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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.

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.

DECADES When I was 22 years old, I was on a college campus with my finance and decided to go out to the car at 11 pm to get the left over cake we had brought from dinner. I man walked near me and I said hi, and proceeded to get the cake. The man came up behind me and flipped me to the ground trying to rape me. I screamed, time slowed down and I remember hearing my Mom say that my car keys are a weapon so I started jabbing him with them. I struggled free, ran to a building, falling on my way. A driver arrived who heard my screams from blocks away and the police were called. The police even thought they got him and showed me several photos of similar looking men, but I couldn’t make a positive id, so he was set free. After this sexual assault, I bought a gun, moved in with my fiancé, took self-defense classes, read books, saw a psychologist who diagnosed me with PTSD due to overwhelming anxiety that paralyzed me. The world was no longer safe. It resulted in triggers, and brought back my first sexual assault as a teenager in a crowded bus in another country of an older man pressing his erection against me as I keep moving away from him toward the front of the bus, until I finally found another teenage who I could sit on her lap to get this stranger to stop. It has been 64 years since I was attacked in that parking lot. I have been happily married for 64 years and have a positive self image. BUT, I still can’t wear skirts. I still can’t go in parking lots alone at night and am uneasy going anywhere at night. I can’t watch a movie or play that has sexual assault or the anxiety becomes overwhelming. I still own the same gun.

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.

Last year I was gang raped. I have an ear ringing called tinnitus that has not stopped since. I have nightmares. I flew with my mom to a wedding overseas. I was excited. She would be busy with her friends and cousin and I would get to spend time with my awesome second cousin who is two years older than me. After the rehearsal dinner we went out. It was fun because I was not legally able to drink there even though the age was lower than in my province, but they did not check ID’s. I did not drink much because it was not my thing and I had a boyfriend but I was able to go to some bars then a club attached to a hotel. So much fun up to when we met two soldiers in uniform who were cute and separated us from her friends because of our looks. My cousin is stunning beautiful. They had a private room at the club and several soldiers were there and two prostitutes also. Those prostitutes definitely hated us being there. I wanted to get out anyway and the cute ones that invited us acted like they understood and took us out of there. We stupidly let them take us to their hotel room where they totally dropped the cute romantic act and made us strip our clothes to music. They showed us a gun they had in a drawer. I was terrified. They made us lay on our stomachs bent over the bed side by side and had sex with us that way. They switched like we were interchangeable before finishing in us with no protection. We held hands. I was crying while my cousin was trying to be strong and cheer me up. We weren’t allowed to leave and our clothes were hidden. Before took our phones we had to text that we were staying at my cousin’s friend’s house. Then they called two other soldiers, one of them a huge tall dark guy with body builder muscles. He was the worst to me. They made us dance and then we had to use our mouths on the cute ones that had lured us there while the other two had sex with us. I vomited and my cousin cleaned it up but then it started again. They had cocaine and made us sniff it off their parts and sniffed it off us. Another one came and I think it was just those five during the night but they kept raping us and making us do things even when we would pass out. I would like to have been more unconscious but cocaine makes you so awake. I want to remember less and think about it all less. We showered many times. The big dark one peed on me and in my mouth the shower. He did it more than once like I was his toilet. The other men even had to tell him to chill out when he was making me scream liking his fingers and pushing them in my arse, but not when he made me crawl around like a dog using my hair as a leash. I remember one of them calling their friends to tell them to turn all their t.v.’s way up to hide the noise in our room. They watched sports news on the t.v. They had me and my cousin kiss each other and stuff. I could not act like it was a fun party like my cousin did sometimes and encouraged me to do. She tried to take some of their attention away from me over and over. I love her for it but they did not leave me alone. My chest is something they were obsessed with. They did not care that I was obviously distressed and freaking out or that in my country I was three years below the age of consent. There I was the minimum. We woke up in the morning on one the beds together with only the two soldiers sleeping on the floor. The black one was gone! They had sex with us again and another man who was much older and who they called SIR came in and had sex with both us but mostly me. They cheered him on and my head was pounding and I was crying and it seemed to last forever. Finally we got our clothes back but they took us for brunch wearing their normal clothes. They showed me pictures on their phones that made it look like I was having fun and warned us how bad it would be if we said anything different than we had a nice party. A nice party in hell! Before that I’d had sex with only my 1 boyfriend ever. One night of hell and now my number was seven!! We had to start getting ready for the wedding right away and I was exhausted. My cousin hid me and I took a nap in my dress, hair and makeup until the last minute. I cried in the ceremony but not for the wedding. I was so sore in my vagina, muscles, and brain that I got so drunk at the reception I barely remember any of it. Just part of being on the plane home. I told my mom the truth when I got back and she got all crazy, so did my dad, and they tried to call over there and the hotel and such but there was nothing the police would do. I saw my dad cry for the first time as I told the whole story. My boyfriend could not handle it and dumped me. I go to group and do therapy. I take a pill everyday and now benzo’s for break through anxiety. I try to hide my large chest under baggy clothes where before I used it for attention. STUPID! My cousin does not seem to have the trauma I do or the nightmares. In her country they are done with secondary school up to two years before us and are more treated like adults sooner. I said mean things to her once because of it. She forgave me but we talk much less since I asked if she has gang bangs all the time. I felt terrible because she even let them have anal sex with her to lure them away from me. I could tell it hurt her so much but at the time was just thinking about my own survival. My childhood is OVER but I do not feel like an adult. Her advice is -Don’t let it get you so down-. Like I have a choice in this!! She went to a therapist ONCE because her mom made the appointment and does not plan to go back. Her life did not really change!! She works reception at a tech company and models on the side and still goes to parties and clubs and dates. How??? It is unbelievable how attitudes toward something like this can be so different in different countries. I am a victim now and I usually feel like it. Definitely damaged. Everybody at my school knows why. I am THAT girl. My new more mature boyfriend is understanding but I feel like a sad little burden to him. I am hypersexual sometimes now and can’t help it. It is a coping mechanism that happens to some victims of sexual assault. I did not ask for it. I worry my boyfriend can’t trust me because of it. I had an older guy friend who’s been my neighbor for years take advantage of me after I told him the story of what happened at his house. We had sex and then he felt guilty for being turned on by my rape story. He admitted it and asked me to forgive him. The sex helped me calm the ear ringing for just short time periods so I did it with him more than once a day for a bit until my dad started to suspect something and talked to him. Since then I don’t trust myself. I want to marry my boyfriend in large part just to protect myself and show him I love him and am loyal even though I am not sure I can be. I worry I cannot love like a normal person. I worry I push him away being too needy and wanting to marry him so soon. I need him more than he needs me. Is that the way it will always be in relationships for rape victims??? I work hard at school not to ruin my future. It is so hard to focus. My ears ring constantly. Thank you for listening.

I never associated my assaults as sexual assaults. I always just saw it as a thing that happened me that was upsetting until recently. I was groped, forced into having sex and preforming oral sex on him. I remember one time he offered to drive me home. I lived over 40 mins from town so I thought i could save myself €60 in a taxi. Until I realised we were going in the opposite direction to my house. He drove me to secluded area. I knew it wasn't right I said no said I was due my period I tried everything I could to deter him. It didn't work. I can't drive that road without a feeling of dread. I do feel part to blame and I know that's wrong. I hate how it makes me feel. When I hear stories in the news I can't help but think my story isn't as bad as theirs or that maybe mine wasn't rape or a sexual assault. I hate myself for thinking it.

I was with my ex and I had just started some new tablets that made me sleepy. I tell my ex that I’m going to sleep and he continues to play his video game. I wake in a daze around an hour later and he is raping me and enjoying it. I react by making noises out of fear and wait for him to finish up the act , I just froze in fear. Once it was over I was mad he never got consent but he told me that he thought I wanted it. It’s been nearly a year and I’m still not over it

I was age out in a club and my boss and his friends were there at a stag, he introduced me to his friend who was hot so initially I was delighted. Had one drink with him and next thing I wake up in a hotel room, naked in a bed with him, the double bed was covered in my vomit, my first reaction was I just got too drunk and was consensual, he was horrible told me to go clean myself up and he would drive me home, he laughed at me when I asked did I need the morning after pill, I knew I did? I had only had sex with one other person, I’d bruises all over me and was sore. I knew something was wrong, he drove me home in his BMW acting like he had done nothing wrong. I got home, showered, knew 100% then I’d been date raped. Didn’t want to worry my mum so my best friend brought me to my doc and he refused morning after cause he thought it was abortion so we had to drive hours to get it. Also had to get std tests. I’ll never forget the smirk I got from my boss when I went back to work. The shame, guilt, embarrassment I put on myself over it, I drank too much, got in abusive relationship, and had about 10 years of feeling so negative about myself. Counselling, talking to friends and now meds have helped. I’m now embedding consent into my own kids and letting them know the dangers out there. It’s happening too often and it needs to stop. I wish I had of reported him, wish I knew then that it wasn’t my fault, that it was him being pathetic, sad excuse of a man. Fuck him and fuck all of the others that think it’s ok to rape. Hope you all rot in hell. And sending massive love to the women who have the courage to stand up to them, you are amazing xxx

All of my closest friends have been sexually assaulted in some kind of way, including myself. It breaks my heart, all I want to do is hug them and tell them it’s gonna be okay and it won’t happen again but I can’t guarantee that and it’s so scary.

I had a very traumatic sexual experience a few months ago. Ive been struggling with PTS and depression already prior To that event, for quite a few years. I dont have many friends, I have a hard time Connecting with People. I was drunk and met strange Men one night, as I accidentally tend to do when I am intoxicated. I thought alcahol might help me meet New People, it had worked for me In the past To help move on from a broken heart; ive been trying to move on from My ex from 10 years ago. Its not been easy. It got especially hard for me emotionally this past year and I picked up drinking More frequently. I wound up getting abused sexually and Hurt by this strange man I met when I wss drunk. He gave me drugs, and the drugs made me submissive. I wasnt myself. A few weeks after I started really falling apart. The event triggered a kind of psychosis and I started experiencing negative hallucinations and delusions. I quit drinking completely, I realised that alcahol leads me into very bad trouble. Ive been sober for three months now, ever since the trauma took place. I have been having To go To the hospital almost every Day. I experience very difficult hallucinations. He forces me To be with him In My hallucinations and sometimes I feel Like I dont know what To do anymore. He hurts me so much, but then manages To make me feel guilty like its My fault. I feel guilt. I feel fear. I have nightmares about it frequently. I feel very alone. He is in My mind with his friends In hallucinations, visual and auditory, making me feel Like its all My fault and its very uncomfortable. Sometimes, I see his eyes staring at me when I close My eyes. I am very distressed on a daily basis. Its very scary. I Talk To My doctor and psychologist daily. I go To work, everything In My life otherwise is great. I believe In forgiveness and compassion. I tell myself that the hallucinations are not real; but they can be very frustrating To cope with when your alone and struggle with Connecting with others. I tell myself that I shouldnt have been drinking, that I should not have let drunk Men into My apartment. Its been hard To know what To do. I feel so scared. I feel complete terror sometimes. This isnt the only problem that im struggling with. I feel Like I sometimes lose My sense of self, he stole My sense of security and safety. I trusted a stranger which was a big mistake; I feel so intruded and violated now. I feel Like my life was threatened again; I have a history of sexual, emotional and physical abuse. And its not easy To cope with all the time. I dont know whats happening To me. I Wonder sometimes was it My fault. I take My respomsibility In it, I shouldnt have been drinking and ive learned My lesson. I try and embrace everything with compassion because I feel so much guilt, and I dont even know why. Everything is very confusing. I can empathize with People Who make mistakes, but at the same time i cant believe that I have To deal with him being near me In hallucinations and feeling like im reliving the trauma. Its affected My health; im stressed out frequ ently, im throwing up and experiencing physical pain and dizziness and disorientation. I experience sudden moments of complete terror and fear of dying. There are moments that its easier To be and I feel normal and safe again, so thats been very comforting just knowing that the bad feeling is not going To Last. Im taking it as a learning lesson. I dont want To try and escape any situation or My True feelings anymore, by engaging In substance abuse or other destructive activities like meeting with strange drunk Men To '' try and move on''. Im trying To calm myself and think very rationally. I focus on a healthy life style and healthy techniques To embrace the problems at hand To really just recover and get through it. Im giving myself all the compassion and understanding a loved one would give; im trying To just calm, love, comfort and Hug myself. These hard emotions, delusions, physical reactions and experiences are just a part of recovering. I am still trusting and am grateful for the good nature of people; ive learned To establish and work on understanding My physical and emotional boundaries. Seeing a psychologist is helping; it definitely helps To get others opinions on it and support. Ive learned To be very cautious from this experience. Its very important To know Who you are emotionally and sexually involved with; In My opinion it takes a very long time To get To know someone. Im focusing on finding only one man and that he would be My life time partner. I understand im going through a hard time. I tell myself To stay strong and have faith In God and In love; God works In mysterious ways. You cant always be prepared for some obstacles, but you have To keep trying. Theres always Hope, and there are always solutions. Its good To focus on the solutions. I go jogging every Day and run until im completely exhausted and read and study different topics In books online; it helps To make me feel empowered. I do have some friends we just havent spoken In a while; I have sent them messages To just reassure myself that im not alone and it has helped and im grateful for that. The hallucinations are so overwhelming, they can make me feel so sad and terrorized, but I tell myself that im allowed To be happy, and that im going To be happy anyway. I deserve To feel loved, safe and happy. I Will get through this. Im grateful for the good things In life. There is always something good coming our way, its good To let go of the past and learn To live In and enjoy the moment. Focus on the positive things In life. The sun Will Come out again. Im just focusing on having patience with everything going on, and just trying My Best. I believe In healing. Its good To live, love and laugh and not take things all too seriously.

I was in my early 20's, moved to Long Island from an upstate town for college and graduated with honors. I was excited to land a job in NYC with a large financial/insurance company. My boss was a young fairly handsome married man with good manners and was so nice at first. I was warned by a few woman to watch out for him because he was a player. Well naive me fell for his attention. At first the things g's he did seemed innocent, like walking with me to Penn Station. That turned into stopping off for drinks which then turned into kissing and touching . I look back at how stupid I was as he reeled me in and wonder why I did this. I can only say that I had left home because I did not have a good relationship with my dad and I was attention starved and he pounced on that. One thing led to another and I met him at a hotel. I felt awful after and wanted to end it but he threatened my job that I really needed. People started suspecting things at work and before I knew it, this smart student had a reputation. This went on for months and he was very controlling. He also would do things to make me jealous and to undermine my confidence. I hated myself. I believe his higher ups talked him into transferring me to a different dept in a different building so he could advance in his career. He did advance, quickly. I, on the other hand, moved and so did my reputation and my low self esteem. I had a couple of other encounters in the new area and finally changed companies altogether, which was the best thing I ever did. At the new company I remade myself and became and was seen as the true professional I am. I went back to school for my masters, have a beautiful family and a great career. BUT... I still have bouts of shame and at times my self esteem p!unges. None of my family or friends know any of this. I still harbor resentment against this man who retired at a very high level and runs a consulting company now. I wonder how many other women and careers he affected.

I was five years old when it happened. My abuser was also a five year old girl. I remember thinking that my story isn't valid because she's exactly the same as me. Over time, I did research and started to realize and recollect more and more about the memories of my abuse. If you get triggered or have triggers related to sexual assault/abuse, I advise not reading this next part. At first, I forgot the entire event ever happened. I remember being about 11 when I realized what had happened. The memories started gradually coming back. She was my friend. We were normal five year olds, I'd always have playdates at her house. At every playdate, she'd take me to her playroom. She'd lock the door and draw the blinds. Then, she'd make me lie down on this small mattress on the floor. She called it a game. She said that she was the doctor and that I was the patient. Once I'm on the mattress, she'd get on top of me. She'd touch me under my clothes. She'd look under my clothes. She'd take off my clothes. I remember just hoping, wishing, and praying that it would soon be over. If you're wondering, I was wearing a school uniform most of the time whenever this happened. This went on for almost the entire year when I was five. When I remembered and realized what had happened to me, I didn't believe it. I thought I was overreacting. I thought I was making it up. How could someone the same age and gender as me sexually abuse me? I'd only seen cases of young girls getting abused by older men. So how could a young girl be assaulted by another young girl? A few years have passed since I first remembered the events. I've gotten wiser, and discovered that there are many forms of assault. When I first found out what COCSA was, I felt so accepted. It was so validating, knowing that these memories that have destroyed me for years and years... they're real, and they're valid.

I am a victim of domestic violence. 4 out of the 5 relationships I was in through high school til I was about 24, every last one of them was emotional/mental abuse. I would get called names, like dumb ass or stupid. They would look at me in disgust because of what I looked like. I got sent to the hospital one year because I wanted to be skinny by not eating all day. One of my exes would’ve grabbed my stomach and laughed because I had extra weight than he did. Another ex would argue with me over something stupid. He wouldn’t let me hang out with friends. I was single for four years because I didn’t want to feel that pain again. But when I read It Ends with Us, and saw the movie, I was brought to tears because I felt that pain back. There is a happy ending though. My current relationship now, he is the light of my life, he treats me like a queen, he treats me the way someone is supposed to be treated. I never want to go back there again.

I can't remember the month I met him or the day he became a coworker. I just remember meeting him and thinking he was shy. I remember him having a friendly smile. Something about him made me feel safe. He was kind and patient and empathetic. I guess our friendship started when I needed someone and I was vulnerable. I've been happily married for over a decade. Even now, I've haven't spoken about what happened. I feel dirty. I haven't been able to write about what happened to me. For a long time, I blamed myself because I was high when it happened. I was so high that I couldn't feel anything. There are blank spots within my memory, but I do remember the first night. A few coworkers and I had decided to go out for drinks and play pool at a local bar. He offered to drive me home and we talked. It was nice. After a few hours, he picked me up again and we drove around the city. It wasn't long before the feeling on his hands were on my skin. I asked him to stop and he did for a while. He drove into an old church parking lot and we continued to talk. He knew I was married, but he wanted to kiss me anyway. When he leaned in, I told him no. I don't quite remember the rest of the evening but I remember reading the time and seeing 2:13am. I told him that I needed to go home, but he said I had to do something first. I thought he was joking. He placed my hand on his lower body. I pulled away and told him no. He said, "Please. It would feel so good and I really need this." I told him we shouldn't, but he was persistent. He continued to grab my hand and put it on his crotch. He said it would feel better if he was able to "take it out". I asked him to stop and he said, "Sorry." I was grateful he apologized. "I thought you wanted this, though. You got me hardd, so now you have to finish," he said. I kept saying no and he continued to be persistent. The only answer left was to say yes. Externally, I said yes but internally I was saying no. I figured if I could make the situation less unpleasant, it would end quickly. I laid in the passenger seat feeling his hands move from my upper body down to my groin. He asked me to turn around and bend over. I told him no. He said, "I'm almost done. Please.. I need this." Even after saying no, he was persistent. I should have walked away or called 911 or called my Mom. Anything to save me. But I knew if I did, it would cause chaos. I was located 30-45 minutes outside of town - it was dark out, and I was worried he was going to hurt me or kick me out. I feel guilty for allowing him to touch me. It's hard not to feel guilty even though I froze and did what I could to survive. I returned home confused about what happened and acknowledged that I had not consented to that encounter. I know what assault is. I didn't want this to happen and I said no. Yet, it happened anyway. I learned about sexual coercion a few months after. This continued for a few months. He told me that I was a cheater because I didn't walk away. I feel like a cheater. I feel useless and powerless because he told me I had no choice. I feel responsible for what happened, but confused because it was unwanted. All along I've been wondering what he took from me. He took my consent.

Sexual assault is a spectrum. I think as young women we laugh off so much - bring catcalled from 12 or 13, being groped in clubs, mocked for pushing a guy off who won’t keep his hands of you. I’m so glad there is this space to share our stories <3

In the summer of 1985 I was 18yrs old and had just graduated high school and was headed to college in the fall. I was dating a guy and we were very much in love. Another guy I had dated briefly months before who broke it off with me, (he was 23) was throwing a party for Live Aid at his mom's house where he lived also. My boyfriend was working until 11:30pm so I went over about 9p to hang out with everyone until he arrived. The guy was making margaritas or daiquiris and I had a few. I was sitting in a chair watching TV and everyone else was in another room. The next thing I remember was waking up with the guy having sex with me. At that moment my boyfriend is coming down the hall calling my name. I call back to him and the guy gets up and dressed and ran out to my boyfriend. My boyfriend came into the room and dressed me and carried me out. I couldn't walk. After my boyfriend took me home and put me on my bed he went back to the house to do some damage to the guy but he was met at the door by the guy and his buddies and told my boyfriend that I "was chasing him all over the house naked and begging for him to have sex with me". My boyfriend believed it and it slowly destroyed our relationship and my life forever.

Hi. I've never done this before but I'm doing it now, because I feel like it is the next step to healing? I'm not quite sure. But I hope I can get this all out to a point where you can understand. Whenever I was about maybe 5-7, and my brother was around 11-13, he would want to play a 'game' with me. I never knew what the game was until he touched me. Inappropriately. If this is too triggering for you, please click the safety exit. He would put me in sexual positions and tell me to stay there while grinding on me. I didn't know what was happening, but I just stayed there because I didn't want to disappoint him. As a kid I always wanted my parents and my brother's validation. It meant everything to me. But during this time I just wanted to make him happy, so I would let him. This would happen often and when I said no he pressured me and tried to persuade me. I always said yes. I wish I didn't, but I can't blame myself. I was only a baby, I was like seven or five, that's practically a baby. This stopped whenever we moved houses. But I always remember it and the aftermath it left on me. I'm now extremely hypersexual, and I feel disgusting about it. Everything I touch, everything I see turns sexual. I hate it. I absolutely hate it. I hate the taintedness he left in me. We have a solid relationship now, but I resent him for how I am now.

I used to go over to my step cousin's house when I was 7 to 10 years old since my dad was a cousin to her step dad. I specifically remember one day when I was around 9 years old my step cousin who is a year younger than me asked me if I wanted to play house with her. I said yes of course since I thought we were just going to play house like kids tend to. But then she said that she'll be the mom and I would be the dad. And I just remember her kissing me as she would pretend we were getting married. Afterwards she told me to touch her private area since that was what she saw her mom and step dad doing. I never told anyone that this happened to me since I feel a lot of guilt about it. Since my step cousin was a year younger than me at the time and I never really thought that it was weird at the time. But as I got older I realized that it wasn't normal for two kids to be doing that. I haven't told anyone that this happened to me since I feel a lot of shame and guilt for it. I still feel like it was my fault for letting it happen now I can barely live with myself because of how much shame I feel.

My Story: Finding Light Amid the Shadows of Trauma: I’m a man in my 60s, a husband to my soulmate of nearly 30 years, and a father to two incredible children who fill my heart with joy. But beneath this love lies a story of pain that has shaped me in ways I’m only now beginning to understand. I’m sharing this to connect with others who might feel the same weight, to let you know you’re not alone, and to find a path toward healing. My childhood was marked by bullying, violence, and sexual abuse, leaving scars that manifest as fibromyalgia, distrust, and a struggle to find peace. A Childhood Stolen: My early years felt safe, filled with neighborhood friends and parents who loved me. But around age 10, everything changed. School became a battleground where I was targeted with cruel words, chased home, and threatened with being thrown into a pond if I didn’t run fast enough. Friends turned away, fearing they’d be next. I felt alone, marked as the “crybaby” who couldn’t fight back. The hypocrisy of peers who tormented me all week but smiled innocently in church was unbearable, and I stopped attending church well before high school, unable to trust the facade. That summer, a stranger’s attack left a deeper wound. While fishing, an older boy tackled me, pinned me in the mud, and used my own sock to burn my throat with friction so raw it took weeks to heal. The laughter I heard as I lay helpless still echoes in my nightmares. I ran home, ashamed, and though my parents tried to help, we never found the attacker. From then on, every face felt like a potential threat. The next summer brought a betrayal that broke something deeper. A boy I barely knew lured me into his home with promises of friendship. He showed me magazines I was too young to understand, and before I knew it, an older girl and boy were there, snapping a photo and laughing as they coerced me into sexual acts. Her cruel words, calling me names and threatening to expose me, burned into my soul. I was terrified those photos would ruin me, though they never surfaced. That day left me questioning who I was, ashamed of my body and my desires, especially after another attack that left me physically altered in a way I still can’t fully face. High School and a Shattered Faith: By the time I entered a Catholic high school in the late 1970s, I was already afraid to be alone with anyone. Whispers from classmates about avoiding certain priests and teachers deepened my fear. Some teachers disciplined us with a cruelty that felt personal, like striking us with a ring that left pain but no mark. I graduated in the early 1980s, carrying a heavy distrust of authority. When the 2018 Pennsylvania grand jury report revealed widespread abuse cover-ups at my former school, it confirmed my worst fears and shattered what was left of my faith. I couldn’t forgive those who hurt me or believe in a heaven where they might be, leaving me spiritually adrift. Love, Loss, and Redemption: My early adult years were a struggle. My first two marriages were filled with betrayal—emotional and physical abuse, accusations about my desires, and infidelity that left me feeling worthless. I buried my pain in drugs and bad choices, convinced I’d never find safety. Then I met my wife, a woman whose love and kindness saved me. She’s my best friend, my partner, and the mother of our two children, who bring light to my darkest days. Yet even with her, I struggle to open up, afraid of rejection or burdening her with the broken parts of me. My fantasies, twisted by that long-ago abuse, carry a shame I can’t shake, making intimacy a battle between love and fear. The Weight of Pain: For over 25 years, I’ve lived with fibromyalgia, a constant ache that flares when stress takes hold. I now believe it’s tied to the trauma I carried in silence, my body keeping score of what my mind tried to bury. Flashbacks hit hard—especially the memory of that sock burning my throat. My body re-lives it, my heart races, and I fight the urge to claw at my skin to make it stop. These moments steal my breath, leaving me trembling and retreating to cry alone, afraid to let my wife see me so fragile. I’ve always hidden my tears, punished as a child for crying, and now I don’t know how to let them out without feeling weak. I live in a state of constant alertness, scanning for threats, unable to fully trust anyone. A simple elevator ride with a friendly couple can send me spiraling, their presence reminding me of that day long ago. I feel disconnected, unable to mourn at funerals, even for my parents. My inner voice, my only companion as a lonely child, now drowns me in rage or grief, pulling me away from the present. A Path Toward Healing: These memories have come rushing back, triggered by a story about my high school that I read about last Christmas. I’m a simmering pot, ready to boil over with anger or shut down in despair. But my family keeps me going. I started therapy a few months ago, hoping to quiet the flashbacks, but it’s opened a floodgate of questions about how deeply this trauma has shaped me. Books like The Body Keeps the Score have shown me how my hypervigilance and fibromyalgia might be linked, giving me hope that healing my mind could ease my body’s pain. Sharing in a support group has been a good deal of comfort, knowing others understand, but I still fear being seen as weak. I want to be free of this pain—not just the physical ache, but the terror, the distrust, the shame. I want to be fully present for my wife and children, to stop hiding in the bathroom to cry. Forgiveness feels impossible when I can’t forgive myself for being that scared little boy. But I’m trying, for my family and for the part of me that still hopes for peace. A Message to Others: If you’re reading this, maybe you’ve felt this kind of pain, too. Maybe you know what it’s like to carry a secret that feels like it defines you. I’m learning it doesn’t have to, even if it feels that way. I’m here to heal, to find a way to trust again, and to hold my family close without fear. I hope my story helps you feel less alone, and I’m grateful for any support or understanding you can share.