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Freedom is Glorious I've been working alone the past two days, and instead of taking out the scissors and cutting my hair, I took out an old CD of pictures and remembered how far I have come in this journey. I found pictures of the animals I left behind so very long ago ~ his pets who were like children to me ~ I teared up at their precious faces and remembered how much I love and miss them every day. Then I found some pictures of me taken in my old rental office on campus the night before my 41st birthday. And I was amazed at how clear and blue and full of life my eyes were in each picture.  The weight had been lifted from my shoulders.  I stood tall and proud.  The color was back in my face, and my face was fuller because I had finally started to regain the weight I had lost when my food intake was so limited on the weekends. My eyes sparkled in those pictures.  I could not stop staring at myself.  The pictures were proof that I was free.  That I was me again.  I looked at the CD and reached for a snack.  And I thought about how I can eat whatever I want now.  There is no watchful eye mentally counting my calories ~ keeping the cupboard bare.  I am no longer charged $20 to eat a home-cooked meal.  I am no longer ridiculed for not cooking that home-cooked meal myself. I can do what I want, say what I want, feel what I want, wear what I want.  I am not some dress-up doll used to cloak in leather to be propped up on the back of a motorcycle for the whole valley to see ~ no I am middle-aged now, often without make-up, and finally comfortable in my own body not to care if I am not perfect. Because perfect was never good enough anyway. I can speak again.  I have a voice.  I can have an opinion on anything I want.  I see my family again on all holidays.  I do not have to lie about where I am living.  Where I am going.  What I am doing. There is no shame anymore.  No more secrets.  Even the writing I am doing has eliminated the secrets from the people I care about the most. I think about all of these changes as I ponder what it is like for him to be sitting in jail right now.  To have his freedom finally taken away from him.  To be told what to do, when to do it.  And to be isolated from family and friends. It took the news of his jail sentence to wake me up to what I had blocked out for so long.  To bring those horrible memories back up to the surface in dreams, flashbacks, and fleeting moments of sadness.  To finally realize that I had to write down my truth, or they would never go away.  He would still be controlling me in my head through those nightmares, those flashbacks.  He would still be present in my life if I did not get rid of him by writing down all the ugliness of our time together and sharing it with the world. He never wanted me to be a writer.  He made fun of my dream every day.  And it hit me today that the irony of my life story is that one of the biggest stories of my life will now be about him.  And maybe there will come the book or the screenplay out of all of this ugliness that I have shared with the world.  Because if you can skim off the scum, if you can sand down the rust, beneath the surface of all that pain and sadness is the beauty that was once there ~ that was once my life ~ that was once me. Beneath the surface lies the freedom that never really left my side.  Freedom was waiting in the distance for me all along.  Freedom was God taking care of me through the whole ordeal and seeing me through to the other side.  Where life is precious and pure and sweet. Freedom led me to a new life where I can now help others as they had once helped me. Freedom came with its own price ~ the scars beneath the surface that may have scabbed over ~ in order for me to survive. But those scars are my battle wounds for my freedom.  I paid the price for a new life.  I earned my freedom.  I survived.

As a domestic abuse survivor, I can tell you that our scars are not always visible. I think the emotional, verbal, and sexual abuse is sometimes worse….. because it takes longer to heal from. My ex had me so turned around, backwards, and upside down. I didn’t know whether he was coming or going and often found myself desperately wanting him to stay, like it was all my fault and I had done something wrong….., the sad part is…. I am my healthiest and happiest self every single time he left. Then just when I thought I would be, could be ok…… he’d be back agreeing to counseling or being a better dad or whatever it took . This time I hope to have the strength to not let him back in .

When I look in the mirror I see a girl who grew up to fast, who wishes she could get back the past. After all the trauma,abuse, and neglect, It's time to sit back and reflect. As the tears roll down my cheeks my throat starts to burn, I knew what was about to burst. It's like your innocence is a piece of string you never know when someone might take it from you

My husband and I met online in 2004. He was an actor and we began chatting on one of his movie's IMDb boards. In 2006, he flew to Tennessee from California to meet me in my hometown, and after a year together, we moved to Los Angeles. He'd grown up here; I'd never been west of the Rockies. Once settled in LA, we had a tumultuous relationship, caused partly by having very little money (an understandable conflict in a partnership). But the main cause of trouble for us were his family and friends, and he rarely defended me to or protected me from them - an unforgiveable conflict in a partnership. Most of them decided right away that they didn't like me for reasons like my anaphylactic peanut allergy preventing him and me from attending the family Thanksgiving because they insisted on deep-frying the turkey in peanut oil. His mother and siblings didn't like me because I wouldn't answer the door if they dropped by unannounced, and because I asked them not to call either of us past 10pm. A lot of his friends didn't like me because I would come home from working all day and get upset that my unemployed boyfriend and his friends were sprawled out on the couch playing video games, and I eventually put a stop to those visits. A very vocal and cruel critic of mine was one of his ex-girlfriends, who had sent naked pictures of herself to him as a "Christmas present" the first year he and I were together. After I innocently found them (we shared passwords/accounts), I questioned why he needed to keep her as a friend, as "friendship" didn't appear to be what she wanted from him. She blasted me as insecure, possessive, controlling, and immature, and for the duration of our entire relationship, she would badmouth me and try to convince him to break up with me - even after we were married. Those are only a few examples of my setting boundaries and the people in my husband's life trampling all over them and then making me seem like I unreasonable, unstable, and undeserving of being with him. We married in 2016. The aforementioned ex-girlfriend begged him not to marry me, one of his siblings refused to attend the wedding because he didn't like me, and five days before my wedding - which was on my parents' 50th wedding anniversary - his mother sent my mother a long letter detailing all the things she didn't like about me. Despite the attempted interferences, we had a beautiful wedding and about two happy years of marriage. The awful treatment of me continued, but I felt I had won: he married me, and I deserved the happiness I was enjoying. In March 2018, during an argument about how sick I was of how his family and friends treated me, he headbutted me. It truly came out of nowhere. He had never been violent in any way before, and whilst we were exchanging angry words - not even yelling - he simply walked over, grabbed my shoulders, and headbutted me, twice. I immediately developed two black eyes and a bump on my forehead. I was devastated, but I didn't tell anyone. We didn't speak about the incident after that night. In August 2018, we were having a heated conversation whilst eating dinner. I don't even remember what we were talking about. But he stood up, walked around the table, grabbed my shoulders, and headbutted me again. This time I had black eyes, a bump, and a gash above my nose. After this incident, I started seeing a therapist, but I didn't want to tell him about the violent incidents because I was concerned that he'd have to report it, and my husband might get arrested. Instead, I unloaded all the frustration about the horrible treatment I received from his family and friends. I also nurtured two of my own friendships I'd had for awhile, with a woman and a man (who didn't know each other). I told them, separately, about the violent incidents. The woman immediately told me about an act of violence (shoving) she experienced with her fiancé, and offered no additional support. The man encouraged me to leave my husband. I also told my parents about the violence, and they did not believe me. In August 2019, my husband slapped and strangled me. I went to urgent care to be treated for the strangulation, and the nurses called the police. My husband wasn't arrested, but he was sent to court due to the police report the urgent care initiated. I decided that I was afraid to live with him, and asked him to move out. My male friend helped me with rent money so I could afford to live on my own. My husband told his friends and family that I'd been having an affair for months, possibly years, which was not true. They believed him, and they believed that they'd been right about me all along - that I was unreasonable, unstable, and undeserving of being with him. His mouthy ex-girlfriend is a psychologist, and she convinced my husband that I have narcissistic personality disorder and that he is the victim. I went to court on his behalf to prevent him from going to jail, though he did need to complete anger courses and pay fines. His family is trying to help him get his record expunged, because they don't think he deserves to have this follow him for the rest of his life. I, however, have to carry the memories of harassment, cruelty, violence, and devastation for the rest of MY life. My therapists in the years since have not diagnosed me with a personality disorder. Rather, I have been diagnosed with PTSD from what one of them called "a lifetime of abuse". I was abused for years by my husband's mother, siblings, ex-girlfriends, friends, and finally by my husband himself. They're right about one thing: I didn't deserve him. I deserved so much better.

I look back and am plagued by doubt. It’s less now but still it creeps in - did it happen? Was I too sensitive? Maybe I made too much of it? Have I remembered it wrong? What I know to be true is how I felt and continue to feel when he is mentioned or I see him. FEAR. It’s been 2 years and I still think about if he will like what I am wearing or will have a comment to make. I question my reality - ‘did that happen? Did I say that?’ In lost interactions with him. I met him on line 14 years ago. Things moved quickly, ish. I didn’t see it then but looking back he was ALWAYS there. He gave his friend keys to my flat and I arrived home with it tidied and reorganized. He thought I was messy and that it was a nice thing to do. I felt utterly overwhelmed and very uncomfortable with this but stayed and thanked him as I was left feeling ungrateful. Interestingly I didn’t introduce him to my friends - in fact I kept him quite separate. I think I knew that I didn’t want them to meet him as something was off and they would probably see it and point it out. Or maybe o was afraid that they wouldn’t see it and wouldn’t point it out so it would make me feel even crazier. He didn’t like how I breathed in his direction in bed. He didn’t like how I fiddled with things. (These all felt ok to change for him……. I really had no self love and held myself with very little worth). The first physical element to the abuse (which I can now name as such) was a confusing incident at the time. He was napping and I woke him and he grabbed me by the throat. I was so shocked and I wanted to run a mile but ended up being told that it was my fault as I woke him too quickly. I was brainwashed already (3 months in). I was hard wired for this though as I had be taught not to trust my instincts - how dangerous this was. I stayed for 12 years, 2 children and gradually faded away. I dreamed of leaving, I said I would over and over and I nearly did once but it took so much courage to do it. I was terrified of the financial implications. I was isolated. I was exhausted. And I did it. He would have ‘waking dreams’ during which he would scream at me, push me, throw things, terrify me but would not remember them in the morning or want to talk about them. He would say ‘ well it wasn’t me, I was asleep’. I went to bed in fear most nights. There were never any bruises you could see but so much had been pulverized internally for me. I was on life support. This is part of my story . A start. It continues as he is in my life as our kids are young. The emotional and psychological abuse continues but I am doing the work to reposition myself. I am taking responsibility for my part in my journey and this is both empowering and exhausting. This abuse is very misunderstood- it is dangerous and invisible. I am learning to believe myself and look to myself for validation and answers. With love

That unbearable and stubborn silence all started as early as age fifteen. It was a silence so reluctant to be heard that I thought it was worth the suffering until the age eighteen. I am now twenty-two years old and I am here to say to you that YOU ARE HEARD. I BELIEVE YOU and THAT BREAK THROUGH IS RIGHT AROUNG THE CORNER. My partner was fifteen as well when the abuse started. Many find that unbelievable but sickness and evil doesn't have an age. Sickness lies within the person that has endured it themselves or for God knows why...There is not one valid excuse for emotional, physical or mental abuse. The abuse didn't start abruptly, it didn't start off with broken bones, bruises and cuts... The abuse started mentally and emotionally. Something as small as him telling me what I could and could not wear. The jealousy of another guy looking at me or myself looking at another guy. His comments and remarks that I was secretly proud of because I felt as if I was something he didn't want to lose, until later I found out I was something he wanted ownership over. Over these few years leading up until my high school graduation the abuse escalated from verbal to physical swiftly. However, there were many times I made excuses for him because I "loved" him and he "loved" me . For every hit. For every slap. For every punch. I forgave him and I believed his "I won't do it again." Not to sound like a broken record but if you didn't know; they always do it again. There were many occasions where I'd hide my black eyes with piled of foundation and powder. One thing I learned is; it's hard to hide a busted lip. I'd cry my eyes out to sleep until my eyes felt like sandpaper. Physical , mental and emotional abuse eventually put me into a state I couldn't describe until the age I am now. The word I associated my trauma with is disassociation . A physical feeling of being in the present but my mind was elsewhere. I suffered this for so long and never spoke up. My fear of being caught dead because I spoke up for help buried all of these emotions of anger, resentment, betrayal etc. I ended up losing my virginity to this boy. Not purposely but out of fear. That has been my biggest regret ever because virginity was something so precious to me... More than often I'd be forced to have sex with him every time or the threat of being punched in my face and beat. This went on months until I couldn't hide the fact that I was literally breaking not just emotional but physical. At the young age of fifteen, he punched me one time and broke my jaw. After the fact he threatened me with a gun. Where does a fifteen year old even get a gun from? Undergoing surgery was definitely something I couldn't hide from anyone. The fear of speaking up overcame me so much until there was no more hiding or lying could do. When I woke up after that surgery the feeling I had in the pit of my stomach is indescribable. I was more than broken. My mouth was wired shut for 30 days. No solid foods. No birthday cake. I spent my seventeenth birthday with my entire mouth wired shut with brackets and rubber bands. Fast forward, I continued to stay because of the threats of exposing secrete naked pictures he'd taken of me while I wasn't looking and threats of killing me. Hell, he threatened me with a gun; was I supposed to think he was lying about actually killing me? I can count the times he's broken into my parent's home woke me out of my sleep. I can count the times he's punched me while driving my car. The abuse got worse and the more I stayed the harder it was to hide once again. At the age of seventeen after he beat me, he raped me. This time I completely lost myself. I didn't want to eat. I didn't want to get out of bed. I didn't want to breathe. I thought I had it bad then until I found out I was pregnant... I absolutely was numb during that entire time he forced himself inside of me. I couldn't feel a thing until the doctor walked in and told me those results. I was mortified... I ended up not keeping the baby after a deep talk with my mom and asking God for forgiveness. Now that I look back it was the best thing I could do for myself at the time. I couldn't stand being with him and the fact that I'd carry half of him for nine months would have destroyed me... I shouldn't have shared the news with him but I did. I couldn't believe the fact that I was pregnant because I have endometriosis. A medical condition that makes it difficult to even become pregnant. Of course the threats came that he would expose that I had an abortion if I didn't respond to his text and NO CALLER ID calls... But would leave the part out that his penis actually got hard after beating me , so he raped me. But guess what I did? I stayed. The police didn't believe the threats, there was no way to trace it from the no caller identification. So I continued to stay involved with him for about a year and a half. After I completely dropped him, the threats got worse. The days I feared the most were happening. The following me and chasing me in public places were insane! Eventually he began to create a paper trail for himself. I ended up getting restraining orders placed against him since the age of fifteen but do you think that stopped him? There would be calls all day and all night, that I was literally on the edge of losing my insanity. There were many times I begged God take me out of this world...I didn't want to be alive anymore. The harassment had me on edge 24/7... the PTSD was so real. BUT by the grace of God I am here today to say it gets better. I am now twenty-two still trying to figure out how to work through some of these emotions I feel. There are a great amount of good days, but then there are days I question God about my situation at such a young age. I just want you to know that everything is working out for your good. I want you to know you are not ignorant to stay in an abusive relationship due to the fear of losing your life over it. I want you to know that things get worse before they get better and most importantly you are not the person they treated you to be. This is your story and you have the pen and white-out to make it over. I love you- Name & Email

Shortly after I turned 18 we went on our senior trip to Amsterdam. I wasn't really someone that enjoyed going out at night so I hung out at the hotel with some friends. I was a virgin at the time and the whole concept of sex scared the shit out of me, because I was really unhappy with my body and have never been comfortable with getting naked in front of someone else. On our last night, we met some other travellers, that had just met each other as well. One of them was a 26 year old Australian. I was super drunk and it was already really late and we ended up outside in front of the hotel, kissing. He opened my pants and put his fingers inside me. The first time someone ever touched me there. I went to bed shortly after, but my friends and I had invited him earlier to just come to Germany to visit us and on the next morning, when we got on the bus to drive home, he got on a train and followed us. I later picked him up from the train station close to my home twon and we went to my place with some friends that had nor been on the trip with me. We started drinking and talking in my room and eventually decided to go to a bar in the town nearby. After some more drinks I was super drunk and my best friend dropped me and the Australian off at my house. I was super horny and confident because I was so drunk and from the moment he undressed us, I don't remember a thing. Only little bit and pieces of him choking me and having his dick in my hand.

Lifting Fog Dec 29 Written By Name View my blog for more at Link (Rewind to June 2019) I could sense my husband was growing more stressed with his work. I understood that leading a youth ministry could be stressful, so I chalked up his strange behavior to his workload. It was a summer afternoon and I was sitting in the office next to him, working on the children’s ministry curriculum and volunteer schedules. Upon finishing my work, I noticed that I was not working in the children’s ministry on Sunday, July 7th. I’m free! Maybe he can take the weekend off too. I texted a close friend who lives up north and asked if we could crash at their place for the weekend. She and her husband were very dear friends of ours. We consider them as family. My girlfriend was excited to open their home to us and spend some time with them before they left for the weekend. They both had obligations to volunteer at a camp that weekend and had to leave Friday afternoon, but she said we could stay at their place while they were gone. A free place to stay on a fourth of July weekend? I’ll take it! I asked permission from my father-in-law, who was also the lead pastor. He was completely on board and thought it was a great idea for the both of us to have a spontaneous getaway weekend. I even found a house sitter to watch our pup. All of the plans were falling into place. I was so excited to get away and spend some one-on-one time with my husband exploring the Location 1 together. I grew up in State 1 and taking summer trips to the mountains was one of my favorite things to do. I knew that being in the beauty of the mountains can just cause the stress of life to melt away. The greenery, the crispy mountain air, and the slower pace were calling my name. I wanted that for him. I imagined his stress levels falling. I wanted to see him laugh again. He stopped laughing months ago. He stopped coming to bed with me. He stopped asking me how I was doing. He stopped engaging with me altogether. More and more of his time was spent on his phone, computer, or in front of the television. It’s the stress of his job, I kept telling myself. We had many fights about how much time he was spending on electronics. They never ended well. He talked about running away from everything. It’s the stress of his job, I justified. He stopped caring altogether. I thought it was because of the miscarriage and the stress of adjusting to a more demanding job. He started to talk with me more and more about choking me out for fun. I thought he was just being silly and I always laughed it off. He wrapped his arm around my neck at times while I was making dinner or laying in bed. I justified it all. I tried to make sense of it but in the meantime, I shut down too. My stress levels were through the roof. I thought I had to keep it all together to keep up with appearances. Don’t let them see your weakness, name. When I had the miscarriage in May, I kept that emotional valve shut tight. The stress inside of me was so pressed down, the levels were rising. I could feel it in my chest. I could taste it in my mouth. Something was wrong. I just didn’t know what. We needed this vacation. So, after finishing my schedule, I walked over to his office and knocked on his door. “Come in,” he said. I opened his door and leaning on its frame, I announced with a smile, “Hey! Mark your calendar. I’m taking you away on the first weekend of July for a trip. Your dad said it was okay. We can make it back just in time on Sunday night for youth group!” He turned his chair toward me and smiled. There it is, I thought. Relieved to finally see a smile on his face. “Okay!” He said quickly. I turned around to begin the plans and his voice called from afar, “Hey, I’d like to go on a hike when we’re there,” he remarked. I slowly walked back to him in disbelief… A hike?? He never wants to hike! “I’d love to go on a mountain with a cliff face,” He said. “Sounds like fun!!” I replied. Maybe he just needs some exercise and an adrenaline rush, I thought. I was shocked that he suggested going for a hike because throughout all the years that I’ve known him, he never once expressed an interest in doing anything remotely close to hiking. I shut his door to continue to let him work and finished up mine. It was then that I started the countdown for our vacation. I was so excited and ready to get away from it all. I was ready to breathe. I know where your mind is going, it’s clear to see, isn’t it? But when you are in the middle of the mess, your mind doesn’t go there. Your mind always assumes the best. Especially when it comes to someone you love the most. (fast forward) On Date, I called 9-1-1 on my husband. That very morning after I finished reading and taking my last sip of coffee, I breathed in that beautiful fresh mountain air. I remembered it was going to rain at some point during this vacation, so I looked at the weather radar that morning. Oh, no. There was going to be a torrential downpour and thunderstorm right where we wanted to hike. We only had 3 hours before it hit. He woke up shortly after me and made his way out to the back porch where I was reading. Leaning on the door frame, I showed him the radar on my phone. “Hey, I’m not sure today would be a good day to hike. We don’t have much time before the storm hits. Maybe we can go tomorrow morning before we head home?” I asked. “No, we need to go today,” he insisted. I knew that this may be the only time he would ever want to hike again and I didn’t want to miss the opportunity since it’s something that I love. We searched frantically for a hike that was close enough, yet fit his qualifications. We planned to go to Location 2. He didn’t care to pack food nor did he care to eat beforehand. He said a Gatorade would be enough. He wore a tank top, shorts, and flat Adidas slide-in shoes. I wore workout pants, a tank top, a bandana, and running shoes. We loaded up in the truck and headed toward the mountain. The GPS kept rerouting us, we lost reception more times than I can count, and we could not find the trailhead. We were running out of time and I was growing frustrated. I wanted to be able to enjoy the hike and not rush it, but he insisted. “Let’s drive along the Location 3 and find something there. I remember seeing a trail when we came yesterday,” he said. We swam in the Location 4 the day before. It was one of the best days we had together in months. We laughed a lot, talked, rested, and enjoyed the day exploring. All was well. I was at ease because I felt like taking this mini-vacation was exactly what he needed. There was one point on that day when he was physically aggressive with me while we were swimming. I look back now and have the mental clarity to realize that it was not okay. His hands that were meant to show love treated me as an object and I numbly complied. As I always did. I tried to fight it but that nagging voice in the back of my head told me to stop… don’t disappoint him, name. So, we drove along the Location 3 since we could not find Location 2. We drove and drove and drove and connected to the Location 5. My anxiety began to build as time passed. Something is not right. We turned the corner and arrived at the spot he told me about previously and were welcomed with a large, wooden sign. The sign read, “Location 6.” This is where my life forever changed. We pulled in, paid for parking, and began our ascent. He has a bad knee, so he took Advil before heading up. We stopped to look at the map before climbing. I looked for the total distance, the route, and the scenic points. He searched for all the lookout points at the top. He huffed and puffed his entire way up. He had to take many breaks for a breath and a drink. It is a 1.5-mile trail up and back, totaling only at 3 miles. I talked most of the way up, pointed out silly “scenic” points. One scenic point was literally just a little village of mushrooms. All I honestly cared about was seeing a moose. I’ve lived 28 years in State 1 and have never seen a moose. It's one of my life’s goals and remains it still today. I laughed and talked about my family, and eventually, he asked if we could stop talking altogether. He wanted silence. Strange… I thought. Finally, we made it to the top. He kept searching around the top of the mountain for more cliffs almost as if he was searching for the perfect one. I thought nothing of it. I spent most of that time taking pictures of the scenery and taking in the beauty of the mountainous landscape that seemed to stretch on forever. I looked over to my right and he was walking closer and closer to the edge. I continued to tell him to be careful and to stop going so close. He had an intense and thrilling look in his eyes. He stood on a rock that protruded out of the cliff and looked down for a minute. “Come over here and stand on this,” he asked. “Uhm, no thank you. I don’t want to slip and die..” I sarcastically said back. He continued to plead with me, and I didn’t want to let him down despite how scared I was. So, against my every instinct, I complied. I stood on the edge and he was behind me. “Just trust me,” he said, with his hands on my lower back. My shaking knees straightened as I held onto a long, dead tree branch on my right. I could feel the wind cool on my legs and I glimpsed downward for a split second into the abyss of pine trees hundreds of feet down right below my feet. And in an instant, I heard... Get off. Instinct.. fear...intuition...the voice of God? I am not sure. But I knew I needed to get away quickly. I instantly backed off and scooted off, stood up, and walked to a safe place. Breathe, name. He was frustrated with me but I didn’t care. Something was wrong; I could sense it. I thought I was nervous about the impending storm, but my subconscious knew that I wasn’t safe for more reasons than one. He kept making comments that if I were to fall off the small drop-offs, I would only break a leg and I’d survive. Not that cliff… that one was a 250-foot drop into pine trees. I couldn’t see what was happening right in front of me. I told him to stop making those jokes, and he pointed the finger back at me and said that it was me who was making them. Always playing mind games. After I backed away from the ledge that he wanted me to stand on, I found a comfortable spot farther up and sat down. I tried to shake off this nervous feeling that I had and focused on the scenery in front of me. I took in the hundreds of shades of green spotted across the landscape, the eagle soaring through the trees, and the blue sunny skies welcoming me. He made his way over to me and sat down. With a deep breath, he said “I could get used to this.” “It truly is beautiful here,” I responded. We quietly enjoyed the view together. There was a large rainstorm approaching and the clouds from behind the mountain were growing darker by the minute. “I think it’s time we start heading back, we don’t want to get caught in the rain,” I said. He insisted that we waited longer. Everyone at this point was cleared from the top. It was just him and I. Anxiety continued to grow inside me. I waited long enough, it was now growing darker as the clouds covered the sun. “I’m sorry, but we have to go now,” I said as I stood up, brushing off my dusty legs. I stood up to walk away and he followed frustratingly with a huff. We entered the wooded path down the mountain, and only about one hundred feet in, he shouted at me from behind, “You have been the biggest source of stress in my life!” I turned around to him in shock. He was about 30 feet away from me, stopped dead in his tracks, fists clenched… I was completely thrown off as this was coming out of the blue… “what?” I responded. His face looked different. He then went on to tell me that he doesn’t think we were meant to be together. That maybe that’s why I had the miscarriage. That all he ever does is try with me, and I give him nothing in return. He said he didn’t know if he wanted to try anymore with me. Blame shifting. Guilt giving. Life-sucking words. I begged, “I want to fix this. I’m willing to fight, but you need to be, too. Are you?” “I don’t know,” he said. “The only way we couldn’t possibly work this out is if you cheated on me,” I said. Stone cold face, hands-on-hips, head pointed away from me and toward the ground, he said the two most shocking words… “I did.” My feet instantly left the ground. My breath escaped me. I can only hear the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. No, no. This isn’t real. I am dreaming. “It was when you went away to that children’s ministry conference. It was with some random girl in a hotel,” he said. Still no eye contact. “What? This isn’t real,” I said. “Some random girl? At a hotel?” I begged him to tell me who and where. But all my heart wanted to know was why. He crouched down, giving off a tearless cry. “This isn’t real, this isn’t happening, this isn’t real…” I continued to chant to myself. I kept touching my chest and my head and my face to make sure I was still there. The first raindrops were beginning to fall on my skin, but I couldn’t feel it. I looked at the tree bark. Noticed the details, the moss, the bugs. This. Is. Real. Panic is setting in. “The rain is coming. We will work this out. We NEED to get off this mountain!” I shouted. The wind was beginning to pick up. He didn’t move, still crouched in the dirt refusing to look at me. I was about 15 feet away from him. I turned to walk away, and just when I thought I couldn’t be any more heartbroken.... his voice sounded relieved and terrified as he shouted her name. My best friend. I stopped in my tracks. My mind flooded with all of the time we spent together. Betrayal of the deepest sense… my best friend and my husband? I could no longer feel my entire body. Her? No. It couldn’t be. I moved toward him as he began to tell me how many times they slept together, when, and where. “I’ve always loved her and she has always loved me. When we found out you were pregnant, it was the only thing that stopped us from running away together because we thought she was pregnant too,” he said. I looked at my hands. I examined my skin. I felt my chest. I am real. This is real. Breathe. “Are you lying?” I breathlessly asked. He looked down at my feet, smirked, and said, “What if I am?” “Come ON, tell me... are you lying!?” I asked, louder. I was about 10 feet down the path, away from him. “Yes,” he said, with a relieved smile. My heart rate slowed. I ran up the rocky, steep trail to him. I touched his shoulders, his face, and asked why he would do that to me. “Did you want to see how much I love you? Why would you lie about this? LOOK AT ME!” He didn’t look at me. “You’re not lying, are you?” I whispered. “No,” he said sternly. Anger grew inside of me unlike any other. I screamed in his face and he did not look at me. Instead, he stared blankly at my feet. “You broke a COVENANT with me! LOOK AT ME!” I yelled. But he refused to look. Refused to fight. Refused to try. “We need to go home and work this out, we can get help!” He then looked up at me for the first time and stated with a strangely calm yet loud voice… “What, do you think we can just go home now after this!? We can’t just go home now. I can’t tell my parents about this.” I turned to walk away. And then, seconds later, I felt the blow. I woke up on the ground. Flashes of pictures of leaves and trees and sky and his fists filled my mind. My ears were ringing and all I could hear was his muffled animal-like scream mixed with my heavy breathing and helpless cry. My husband hit me in the back of the head with a rock. I woke up on the ground with him fighting me. I miraculously landed on my left side and did not fall face-down into the steep trail under my feet. I was able to come to consciousness just in time to fight. I didn’t realize I was fighting him. I didn’t realize he was trying to kill me. I didn’t realize anything except that I needed to protect my neck as he reached for it. I breathlessly screamed, kicked, punched…fought like hell. I remember tasting blood. He then began to hyperventilate and sat up with his hands in his face. “I’m a piece of shit,” he wailed. Over and over again. “You deserve better.” That was the first true statement I heard from his mouth in years. I picked myself up and tried to help him breathe as I regained my breath. I attempted to lift up his hands to help him and they flopped on the ground the moment I let go and then… Then I felt it... Pain, throbbing pain, in my head and neck. I touched the back of my head. I remembered the noise of the rock hitting my head. It was like sticking my head inside a bass drum. Then a faint ringing sound. And then black. I felt my head. It was the lower left part of my head where he struck me with the rock. It was swelling fast. My vision was blurred and I could hear my breath as if I was inside of a tight bubble. “You hit me in the back of the head with a rock,” I quietly muttered while holding my head. “You tried to kill me. I might die. My head is swelling. I might die” I chanted. I began to panic as I knelt in the dirt and rocked my body back and forth as my mind raced through scenarios. What do I do? He continued to wail on the ground like a child. His cry was different this time. It was real, but it was only for himself. “I have to call 9-1-1,” I announced. I stood up with shaky legs and retrieved my phone from my backpack. My shaking hands began to dial 9-1-1. He then begged me not to, but I knew that we both weren’t safe and I didn’t think that I was going to survive if I waited longer. He wailed and begged me not to… “Please, please, please don’t. Don’t, name!” “If you don’t want me to call 9-1-1, then you’re going to follow me down this mountain and if I faint… you’re going to carry me if it’s the last thing you do for me,” I demanded as if speaking to a child. He then went very still. His breathing slowed and his eyes stared into the dirt. No response. He just doesn’t want to get caught, name. He doesn’t care for me, he only cares for himself. As my thoughts began to see reality for what it was, then my adrenaline kicked in. I could feel my veins spark and my vision cleared. I was very present. I was breathing smoothly, my knees stopped shaking, and I felt more alert than ever. He is going to try to kill me again, I realized. Once I ran out of his sight, I stopped and called 9-1-1. Instant connection. The dispatcher connected me to the Location 7 Deputies Office. “We are on our way,” are the last words I heard before I lost connection. And then... I ran. Run, name. Run like hell. It was a good thing I began training for a half marathon months before. I had tunnel vision as I zeroed in on the trail. Follow the yellow dots. Lord, don’t let him jump. Don’t trip. Light feet. Lord, don’t let me die. Please get me to the bottom. I WILL survive this. Don’t trip. Stay on your toes. Follow the yellow dots. Please, God, don’t let him jump. I ran for 20 minutes down a steep, rocky trail filled with boulders and thick pine roots. It was pouring rain. I didn’t feel a drop. I could not feel my feet touch the ground. I could not feel my head pain or my weak knee. Adrenaline surged through my veins. As I ran for my life, I thought of my mom and dad. I thought of a man that would be on the bottom of the mountain to rescue me. I thought of Hawaii. I thought of my husband and prayed for his safety. I thought of my dog, my church, my brothers. I thought of my sisters and my nieces. I thought of my family. My entire life and all that I loved came to the forefront of my mind. It was my people that mattered. The ones I loved. I fought and I ran for them. I dreamt of being held by my mom and dad. I didn’t trip. I didn’t slip. I didn’t stop. I heard the laughter of a woman up high in the hill to the right of me as I ran. I paused and looked up… Should I yell for help? I decided not to. It’s not worth the risk. I turned around and could not see him behind but heard the crunching of leaves far up the trail and they were getting louder. RUN, name! I ran as silently and quickly as I could. I didn’t want him to hear me and find me. I remember swallowing my stinging breaths and letting the air slowly out my nostrils. I didn’t even want to breathe loudly. I held my backpack straps tightly to my chest to keep my backpack from making noise. He kept calling me. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t break this silent sprint. I had to focus. In what felt like only minutes, I made it to the bottom of the trail. As the ground became flatter, I ran as fast as I could. I could begin to see the flashing blue lights through the thick trees. Those lights were the hope that I soon will be able to take shelter from this storm. They came for me! I’m going to be safe. Keep going, name. You’re almost there. My phone continued to buzz in my hand, and once I could see the blue lights, I answered the phone. I picked up the phone to the sound of him wailing, “I’m so sorry..I’m so sorry..” again and again. In a quiet, yet firm, whisper I said, “Your life is worth living. Meet me at the bottom.” I hung up. Those were the last words I spoke to him. Oh Lord, please don’t let him jump. Finally, I made it to the trailhead. I waived my weary arms in the air as the EMTs covered for safety inside the ambulance from the torrential downpour. I was still afraid to yell. The skies were dark and the lights flashed and reflected off the wet leaves as I ran closer. The glimmers of blue and red welcomed me with each step. I ran up to the ambulance and placed my hand on its cold, wet frame as I found my way to the back with wobbly knees. They opened the door and I jumped in. It was so bright, cold, and unfamiliar. I looked down at my shaking legs. They were covered in dirt and sweat. My scraped and bloodied knees stung as the sweat dripped down. My muscles were spazzing. My hands shaking, and my head throbbing. What just happened? A tall deputy entered into the ambulance, dripping from the downpour, and breathlessly said “You must be name.” Apparently, he ran up half the mountain trying to find me. Why is he so wet? Is it raining? I was hooked up to so many machines in a matter of minutes. They checked to make sure I didn’t have brain bleeding. All clear. The pain in my neck and head was so intense. It was the pain that reminded me that this was not a bad dream. It reminded me of him. All I could think about was him. “Is he okay?” I kept asking the deputy. They cared about making sure I was okay first. It wasn’t long after I arrived in the ambulance that my husband made his way to the bottom of the mountain and was arrested immediately. I was so relieved he didn’t jump. Thank you, God. I was rushed to the local hospital. I remember watching the rain pour through the ambulance window in complete shock. What just happened? I just wanted my mom and dad. I wanted to go home. I wanted to be a little girl again. I wanted all of this to be erased. I couldn’t cry. I could only breathe. The days and months that followed that terrible day have been filled with painful conversations, post-traumatic stress, fear, emotional breakdowns, family reunions, moving, restraining order paperwork, medical bills, court dates, trauma therapy, writing, reading, forgiveness, love, peace, and hope. I have a future. I am unsure where my future lies on this earth but what matters is that I have a future. He is no longer my responsibility. He chose to become the man that he is today. I am free of him. I ran down that mountain away from the abuse and into my freedom. My feet are set on a new path. I have hope for a brighter tomorrow. I am not done for. He is only a man. Just one man. He will not have the last word.

I really see no point in talking about anything when law enforcement does nothing with this information. I’ve been waiting many years now. I leave my Apple phone in lockdown mode because of repeated Pegasus hacks on my cell phones over the years. There is no private and safe way I can report crime like this when my phones are repeatedly hacked. Organizations like this aren’t reporting anything to law enforcement to protect rape victims still experiencing crimes from a rapist stalking them to death their whole lives into isolation and inevitable suicide because of no help ever being given by anyone.

There is something to be said about coercive convincing. Sometimes people can make an outwardly uncomfortable situation very appealing or just generally ok. It’s easier to fall trap to that when you know the person, think you know the person, have heard good things about the person from others you know, or you allow your curiosity to take over your instincts. You must learn to trust your gut. Don’t silence it. Be ok with their discomfort. You, your health, mentally and physically, are more important.

I am now 40 years old and have spoken not only to the man who raped me when I was 15 but to others who have been through it as well but this will be my first time doing so publicly so will do my best. When I was 15 I was seeing an 18 year old guy and 2 days before Christmas he decided he wanted what I was not ready to give. My virginity. I said no. I tried to get him to stop. I had physical bruises on my arms from trying to get up. None of it mattered because he was bigger and I had not yet learned self defense. We were from a small town so I did not tell any adults what happened until I was 21 and had moved away from the immediate area and he tried to pressure me again (for the 3rd time though he only succeeded the 1st time.) I was scared of being blamed and was scared I would not be believed and I was right to be. When I did finally tell my father he did not believe me because he didn't understand how this person was still around me. He was friends with several of my friends it's not like I told everyone I hated being around this man and that I was terrified of him...my own father had continued inviting him into our home for years after we broke up and ironically he was the only guy my father had actually approved of that I had ever dated. It really hurts when the first person who is supposed to protect you does not even believe you when you tell them something this wrong happened. It doesn't matter if its immediately or years later you can tell when someone is telling the truth about sexual assult. You can see it in their posture, you can hear it in their voice. I know some people make false accusations and it's disgusting because it makes it harder for the survivors to be believed and to get help and justice. It was not until I confronted the man and had messages not only admitting what he had done but apologizing as well (in my 30's) that my father finally believed me. Don't get me wrong there were others that did from the start but the one who should have protected me and believed me didn't. I suffer from ptsd even 25 years later. I still have night terrors. I still find myself with anxiety off the charts in certain situations. I have gone through therapy, learned self defense, helped others who have spoken their truth to me to see that it does get better with time even though I don't know if it ever completely goes away. I am now (for the last 4 years) in a healthy relationship for the first time in my life so it is possible to move on to better situations later in life. The only thing that has ever made anything positive from the things I have lived through is helping others find hope and to know they are not alone. That is my story. I would be glad to answer any questions or talk to others who need to talk. Thank you for reading.

I don’t even remember when it was. All I know if I was in Elementary maybe. It was my brother who was 2 years older. He had vhs porn! How? Idk when I sit and think about it I tend to find something to make me busy so I won’t revisit it. I ended up in our parents bed and I had body fluid on my back. I was exposed to this and I became hyper sexual as an adult. I just found out about COCSA as a 40 year old woman… I lived in so much shame still to this day. I’ve confronted my older brother he said “we were just kids” he seemed regretful but our parents don’t know and they are just oblivious. The older I get the more it weighs on my soul! Every part of my life has been altered or effected because of this act/s done to me. I wish I told my parents I wrote a letter today and thinking of mailing it. I have been so hard on myself and not trusting of myself for my entire life. My advice as a grown woman. Please use your voice… I am a survivor of domestic abuse, physical abuse, sexual abuse, divorce, emotional and esteem issues and dealing with an autoimmune disease now. I am learning about myself as a 40 year old woman where I hid all of my baggage for the last 30 years. Don’t suffer in silence.

My name is Survivor, and I am a survivor of sexual trauma. It was July of 2018, shortly after my 22nd birthday. I was talking to a guy that I have known since middle school, for about a year. After getting to know him better and feeling comfortable with him, I decided that I wanted to have sex with him-no strings attached. He happily agreed, and we met in my car at a parking lot at midnight. I told him I was a virgin, and he seemed excited. He asked if I was sure if I wanted to do it, and I complied. It happened so fast. I remember him just going right in, no foreplay or anything. He was being rough, and going a little too fast for me. It got to the point where it hurt, and I asked him to stop. He complied, but he said, "Aw, really? Come on." While pouting his lips. I thought to myself, "This can't be it; let's keep going." Despite the pain, I told him to continue. Moments later, I hear this sound-a sound to this day, that constantly makes my stomach flip when I think about it. He "popped my cherry." But something was not right. I was gushing blood-in my car, on the ground outside. We were not alarmed at first, so we said our goodbyes and headed home. I would end up going home, losing so much blood, that I would end up in the ER. I spent my night in the hospital, hooked up to IV machines, and being close to getting a blood transfusion. The doctors even asked if I was raped; I had to get surgery to sew up the wound inside me. I later told him what happened to me; that I almost died that night. But, he did not believe me. He invalidated me. He kept telling me it was all in my head, and that I did not almost die. And I was afraid that if I did not sleep with him, he wouldn't want to be friends with me. So a month later after my brush with death, I continued to sleep with him, but I always felt so dirtied after. It never felt right. I was afraid of it happening again, so I would freak out when I had sex with him. But I continued to do it, hoping that if it did happen again, then maybe he could actually see how bad it was, and that he would believe me. I always blamed myself for what had happened, because I could have prevented it. I was plagued with nightmares and suicidal thoughts. I am still working on my fear of intimacy, as well as trusting men. I am still reluctant about telling my story, because I did not experience sexual assault; I am still not sure where I belong. But I have experienced feeling afraid for my life each time I had sex, thinking each time would be my last. I want to say that anyone, regardless of the circumstance, should speak out. Don't be afraid. If he ever had the chance to read this, I want him to know, that I have forgiven him, as I am starting to forgive myself. But I also want him to know, that by denying what he did to me, by denying he had almost killed me, invalidating me to the point where I felt I no longer should have lived - all I can ask is to please change your mindset. Your words, your actions - almost cost me my life. My name is Survivor. I am a survivor of rape. And name is the one who hurt me. I will not stay silent any longer!

I was raped by a co-worker, technically a superior, 3 years ago. My anniversary was this week and it's been on my mind in a painful way. I have been in therapy and I told some people in my life the basic story over the years. It's been a very long journey so far, but there is still so much further to go. I have so much more healing that needs to happen. I am healed enough where I'm not in a constant state of crisis. But there is so far to go. I am probably ready for the next step in the healing process and I think that might be telling my story somehow, anonymously for now. Even just trying to organize it and try to make sense of it by organizing it somehow in my mind or on paper. There are so many memories and feelings that are all jumbled up. I think writing about them might help pull them apart and create more space for it.

As I walk this journey that I never thought I would, I am reminded of what I am thankful for. My kids, parents, sisters, brothers-in-law, nephews, nieces, and true friends. The way these people have held me up when I have fallen has been incredible. I used to be worried about what people thought of me, mostly the lies that have been said. Everyone told me, people who truly know you, know that none of it is true. They are right. Why would I want anyone in my life that could believe it anyway? I guess it hurts to think people who said they were family and friends believe it. But I have to remind myself, they also believe he is a good person, so their judgment is way off. I am a domestic violence survivor. I will say it louder for the people in the back... I AM A DOMESTIC VIOLENCE SURVIVOR. For 17 years I was beaten off and on. No, he didn't beat me every day, and yes, he would go months without raising a hand. I probably had a least 3 concussions, too many black eyes to count, I couldn't even begin to count how many times I have been punched in the head and face, and my jaw has been broken (not medical confirmed but when you can't bite down for weeks, your jaw doesn't line up and your teeth were separating and now crooked, it is broken), and dislocated once, a knee injury that lasted months, burned, spat on, head split open twice where I lost some much blood I am almost passed out, broken/bruised ribs, too many bruises on arms and legs to count. When he was in an episode, the fear I felt was like no other. I have to say going to sleep at night was the worst, not knowing if I would wake up in the morning by being beaten to wake. It is a strange feeling that you are happy when the bruise can be covered by clothes or think why can't he punch me somewhere other than my jaw so I can eat? But, I have to say the mental and verbal abuse was just as bad. I have been accused of everything under the sun. I have been called every name in the book. I have been accused of stalking him, tapping into his phone, bugging our wifi, and putting cameras in our home to communicate with "my boyfriend". When I picked clothes to wear, he was always in the back of my brain of what he thought. I didn't wear a skirt or dress to work for 17 years because one night he told me it was easy to access as he pushed me into the tub and beat me. The color and style of my underwear .. l did wear anything lacy during the week. I got nervous any time my phone rang or a text. I blew off my former supervisor every administrator day for lunch because I didn't want to have to tell him I went out to lunch with a man. I stopped eating lunch with my friends in the break room because of his accusation that I was sleeping with my co-worker. I have been accused of having an affair at every job I have had. Why, because I never went anywhere during the evenings or weekends. I have taken 2 lie detector tests at the beginning of my marriage. I passed both but he would tell you now I didn't. He is good at rewriting history. The ironic part, he is the one who cheated. He was in love with an affair and continued for months. And confessed to sleeping with two other women he worked with. They say their accusations are the closest thing you will get to a confession. I guess that I why I was accused of sleeping with coworkers. And I forgave him. But I now know the main reason I did was that I was afraid. Afraid to do all on my own. Afraid to go back to my parents who had been right about him all along. Afraid of the unknown and what my life would look like. And I now know I had nothing to be afraid of. My family embraced me and helped heal me. Those fears don't go away the minute you are safe. I realized this when I walked into the parking lot of our son's soccer game when he was arguing with me. We both walked between two SUVs where no one could see us with him behind me and my first thought "he is going to hit me". But this time my second thought was "If he does, I am calling the police". He has stalked me to the point my brother-in-law made me get pepper spray. After a year and a half of therapy, I realized he started grooming as soon as our relationship started. Telling me he loved me 3 weeks into our relationship should have been the first red flag but at 20, I just didn't see it. I realized I never was in love with him, I was in love with the lie of who he wanted me to believe he was. He is really good at projecting himself as a good person, he has fooled many many people. But more people saw him for who he really was and now aren't afraid to tell me. See what people who are not in an abusive relationship don't understand is there is a trauma bond that forms. Trauma bonding makes you psychologically addicted to your abuser. This explains why trying to stop contact feels like you are coming off a drug . ... Trauma bonding involves cycles of abuse - following an abusive incident or series of incidents, perpetrators will often offer a kind gesture to try to recover the situation. When he came out of an abusive episode, he was the sweetest man. It was all a lie. It is hard to know that your life was one big lie for 21 years. I feel like it isn't a new chapter I am entering into; it is a completely new book. I am not the person I was for 21 years. I am fearless, strong, independent, and a better person. I am happier now than I have ever been in my life. I can breathe for the first time. I have my power back. I know I will make mistakes but it is a freeing feeling to know that it is ok. No one is going to scream at me or put me down. To know I can grow and thrive without someone trying to stop me. This new book is going to be an amazing ride and I can't wait to read it.

It’s difficult to come to terms with being a “victim”., especially if you’re a strong person in your work environment, extended family environment, and community. Who would believe that an outspoken, bold, intelligent, leader in their family (to the outside) who would never stand for anyone around them being demeaned let alone abused in their presence, wouldn’t be able to stand up for themselves to their partner? Seems like an unlikely scenario to most. There are so many various answers to that but my personal answer is common with a lot of victims…my children. Is it fair that, if I (we) leave that they’ll never know their father like they would if I stayed? As a Mother I would do anything for my children, including dealing with things I never would if I didn’t have children. If I leave am I not “strong enough” to just deal with what he says/does? I can’t be weak in front of my children. Fast forward 16 years from the time I left the house with my children. At first, things were amicable because he couldn’t let anyone in on his true self. He couldn’t show what he said and did to me and eventually to one of our sons, for fear of being “found out”. Him finally losing the control he once had over us abruptly ended that facade. One night during his visitation time, my one son sent me a frantic message on a texting app; my son had to make a fake account to text because their father didn’t allow them to speak with me on his time. He told me that “Daddy just beat up ___”, my other son. Thinking maybe he just spanked him I asked a few more general questions, not truly believing what he was saying. It was apparent by his answers that he was not being dramatic or embellishing. I asked if he wanted me to call the police and he said yes, at which time my heart sunk and my mind went to places I shouldn’t admit to in writing. The police and CPS showed up to his house. That was the last private visitation the boys ever had with their father, per a court ruling. For the entire 16 years since I left him, we have been in Family and Supreme Court at least twice each year and have had 13 separate restraining orders against him, his family members, and his new girlfriend. A victim’s advocate went to the court hearings with me for support that I didn’t realize I needed (but I didn’t know how to tell my lawyer no thank you to the offer of help at the time). He continued the mental abuse by attempting to destroy my reputation to friends/family/people I’ve never even met, on social media and in our community. He claimed “parent alienation” and that I was mentally unstable and a danger to the children. The court had previously awarded me 100% physical and decision-making custody/rights but I wasn’t about to put my children’s business on social media to defend myself to people who were too naive to see through his smear campaign. When he no longer had the means to physically or mentally abuse the boys and I, he turned to financial abuse. Refusing to pay child support, canceling the boys’ health insurance (that he was court ordered to provide), and bringing me to court for frivolous and repetitive claims just so I had to take off of work and pay for a lawyer. He told the Judge that if he didn’t get private visitation with his kids he wasn’t paying for them. Needless to say,, the court never awarded him visitation after the assault on our son. For 11 years the boys have had control of speaking with him/seeing him if they chose to and felt safe enough to. They haven’t seen him once and they are now in their 20’s. In realizing that we would never be able to count on him providing for the boys as he ethically should, I returned to college to earn a more sought after degree that had more stability and flexibility than my career at the time. He had told my son at one point that I’d “never be able to take care of them without him”, which ended up being my motivation at the hardest points of earning two new degrees. To illustrate the financial situation, he still owes me over $60,000 in back child support, medical, and college fees but with my new career (and some good old-fashioned hard work and stubbornness) I increased my salary by over $120,000/year; that was 8 years ago. It has never been about money, it will always be about principle and his previous statement basically telling my children I was useless as a parent (merely because of money) without him. I had to prove him wrong. I gained back the control. Control over myself, my boys’ future, and my personal financial situation. It’s hard to leave. It’s scary to run a million negative scenarios through your head of what will happen if you do leave. Will you be able to feed your kids, have a roof over their head, or be able to deal with all the stress without turning to negative coping skills? You can. I did. Millions of single parents have. Is it easy? Absolutely not, not one day of those 16 years has been easy but everyday has been worth it. My boys unfortunately saw a lot of the bad things that went on even when I thought they were shielded from it. They also saw me never give up FOR THEM! I never wanted to be a “single parent” even as a divorced parent. I wanted to co-parent and be cordial at events, no matter the situation. It didn’t end up like that and in the immensely sad words of my then 12-year old son, “he hurt us and doesn’t love us but he did teach me the most important thing in life, what kind of parent not to be”. I felt like a failure in life for picking him to be their father. You may be a victim in part of your story but you’re not a victim in your whole story. Thankfully I’ve learned that “victim” isn’t actually a bad word, it’s a temporary situation. Make a plan to leave, run it through your head 10 times or 100 times, perfect that plan, lean on who you can trust, and safely leave. You’re in control of the rest of your story!

I was a victim of child sexual abuse when I was 7 years old and my cousin's stepbrother was 9 or 10. He abused me for two years. I told my mother what happened, and his parents punished him. Most of my family didn't believe me. In a conversation with my mother, she told me I had probably made up the whole abuse and that I was a liar, and I cried a lot that day. My grandmother is proud of him because he's a doctor in Germany and has a good life, while I'm trapped. I can't stand being touched and I can't get over it, even though I've been to therapy. Yesterday I saw his Instagram and felt bad because he moved on and I didn't. He told me it was a secret and I trusted him (the three of us were alone because my uncle and his wife -who is the mother of my abuser- are doctors so they were always in the hospital). They would leave the food ready for us and he (A) would put it in the microwave. A pulled my pants down a little or lift my skirt (if i was wearing one). When A was on top of me he was kissing me- it was overwhelming and i couldn't focus on anything else but his breath and voice, he was grabbing his crotch, but I didn't understand what he was doing. We were playing normal with his little sister and then A exclude her from the game to be alone with me so A put her in front of the television so she wouldn't focus on us and was distracted. Then A guided me to the room, he close the door to the room he shared with his sister (my cousin's bed was near the door and his wasn't), so he would make me lie down on the floor next to his bed so no one could see us. At first, I would get on top of him, but then he said I was too heavy to be in that position (I guess it wasn't comfortable for him to abuse me). That led to an eating disorder that I still have; I even developed anemia last year. I remember once I ran to the bathroom because something didn't feel right, but he started banging on the door but then I realized there was nothing I could do, I mean where would I go? My uncles locked us out. I remember once, A didn't close the door properly because his sister came in, and he straightened his clothes and pushed me under his bed, but his sister saw me and asked me what I was doing there, and I stayed there for a long time. And her sister got under the bed to keep me company; she was saying something to me, but I couldn't hear her, or maybe I wasn't paying attention. I think I'm broken, because his kisses and his voice in my ear were too much, and I never noticed if he ejaculated or if something else happened that I overlooked or never noticed because I never went to a doctor, my mom never reported him. And we couldn't count on my dad because he abandoned us and went off with the neighbor and treated her daughter as his own while the abuse was happening. That's why I lived in their house during that time; that's why the abuse continued because I was in the provinces and my mother traveled to the capital because of a false accusation my father made against her. A year later, my mother's half-brother baptized me with my abuser's mother, and I never said anything. I just smiled in the photos as if nothing was wrong while I hugged A. Now I´m 22 and I still feel sick and dirty.

It was my freshman year of college. At the time, I had been struggling with two years of daily chronic migraines. My health was in a really bad place, my self-esteem was really low, I was scared to start college and be on my own. After about the first few weeks or so of college, I met this guy through one of my mutual friends. We were outside the dorms and he walked by, I thought he was super cute. I subtly asked him out to a school event and I got his number. The next day, he told me he couldn't make it to the event, and then later we hung out with some friends. I was instantly attracted to him - I was just kinda head over heals and not thinking. Later that night he asked me out on a date. The next day, we went out to lunch on campus and then later went back to my dorm to bake some cookies. Then later that night, he joined my friends and I for a movie night. While my friends were bickering about what movie to watch he put his hand on my leg. It was very unexpected because we hadn't even held hands yet. Then he asked me if I wanted to leave the movie (before we even started watching it). So I was like, okay we can leave. So we left my friends, he told them that he had to drive home this weekend. As we were walking back to my dorm, he asked if I wanted him to go. I said no, because I really liked him. Then, he said we could either take his car and go somewhere, or go out on the front lawn. I didn't trust him to drive me anywhere late at night, so I said we could hang out on the front lawn. So we were sitting on the front lawn, it was probably around midnight and he ended up kissing me. This part was consensual but for me this was a new experience, it was my first kiss actually and I was uncomfortable how we were out in the open, where anyone could walk by. When it was about 2am, the sprinklers started going on and so we got up and left. As we were leaving he said "I love you." This was technically our first day, third day of knowing him and I should have known that this was a red flag. That next week we went out on the lawn to hang out in the evening, however, it was still pretty light out, a lot of people around. He started kissing me and i told him i felt uncomfortable that there were so many people around. He told me not to worry and kept kissing me and getting more handsy. He then put his hands down my leggings and started touching me. I was terrified. I kept saying how I wasn't comfortable with how many people were around, but he didn't stop. The next day or so, I went over to his dorm room. He wanted to sit on the bed. And he started kissing me and even took my shirt off. He was playing music, and I knew the other roommates in the house he was living in were home too. Then his roommate walked in. I was so embarrassed and wrapped myself quickly up in covers. He was there for a good five minutes making conversation and then finally left. After he left the guy kept touching me and I didn't know how to say no - he did it without asking and I was afraid of him getting aggressive. He kept telling me how turned on he was and how much he wanted me to touch him. I felt so uncomfortable and finally left and made some excuse to leave. Later that week in my dorm, he came over and kept telling me how he wanted to have sex. I kept telling him how uncomfortable i was. And he even took off his pants and I could feel his dick on the inside of my leg and i kept telling him no, and how i was uncomfortable. He kept telling me how he wanted to go away for weekends in Joshua tree or go stay in this cabin for a weekend by ourselves. I felt like he kept pushing me to touch his dick or to have sex with him and when i kept saying no, he got so frustrated with me and would make me feel guilt. He would tell me things like how I was the most beautiful woman in the world and then would just treat me like shit. One night, he was in my room and kept pressuring me to stay the night. At the college I go to, we have strict visiting hours and are not allowed to have boys stay over in our dorm. I kept telling him it was time to leave and he didn't move. Once I heard the RA come in the hall of the dorm, I felt suffocated, and I knew now I was stuck with him for the next few hours or at least until i could sneak him out. That whole time all he kept telling me was how turned on he was and he would touch my and i was too scared to tell him to stop because I knew how angry he got when he didn't get his way. Finally, the next week or so he broke up with me and went onto trying to date my best gal friends at school. After our breakup, I felt like it was the end of the world. I didn't see how much damage he caused me and how toxic he was - I just felt like I wasn't good enough. I cried, I was suicidal, I had panic attacks, I could barely stay in my room because I would feel like he was there, I couldn't sleep and if I did sleep he was in my nightmares. I didn't tell any of my friends or family because I was too embarrassed. I felt ashamed like it was something wrong I did, like I shouldn't have ever fallen for him. I invested into him emotionally and physically and he just didn't even care. It has been a year, and I just recently realized that what he did was sexual harassment. He did not listen to me, I did not give him consent, I could not make him leave my room when I needed him to, he made me feel guilty if I didn't have sex or touch him, he manipulated my feelings and my body. He made me believe I wasn't good enough or pretty enough or thin enough. He made me think I was clingy for wanting support. He made me feel like a burden when I would tell him my problems. He made me feel like I was damaged. It has been a year and I still don't feel okay. I still get nightmares, I still get flashbacks. If I hear a song that he used to play or see the type of car he used to drive, it just takes me back. I only have told my current boyfriend this story and was too ashamed to tell my family or any of my friends. I felt like I would be judged if I opened up about my story. But I am glad I get to share it with you today. I don't know if I will ever be the same from this experience, but I am trying to turn things around now. By opening up, it has helped me try to find some sort of peace within the midst of everything. And has helped me understand that this isn't my fault and that even though this happened to me, it doesn't own me.

I KNOW that right now there is someone who needs to hear this story (please see questions below). YOU wanted him. He was the most handsome boy in the neighbourhood and every girl wanted him - BUT - he raped you. It has taken 27 years for me to acknowledge the tipping point of my decent into sexual promiscuity and substance abuse. I always blamed myself for the choice to be in that room with him - I asked for it. Right? Wrong. I remember saying NO - at least 30 times!!! At least 30 times. He was the most handsome guy that I had ever seen. Every girl wanted him and I thought that I was good enough to have him. I wanted to talk to him and wanted to be alone with him for a chance to be in sight to be his girlfriend. Instead. I remember being pinned down and saying No - over and over and over again until I gave in. I even remember his words: "You are not leaving this room until I get what I want". I eventually gave in and did it and I always blamed myself for being in that position in the 1st place. I was not a virgin. I was not innocent. I was a naughty teenager - just like everyone else was at that stage - but I now know that I did not ask or deserve what I got in the room that day. I always thought that in order to be regarded as a victim of sexual abuse - that you needed to have bruises. Be bleeding. Have ripped or torn panties - SOMETHING!!!!!! To prove that this horrible thing had happened to me. I had to relocate to another city to run from my past but I could not escape my sense of worthlessness. I am not a psychologist - I only know that there are some of you reading this to even figure out if you were raped in the 1st place? I can only give you some questions, that it took me 27 years to find. I wish for you to heal faster than I did. 1. Did you say no? More than once - many times. He was not violent - you were just exhausted from saying NO and you needed to escape and so saying yes was the only way to get out of the room/car - whatever the place was. 2. Were you exposed to a sexually charged situation - without asking for it? e.g. pornography playing, without your consent to be exposed to this content. 3. Did the situation leave you feeling degraded? 4. Have you or are you using your sexuality (looks) as a a way of acceptance? 5. The opposite of the above is - do you feel uncomfortable looking pretty or drawing attention to your good looks? You dress in a manner that covers up your good looks. 6. You try to look different from the person at that stage when it happened. You have black hair - so you go blonde? You were thin and so you pick up weight. You lost weight. You changed something major about your looks. The movie "The accused" is a brutal example of this - whereby she shaves all of her hair off. Does this sound familiar? In some or other way - this brutal change of looks does manifest after abuse. 5. You have trouble looking at yourself in the mirror - or even taking pictures is hard for you. 5. Do you have trouble saying NO? To anyone.... 6. Do you allow verbal or psychological abuse? Deep down you know this is happening. It feels uncomfortable. A good place to dissect this is if you have a degrading boss/spouse but you have not reported him to HR/Police and you just keep on working/staying there. I hope that this is published. I know that I am not a professional BUT I am a survivor. AND finally I have the courage to say so. Name. YOU raped me. You changed the trajectory of my life. I made myself small since then. I allowed perpetual abuse into my life since then BUT today IT STOPS. I forgive you for a being a 17 year old boy - who raped a 15 year old girl. I know that in YOUR head - you know what you did that day was wrong and you have paid the price ever since, just as much as I have, ever since that day. MOST importantly. I want YOU - the victim to know, that you are RIGHT. It WAS rape and you are not stupid. Or fat, or ugly. Or not worthy. And no amount of "fake" compensation will ever fix the void in your soul until you are willing to admit - that you were indeed raped. From there - your healing will be begin. I wish you abundant self love and may you never ever again, doubt that you are worthy of the highest level of (self) love. I know that you wanted to him to validate your worth that day.......BUT only you can validate you. Know that he has no power over you anymore. Only you do and stop allowing this moment and the resulting degrading experiences, to define you any further. IT was not your fault. It will never be your fault. Forgive yourself. Love yourself. AMEN.