong because the tide came in, and gave me a sail. And now, here I am.” Thousands of hours spent studying philosophy and I quote a movie that was not even based on a book. But it’s perfect.

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

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

My name is Survivor and when I was around age 3, my father started raping me. My mother helped hold me down. He was raping her, and she offered me up in her place. This continued until age 23, maybe 24, shortly before my wedding. By the time I was 6, he was raping other members of my family too. He’d come into my room at night and would throw my nightgown up into the headboard and then I’d have to wait my turn in fear and naked shame while others were raped. We had a large waterbed and I still remember the bed rolling up and down, up, and down, up, and down like on a boat. Once done, he wiped me down roughly with a red shop rag he used in cleaning the garage. It allowed him to keep the rag around to smell it and hold it close with no one questioning why it was so dirty with red stains. Most of the time, my dad was friendly and polite. But once he turned into the monster no one did anything to stop him. He never did these things when he was nice. Only when he was the monster. But he used the nice times to make it easier to attack. He would lull you into a false sense of safety and peace which really made you question your intuition and gut instincts that this was a bad man. This made it easier for him to sexually assault other children and adults. As I got older, my parents controlled the narrative of our lives, every aspect was carefully controlled. Like my mom knowing how to force miscarriages. The first abortion forced on me was when I was 15. I don’t know how I managed to make it to adulthood. I continue to remember more and more of the abuse by other family and church members. And other things my dad did within the church where he was pastor and then later deacon. But I still can’t talk about those memories. I think my dad felt like anything he did was inevitable, therefore, never his fault because he couldn’t control himself and when it happened God would forgive him, so it was all right. I know this because I overheard him grooming another family member to do the same things when he was 11 years old. Males in our family were groomed to be abusers too. I was groomed too. To always be the abused. Forced to keep silent, I learned quickly what happens to people who stand up to my dad. They die or get assaulted. As you can imagine, I had terrible anxiety growing up about being sexually assaulted and worked hard to fade into the background. I thought that might help. I thought it mattered what I wore, color of my hair, how much I weighed. It’s taken years and it will probably continue to take years to unlearn the lies I was taught. The worry made me constantly ill with one thing after another-- I got cancer when I was 32 and before that incapacitating vertigo and motion sickness. My parents met while working down in Texas for an independent fundamental Baptist preacher. Lester Roloff—an Independent Fundamental Baptist preacher who opened homes across the country for “troubled” children, teens, and adults. He liked to say he was saving dope fiends, whores, and hippies. I believe many of the children in the homes had already experienced abuse growing up and Lester Roloff homes should have been a safe place to heal. Instead, the kids met caretakers like my parents. My mom was in a charge of the 16 and older home and my dad flew around the country raising money and preaching the party line: men were akin to gods and women were lower than dirt—their only worth was in being a virgin and then baby factories once married. Very masochistic and minimizing of abuse of any kind, my parents ate up the evil rhetoric being preached from the pulpit My parents eventually took their brand of abuse from Lester Roloff’s out into the churches and communities where we lived-from Texas to Washington and eventually into Alaska. He disappeared in a plane over the waters near Anchorage in 2006. The events surrounding his disappearance were always very suspect but intense pressure from my family kept me quiet. Every day for almost three years straight, a family member called and reminded me talking about “our family issues” was causing generational sin to 4 generations. The pressure to keep quiet and do what my family told me to do was so significant I would have rather died than disappoint them. It wasn’t until I set out to heal from all the trauma, that I found out my dad faked his death. I had always been told since he was gone, there was nothing to be done for what I experienced growing up. But let me tell you, knowing he’s still out there perpetrating on other children and men and women really compelled me to come forward. I finally felt free to start talking. Getting past the pressure to stay silent was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Harder, even, than fighting cancer. I have spent many years in intensive CBT, EMDR and Polyvagal therapy learning how to process my wounds in a healthy way. I had pushed for criminal and civil suits against my perpetrators but the Texas statute of limitations don’t allow for justice to be done. So now, I spend my time now speaking on panels, podcasts, and community platforms about the intersections of trauma, faith, and advocacy. One of the biggest honors of my life has been sharing my story and advocating for Trey’s Law on the Texas Senate floor in Spring 2025. Forcing a sexual assault victim to keep quiet is what allowed people like my parents to continue their mistreatment for so many years. I will do what I can to make sure justice isn’t minimized by NDAs and Statute of Limitations. My efforts connect me with survivors, true crime audiences, mental health communities, and faith groups seeking to understand and confront abuse. I invest my time in mentoring survivors, creating resources for healing, and building digital tools to expand access to supportive materials. Because living a life whole and healthy is what I really want for me, all the victims and their families. We make our own opportunities to heal.

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

Praying for forgiveness of the other person and learning to not have a grudge against the perpetrator.

It was 21 years ago and I have never told anyone. I lived with my first roommate, who I knew had some questionable friends. Nevertheless, I trusted her and our new, cute, little home. Until one night she had friends over. I didn't drink and wasn't into hard drugs. We had food, everyone else was drinking and having a good time. I don't remember anything after that, until I woke up in the middle of the night with a man, one of her 'friends', on top of me. He was inside of me as I laid on the middle of the floor. I could not move, I could not speak. It wasn't a flight, fight or freeze, I had been drugged and could not move a single part of my body. I couldn't even move my arms to push him away. And when my roommates MOTHER walked into our new home, into the dark room, in the middle of the night, she saw what was happening. All I could do was open my eyes wide with fear, but she turned around and walked out without a word and left him to finish what he started. He laughed when she walked away. By the time I had any control of my body, he was gone, I was alone and naked on the living room floor of my first place, where every person stepped over me as they filed out in the morning. It was the morning joke...what and who did she do. No one asked if I was ok that morning. No one ever did. It has been 21 years and I still don't know the name of the man who raped me that night, but I will always remember his face.

My mother had a lot of mental health issues and still does. I haven't had any contact with her for two years. Beginning when I was 3 or 4 up until I was 10 or 12, she would regularly say she had to "check your bottom." She would have me strip, lay down on a towel with my knee up and legs spread, and she would touch me. I can still feel her fingers on me and inside of my vagina, scraping with her fingernails: I can feel this on a visceral level as I type this. She would always take my temperature rectally. And then clean me with cotton balls and cotton swabs. I don't know why she stopped and I don't know why she did what she did. For years I struggled with this and with memories of her touching me. I have spent most of my adult life dealing with anxiety, trust issues, sexual dysfunction, and shame. I finally told my therapist a few years ago and it was like a weight was lifted. I still feel alone and unable to talk about this with people. It doesn't seem like anyone talks about or has much research on maternal sexual abuse especially towards female children. It has affected my sex life, my body image, and my ability to trust other people. I am starting up with a new therapist soon and I know this is something I want to, that I need to talk about but it is stirring up so much anxiety. For other daughters out there, you are not alone. Mothers do this and likely with a higher frequency than we'll ever know.

Name: Triumph Over Tragedy City, GA AIDS survivor and motivational speaker Name has a profound story that heals hearts. As a screenwriter, playwright, poet, Gospel songwriter, and author, she crafts riveting truths about love, life, and relationships, mirroring her trials. Name has faced abuse, addiction, domestic violence, suicide, and sexual assault. At the age of 21, Name was sexually assaulted by a stranger, and ten years later, she was date assaulted by two men she was dating, one of them being one of the assaulters. Despite these hardships, she committed her life to God, becoming celibate in 2000. Diagnosed with HIV in 2010 and progressing to AIDS in 2013, she defied the odds, with her AIDS status having been healed since 2014. Her films, available on Amazon Prime, and her stage play, performed in City, showcase her resilience. Name continues to inspire through her faith, therapy, and the support of her daughters. Follow Name on Instagram and Facebook for more of her inspiring journey. Name is a multitalented speaker, writer, and inventor featured in movies, plays, books, and online articles. Her films feature Hollywood talents such as Robin Givens and Paula Jai Parker. Learn more at [Name's website] (Link).

I am trying to leave this DV relationship, but it's complicated. He lives with me; he uses my phone and car because he doesn't have neither. I don't want to get the police involved nor do I want to kick him out, 1. he will just be outside my apartment unit and 2. defamation of my character - for some reason everyone believes him and don't see any wrong by him but he sure can make someone look terrible. He is leeching on me. I feel like I'm being suffocated by a hurt boy who have been wounded and traumatized all his life and he is using me as an energy bank to cure his wounds and to cater to his needs. I currently have a cold and he hasn't taken care of me or even asked how I am doing. From the many times I haven't felt well, he would argue with me. I feel so alone and feel like I can't make any plans until he can get a phone and car. Friends say call the police, but I really don't want to, I don't want him to destroy my reputation. My therapist said that if my reputation is the only reason I am putting up with him then I shouldn't worry about my reputation. I understand where my friends and therapist are coming from, but I really don't want that to happen to me, I have seen what he did to his baby mother and it just been a shit show. Am I wrong to want a calm and safest way out?

After seeing 'It Ends With Us', I felt I wanted to share my story. I saw this movie alone for the first watch, brought my Atlas to the second, and my bestfriend to the third. Watching it left me feeling empowered to anonymously share my story of abuse and violence. The film and the book brought back so many raw emotions, ones that I still struggle with today. My story started when I was 16 years old and I was with my first 'love', everything was OK in the beginning - but suddenly everything changed. I was constantly told how worthless I was, I got pushed down his stairs - but I wouldn't leave - and I didn't know why. He was controlling and did not like other people talking to me, going to extreme lengths to stop this from happening, and making sure my friends did not see me - people who he saw as a threat. I ended up in the hospital because of him, where he broke my hand. He got that mad at me once, we were in his car and just before I could shut the door and put on my seat belt, he started driving recklessly to scare me. What scared me more was when I was sleeping and I felt his hands around my throat - with no explanation. There were many times that I would say stop and he would carry on because he told me he was in control. I had cigarettes put out on me -multiple times, and was told that I was disgusting and looked like a sl*t, even telling me I was 'fat' - which led to further health issues. When I ended up with a bruise, my friend who is now my Atlas noticed - we worked together. I confined in him, and he was the first person to properly listen to me, and let me share my experiences. Throughout all this, it brought me overwhelming anxiety and depression and even the lengths of having to have therapy because to me it was a nightmare even when it was over, and reported multiple times. My parents never understood, asking me why I didn't just leave, telling me I must've wanted it to carry on. I didn't. I'm nearly 10 years later now, with my Atlas of 5 years, feeling happier and in a better place physically and mentally - I'm still healing. This movie brought me to tears and I related so much to Lily Bloom - some of it felt like my experiences - but the film also brought me a type of feeling of freedom and happiness. Thank you for letting me share my story. ❤️

This year I managed to talk out loud for the first time about what happened to me as a "something", I always knew it but I kept it in the back of my head without giving it much thought because I knew if I did it was going to hurt, something in me knew it was wrong. When I was about 5/6 years old I had a friend a year or two older than me, I don't know how or when it started or why I "agreed", no matter how hard I try to remember I can't. This girl touched me and I touched her etc, I don't remember resisting or refusing and that makes it worse, I even think I liked it. Since then and as I grew older (similar situations happened to me at the hands of other girls) I began to feel shame and regret, in some ways it makes me feel dirty, as if I had never had innocence. Now I have a complicated relationship with sexuality, it hurts and makes me uncomfortable, I also can't feel good about myself, I feel like I'm guilty of this.

I have been married for 14 years. Within this last year I have come to realize that my marriage is not "normal". I was told early on, by my husband, that he was a narcissist. I quickly dismissed him and said he was nothing like that. Now... Idk. He is very controlling, but we have no sex life. I have to ask to be intimate and 99% of the time the answer is no. This is the confusing to me. I thought narcissist liked sex. As soon as we were married the sex stopped. I know I am in an unhealthy relationship, but I am just now realizing this. For 14 years this has been my life and I just accepted it. Now I am confused and scared of what the future will be. I am so devoted to him. I have been trained to be this person and I don't know who I am outside of it.

Hello, my name is Name and this is my story... The abuse was rather physical, starting at a young age, as early as I can remember. EMDR has taken me back to memories around two-years-old where my dad was physical, large, and just scary. While he was a very abusive man physically, this is about what he did to me starting at 13. The sexual abuse started off simple when I was just a young woman, but it progressed to beyond a living nightmare. This man had not only asked me to marry him and be his wife over three times, he also didn't let me leave after the age of 18 when I tried to move out. The abuse was more than just inappropriate touches, he made me share a room with him after I turned 16, and I felt life was over then. When he started to make me sleep in his room, he then had full access to me and didn't have any boundaries - at all. Many days and nights I was stuck at the house for him because he would let others in the family go out and explore life, while I was grounded so he could keep an eye on me. I was not allowed to talk to boys my age, and if I did, it would make him jealous and angry. I had a constant phone check and had to prove where every text message went. I won't go into the detail of the things he did, but he did everything to me that a man should only do with his wife, not his daughter. I was very scared of this man as he spent every moment watching me and what I did. He even threatened to end both of our lives if I didn't comply, which is something all survivors feel or go through. When I turned 18, I left that night and walked from City, State, to the airport in City, State 2 in middle of the night. I was desperate to get out, and he wasn't going to let me go. When I arrived at the airport and started begging for money, shortly into the morning, I turned around, and there he was. Walking up to me, taking me back to the car. I was too scared to scream out. He was mad at me, and took me back to our home in Citywhere he locked me in his room for 2 weeks where I wasn't allowed to talk to family members, my phone was taken away, and food was served to me. At 19, I tried again. I begged my mom for help and she took me to the City Greyhound bus station and bought me a ticket. She told me to lay low and be careful and sent me off with a wifi capable phone. After 32 hours of travel on the bus, I got a call from my mom stating my dad found out and he was on his way. When the bus pulled into the City, State 3 station, he was there, again, to take me back. I tried to fight this time, after he broke a promise. He told me he wanted to make sure I was safe and promised to go take me to my grandparents. Tired, hungry and needing the ride, I believed him. Instead of going North, he started driving south. I started screaming and he turned up the music, eventually I passed out due to exhaustion and woke up back in NM. I finally escaped at 21 when we moved to TN and a friend, I met out there understood what I was going through. He helped sneak me out of that house one day, and I left with nothing. My father found out where I was again and came to kidnap me again. This time, cops were called, and I went in for protection. My father didn't let me take a single article of clothing at that time when he knew I was officially out of his hands. For the next few years, I didn't know how to navigate life or around my family. I held my story in, carrying shame and guilt for things that were out of my control. I wanted a family, so I tried to pretend things didn't happen and in 2015 I moved back to UT to be around my family again. When I did this, I couldn't shake the feeling of discomfort and ick. I eventually met a boy who let me move in (because I was broke and living with my family wasn't working) and started to help me out. We ended up dating and becoming a relationship and having a little boy. In this time frame, I started making boundaries with my family and telling them who my father was, no one believed me. In 2020 I woke up one day, it was national siblings' day, and I was feeling hurt. I was sad they all took his side and that my 5 brothers, mother, and little sister all believed him over me and called me really bad names. I posted on TikTok about my story, and it started to blow up as many others started to feel a similar way or went through similar things. This was the start of my healing journey. I said, I don't have to feel shame for my past, and I can take control of who I am today. The past doesn't have to define you, but who you are can be up to you. While it was and still is hard correcting bad or unwanted habits, I am grateful for who I am now because of the pain I've been through. Because of the suffering I endeared for the first 21 years of my life, it has made the 32-year-old woman bright and positive. I have spent years in therapy with EMDR, ART, Mindfulness, breathwork, and many other courses through the years have gotten me to the warrior I am today. I take pride in my story, and I own it. I can't change what I have been through, but I can make the changes to better my future and be a better mom for my son. After seeing my mother take the abuse from my father, I told myself I would never be like her. After 10 years of living with my child's father, I have become stronger and recognized the signs of domestic abuse that I too, was going through. After years of triggers, and realizing he is life my father, I gained the strength to go off like I needed. I am now a single mother who loves her son, works with a large corporation in their Behavioral Health division, and creating my own business pathways to help other survivors thrive. I know the healing journey is hard, and it can be hard to start, but you got this. We all do!

My name is Name. I was born in a town called Location, the capital headquarters of District, located in the Northern part of Sierra Leone. My country was engaged in a brutal civil war (1991-2002), with all manner of atrocities committed against people and property. Sadly, I lost both parents during the war due to the lack of access to medical supplies at that time of the war. I was born into a very strict, loving, and religious family that practices the faith of Islam. We were financially poor, but rich in tradition, cultural value, respect, and a strong support network, whatever that means. My Father was a chief Imam and a farmer, and my mother was a housewife who supported my dad with the farming. I am one of the youngest of 26 children. My first name was given to me after dad was strictly told to name me either Name if I was a girl or Name 2 if I was a boy. He was cautioned that had this name followed instructions, I would have died. The second name was acquired through traditional belief that since my mum had lost seven children from minor illness or sudden death, if I were thrown into a dustbin after my mother gave birth to me, to appear that I was found for her to raise, then I would survive. The name for a dustbin in our native language is ‘Nyama’, meaning dirty. My experience of Africa at that time was a place where the voices of women and girls were often marginalised. That said, even at that young age, I always believed that everyone’s voice was equally important and should be considered and respected. This was fundamental to how we felt valued and appreciated in society, enabling us to give our very best. Yet, my first trauma happened at the age of 12, when I was subjected to the horrendous experience of Female Genital Mutilation (FGM), which is the intentional removal of female genital organs for non-medical reasons. This occurred not once, but twice. One early December morning, I was tied down. An older woman from within my family circle wrapped her legs around me to stop me from escaping. I was placed on the cold gravel floor of the wash yard. The whole process was so quick that by the time you were on the floor, the cut was done. This barbarous act was performed with an unsterilised pen knife, on me and every other girl who had no say in the matter. I remember it vividly. There were eight of us, and I was the first to be circumcised. This experience left me with an infection, unbearable pain and a deep sense of disconnection from my body. I had no idea how to express what I was feeling, or who to talk to about it. After surviving the pain of the first incident, I was called by one of my aunties to bring some water to the washing yard again. There, I saw an image of the lady who inflicted the first trauma on me, waiting to have it done again. The reason for having to redo it was that she was spiritually possessed at the time of the first incident, which led to a poor job. Since I was the first one to be circumcised, I was the only one who had to have it done twice. I was pinned down again against my will, and I remember crying a lot and being extremely upset, as I knew based on my previous experience what was going to happen. I was extremely scared. I knew something had been taken away from me, something that would harm my life. However, I was unable to process, analyse, and determine the impact, as there were no spaces allocated for reflection and processing. It was difficult, not having a safe space to discuss the negative experience of FGM, when the occasion is seen as a positive and significant milestone as a woman. At the time, everyone around me, including some of the victims, was celebrating and appeared overwhelmed with joy at having been cut. They had little regard for the overall impact it had on me. This whole experience left me mute. While healing from the second mutilation, it felt like my tongue had also been removed, because it was seen as bad luck to talk negatively about it. Therefore, everybody kept quiet and moved on with their lives, even for those who were severely affected. The next time I had the opportunity and platform to safely talk about my FGM experience was 25 years later. In 1991, when the Sierra Leone civil war began, my life was again flipped upside down. As a child, the reports of political unrest sounded like something occurring in a world far away from us. It sounded like something for the politician, not us farmers, to be worried about. What felt like a story became real life when rebels attacked my hometown in 1994. They left a devastating legacy on our close-knit community. There was a high death count and destruction of properties, including historical landmarks. We called it ‘the first attack that some of us survived’, and soon enough, death in every form, destruction and the sounds of guns became familiar. At this point, the war had extended from the Southern region of Sierra Leone (where it initially started) to the Northern region, with frequent attacks on the towns and villages in my district. The government seemed to have no control in resolving the situation, and instead, the violence was escalating like a wildfire. Children should not have to experience this level of carnage and destruction. No one should. But there I was, a child in all of that chaos, with no protection from family or the state. Having experienced frequent attacks in my hometown (Location), I decided to travel to Makeni (the headquarters of the Northern region), where they had military barracks. I travelled with my little nephew as we were the only family members still together at this stage as some of our family members were dead and some were displaced. The reason for going was the potential hope of having protection from the military, despite the risk involved. Although I was only 13 years old at the time,I knew there were no other options available. I found myself as a child living in constant fear of being tortured or dead within the next hour or so. I had no idea when my time would come. That feeling of knowing death could be just around the corner is something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. The second trauma (which I thought was the first trauma due to the severity of the impact) occurred when I was 14 years old. The rebels attacked Makeni, and I was hospitalised for Malaria during the second week of December in 1998. Due to the rumours and panic of the rebels’ intention, I was discharged from the hospital to my brother (who was living in Makeni at that time) and nephew so that we could escape together in case of an attack. Before I came home, my nephew had already escaped with some neighbours for safety, and my brother was searching for me. We finally found each other, but it was too late to run away as the rebels were already in the town. The Christmas period of 1998 was like no other I had ever experienced. I was captured by the rebels, who found me hiding inside a toilet seat. I was hit, kicked and dragged to the neighbouring house where the first set of raping took place. I remember that the first man to rape was called Perpetrator Name (he was part of a group of five men). I was raped with a gun in my mouth in case I decided to shout for help. At the start of this brutal gang rape, I prayed for the sky to send me an angel to disappear with me. Since that wasn’t possible, and I did not want to feel any pain, I became numb, leaving only my physical appearance to deal with the minor pain. Once captured, one of the terrible acts the army does is train young children to become child soldiers. They know full well that hunger can lead to death, and with no family or future prospects, there’s no choice. My experience of being a child soldier led me to experience multiple rapes and other horrendous traumas on two separate occasions. It was hard to believe that before the abuse at the hands of adults, I was a happy, bubbly, and intelligent girl. After the FGM and rapes, I often felt very sad, worthless, lonely, and traumatised. The lack of a safe space or trusted individuals to express my feelings and thoughts led me to become even more consumed by the effects of trauma to the point where it became the norm for me. I am sure that millions of other survivors share the same sentiment. The day after these gruesome traumas was like the morning after the night that no one wanted to talk about. As a teenager, I found myself in a position where I had to deal with everything that had happened, with no family member or other adult to turn to for support. No professional or support network to discuss my thoughts with. Living in an environment where survivors of rape are at fault. Many incorrectly assume that the awful rape was partly the fault of the survivor because of how she was dressed or because she was somewhere she shouldn’t have been. I was 14 at the time I was first raped. I didn’t dress inappropriately, and as for being somewhere inappropriate, I was on the run from rebels, fleeing as they torched everything in their path to the ground. Yet, like so many others before me, I have been stigmatised for the actions of others, in this case, the sexual violence of men. Today, I am still here. I now live in London, having been granted asylum. I arrived in the UK with so much baggage, problems, trauma, language barrier, cultural barrier, and the fear of integration and the worries of exclusion. Despite my past in Sierra Leone, which I will never forget, I have built a new life. I am a wife, a mother, a sister, a friend, and a nurse, but above all, I am a survivor who set up her own charity to help other women. Women like you. Women like us. And from the bottom of my heart, I wish nothing but love and strength for you, wherever you are on your journey.

Acceptance with this dissonance. as long as I can remember I was never enough. too much phantasy and def not fitting in society´s expectations. Eventhough I had friends I always felt I don´t really fit in this group. I separated myself a lot. I drank too much, I talked shit and I used people against myself to hurt myself more. Slowly internalising the thoughts that raised in my brain. " you are not good enough" " you will never get got in art so don't do it" "you are unworthy of loving" At age nineteen the real traumas began. My sister got raped and I got raped half a year later. My already broken soul of even prior events got even more hurt and I completely lost faith in myself and in life. I hold on on those negative intrusive thoughts. " you are bad " " you are unworthy of loving" . Always. I got addicted to these thoughts. They prevented myself of living the life I am supposed to live. ( being a creative outgoing spiritual person) and I had depression and no one really realised me. Even I didn't realised it until recently. I never really opened up to people. I always got hurt. Hurt by people I loved. But I wanna open up. I already lost so much. (self-worth) I can't loose so much more. I hope that one day I am gonna be this vibrant shiny girl that I used to be at the age of five. Someone who loves themselves without any doubts. I am ready for my healing journey. I want to share my events. And I am ready to live my life to the fullest. this dissonance. I probably gotta accept in order to live the life I am supposed to live. and that's a loving one!

The first time someone raped me, I was fourteen. Summer before high school. I didn’t know what rape was. I didn’t have a word for what happened. I didn’t know it was wrong, even though it felt terrifying and ugly and dirty. I figured it was just me. Turns out when things like this go unaddressed, we’re at higher risks of repeating the trauma. That’s what ended up happening to me in different ways. I hated myself. I struggled with eating disorders. I felt inherently poison. I don’t remember a lot because the majority of my thoughts were consumed by pain, and wondering if anyone cared. It didn’t feel like anyone did; in fact, all my trauma responses (before I knew them as such) were blamed on me being difficult. Ten years later, I realized and disclosed the impact rape had on my entire understanding of myself and the difficult roads I had traveled. And so I began a long healing journey. A few years after that, it happened again. Turns out old trauma responses die hard. The difference was that this time, I knew what happened. I had words for it. It was brutal, but I fought for myself and became the advocate I needed as a kid. I didn’t abandon her, the terrified girl battered in a dark room. I stayed. I was exhausted, I grieved, I did it all. But I stayed. Three years have passed. While the DA couldn’t prosecute, I found a lawyer willing to take my case as a civil case on contingency. I can’t say that was easy, or that any part of the process felt fair. But again—I stayed. What I think most about in my healing is that living freely is a luxury even though it shouldn’t be. I think about the chains that tie us up over time, the intersections of violence and our identities, of feeling in my body or out of it, what feels safe for my presence, how I can grow into that so I can enjoy pieces of life I’ve cut off out of fear for their being an opening for more harm. I’m still healing. Aren’t we all? And what I’ve decided is that healing lives not only in what you reclaim but how you reclaim it. Wholeness is what we deserve. Every one of us. Including me. Including you.

ALL THROUGHOUT MY LIFE I HAVE SUFFERED MULTIPLE EVENTS OF SEXUAL MOLESTATION AND ASSAULT THE FIRST ONE STARTING AT THE AGE OF 8 WHEN A FAMILY FRIEND MOLESTED ME HE ENDED UP BEING CHARGED AND SENTENCED TO 10 YEARS BUT MY STORY DIDNT STOP THERE AS I GOT INTO MY TEENS GROWING UP IN A HOME WITH A NARRCISISTIC MOTHER I WAS OFTEN BELITTLED AND EMOTIONALLY PUT DOWN. THE EFFECTS OF MY SEXUAL ABUSE AS A CHILD AND THE UNWAVERING EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION I RECIEVED FROM MY MOM MADE ME AN EASY TARGET FOR PREDATORS THROUGHOUT MY TEENAGE YEARS, AT THE AGE OF 15 I GOT THE NEWS I WAS PREGNANT BY A 28 YEAR OLD MAN ALL THE WHILE MY MOTHER NEVER DETESTED THE RELATIONSHIP. HE OF COURSE DID NOT STICK AROUND AFTER THE NEWS. I CONTINUED TO LIVE WITH MY MOM AND IN THE MIDST OF HER NEW HOME REMODEL I WAS SEXUALLY ASSAULTED BY THE MAN DOING THE RENOVATIONS AND MY CRIES TO MY MOM WERE IGNORED IN FEAR OF HER HOME NOT BEING COMPLETED. I LEFT HOME IN AN ATTEMPT TO PROVIDE FOR MY DAUGHTER. WITH MY MOTHER NEVER BEING HOME IT WAS HARD TO GET THE THINGS MY BABY NEEDED TO SURVIVE. THE HOME I WAS LIVING IN WAS NOT SUITIBLE WITH NO HEAT MY DAUGHTER GOT SICK. AFTER SPENDING 2 WEEKS IN THE HOSPITAL SHE WENT HOME WITH MY MOM AND TAKEN OUT OF MY CUSTODY. AT THE AGE OF 16 I MOVED IN WITH MY BOYFRIEND WHO WAS 23 YEARS OLD AND HAD MY SON. OVER THE NEXT 5 YEARS I WAS PHYSICALLY ABUSED ALL WHILE SUFFERING THE PAIN OF NOT HAVING MY DAUGHTER WITH EVERY VISITATION BEING A TRANSACTION OF MY MOMS EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION AND CONTROL TACTICS USING MY DAUGHTER TO KEEP ME WITHIN HER GRASP. I WAS PUUT ON CHILD SUPPORT AT THE AGE OF 17 BY MY MOM CRIPPLING ME FINANCIALLY BUT STILL I PUSHED FORWARD. I EVENTUALLY DID GET MY DAUGHTER BACK BUT CONTINUED TO PAY CHILD SUPPORT. WITH NO KNOWLEDGE OF THE COURT SYSTEM OR ANYTHING ELSE FOR THAT MATTER MY FIGHT WASTO SURVIVE AND HAVE MY KIDS CLOSE TO ME. OVER THE YEARS I STRUGGLED WITH ADDICTION WHICH STARTED AT THE HANDS OF MY DAUGHTERS FATHER WHO FIRST GAVE ME METH AT THE TENDER AGE OF 14. THIS CYCLE OF GETTING CLEAN AND RELAPSING WENT ON UNTIL I WAS 25 YEARS OLD. WITH EACH ATTEMPT TO ACCOMPLISH HAVING MY KIDS MY HOPE WAS DEMINISHED BY THE VERY PEOPLE WHO USED AND ABUSED ME. EVEN THOUGHT THE ODDS WERE AGAINST ME I EVENTUALLY PREVAILED AND GOT MY KIDS. EVEN THOUGH I LOST THEM AND SO MANY MEMORIES AS WELL OUR LOVE FOR EACH OTHER NEVER WEAKENED. MY DAUGHTER IS NOW 18 AND MY SON IS 15 AND THEIR LOVE FOR MY IS NEVER ENDING. I STILL STRUGGLE WITH MENTAL HEALTH AND BEING SUCCESSFUL DUE TO THE CONSTANT HARRASMENT I RECIEVE AS IF A TARGET WAS PUT ON MY BACK FOR PERPETRATORS. MY ABUSE AND LACK OF KNOWLEDGE HAS LED ME TO BE MANIPULATED ON EVERY LEVEL OF LIFE WITH MY RECENTLY BOUGHT HOME BEING A COMPLETE LEMON I TRUGGLE TO FIND A WAY OUT OF THIS UNLIVABLE HOME. I HAVE BEEN ON THIS JOURNEY TO BUILD MY RELATIONSHIP MORE WITH GOD WHILE WRITING A BOOK OF MY LIFE WHICH IVE SLOWLY POSTED EPISODE BY EPISODE ON AMAZON. I HAVE THE LOVE OF MY KIDS AND THOUGH I MAY HAVE FAILED ON MANY LEVELS MY DAUGHTER IS ON HER WAY TO BETTER THINGS AND MY SON IS RIGHT BEHIND HER. THEY LOVE ME DEARLY AND FOR THAT I AM GRATEFUL. I HAVE FAITH THAT GOD WILL GET ME THROUGH HE GOT ME THIS FAR SO I CONTINUE TO FIGHT!!!!!!

i want justin baldoni to know how proud dv people are of him. i can tell how much he cares and this movie he made has impacted him. my father is a very verbal and physical abuser and my mom left after 20 years and im forever grateful and im so glad they made this movie. thank you justin.