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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.

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.

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

I survived. I got out. You can too. Insidious and devious are the words I think of when I've wondered how I got trapped. My ex-spouse was so charming, everybody thought he was a great person and I did too. So much so that I decided to ignore the fact he raped me and chalked it up to us drinking. Then gradually as we dated and then married he tried to spin a web of control around me by being angry and violent when I would spend time with friends or go to the gym or go to the library to study. Telling me I was not allowed to go to the gym because there were men there. Being told I couldn't go to work events. Calling my work when I was working late and accusing me of having affairs, then being verbally and physically abusive. He was so successful at manipulating others even my dad, initially, didn't believe me when I told him about the monster and the horrible things I had endured. I finally told my dad what had been going on when he threatened to kill me and chased me with a baseball bat. I was able to get in my car and get away and called my dad crying and screaming. He thought I had lost my mind. Some of my friends also thought I had lost it, and told me oh he is so nice and scoffed when I said I was filing for divorce and a protective order. After the first two calls to the sheriff they believed me and were so kind, frequently driving by my house and making sure I was safe. There is power in being believed. There is strength in knowing that others have made it out both alive and eventually became whole. I still experience occasional flashbacks and certain situations will trigger my anxiety, but I am able to trust people again and no longer fear "being in trouble" if I spend time with friends. Even more, I have allowed myself to become emotionally vulnerable with other people again after all these years. That was a huge leap for me. And I genuinely feel like a good person again.

I was only 7. So was he. He watched porn that his dad had his before his mom left him for my dad. He had a younger sister. One day he and I were outside and he asks me something, something my brain refuses to remember. I was so unsure, so confused on why he was suggesting us young kids to do adult activities. I visited my dad’s every other weekend, my mom was a terrible parent. I remember he suggested we started small since I was uncomfortable, I thought he was being sweet, but I was always uncomfortable. We started out just poking each other, then he fully went for it. I didn’t want it. I really didn’t. He was supposed to be like a brother to me. After he started to progress, he would do it any chance he got, any time we were alone. Years later, his mom and my dad broke up, our house caught fire so I had to live over there for a bit. He didn’t touch me. Not anymore, he wouldn’t look at me. But his sister began to touch me, I had to teach her that what her brother had done to me was not okay. I had to explain to a child that she was violating me. Now I’ve had many more troubling sexual encounters, I’m an adult and go to therapy, I still don’t like my body.

Post: I’m a survivor of an abusive experience with a man who confused me, argued with me, and manipulated me in ways that pulled me out of my own body. It left me with anger, nightmares, and a lot of scars. Since then I’ve felt disconnected from my body, especially sexually. I’ve spent years arguing with my body instead of listening to it. Part of my struggle has been sexuality. I’ve tried really hard to be straight because women are beautiful and interesting to me. But my body often didn’t feel safe or connected during sex. Sometimes it felt like I was forcing my body to perform a role rather than actually wanting it. Over time I started noticing something painful: I barely feel pleasure in my body anymore. Even in my penis, I feel maybe 1% of what I imagine people normally feel. It’s like I’ve trained myself to override my body instead of listening to it. For years I thought that meant I was broken. Or that I needed to make myself more straight. Or that I needed to become more gay. Or that I just needed to “fix” myself somehow. Recently I read a story from another survivor who realized her body was trying to tell her something. When she forced herself sexually, her body reacted with migraines and nausea. Her body was saying “no.” That made me wonder something about my own life. What if the problem isn’t that my body is broken? What if the problem is that I’ve been ignoring my body for years? I’m starting to think I may have treated my body like a machine that’s supposed to produce pleasure on command. I’ve pushed it, argued with it, tried to control it, and forced it into situations where it didn’t feel safe. So lately I’ve been trying something different. Instead of trying to force pleasure or force an identity, I’m trying to listen. I even wrote an apology to my body. I apologized for forcing sex when it didn’t feel safe. I apologized for ignoring its signals. I apologized for pushing through stress, loneliness, and shame by overriding what my body was telling me. Right now I’m trying to learn what it would be like to rebuild a relationship with my body instead of controlling it. Listening instead of forcing. Patience instead of pressure. Has anyone else here gone through something like this after abuse or trauma? How did you start rebuilding trust with your body again?

what i have learned from this ordeal is that someone who wants to hurt you is intimidated by your light. they’re afraid that if you know how beautiful you are, you will leave them so they try to bring you down. but they can only dim your light for a time, they can’t take it away from you. our bodies are resilient and they are made to heal. survivor

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

I live in Japan. I have been here for 7 years. I got married to a man that I felt I was in love with and had a daughter. I thought we were ok. We got divorced. He told me he stopped loving me when I wanted to hear about his day. He cheated on me with multiple women, getting very physical and most likely sexual. I am now alone with my daughter and have to work through all this on my own.

Trigger warning for discussion of COCSA. I am a victim on child-on-child sexual assault. I think it's important that I share my story because so many people still tell me that what I went through is not valid just because we were both children. She was even a slight bit younger than me. I know other people have heard the same thing. You aren't alone, and your experiences are valid. I was eleven when it happened. We had been friends since we were six, but she never really liked me, and she controlled everything I did. I practically devoted my life to her. When we were ten she started to abuse me physically and mentally. I hear often that she was just "playing around". That a child would "never do that!" She would. And she learned how from true crime stories online. She used it to get her way. And after a year of so much escalation, she started abusing me sexually. Despite being months younger than me and smaller than me, she was smart and cunning and manipulative, and she took advantage of my love for her and my lack of social awareness due to my autism. And it went on for months. Going to her house for sleepovers was something I dreaded because it brought me the worst discomfort and the worst nights of my life. After years of enduring this abuse, I was mentally and physically drained. I finally realized that if I didn't find a way to escape from her I would die. And it took a while, but I made it out of her grasps eventually. I won't lie, the experience has had lasting effects on my mental wellbeing, but I think I've healed tremendously. There are still steps I need to take, but I'm heading in the right direction, surrounding myself with people who truly care about me. People who have gone through things themselves, that understand me. If you have taken the time to read my story, I thank you. Listening ears are one step closer to recovery. To anyone reading this, you are valued. You aren't alone in what you have gone through, and your feelings and experiences are valid. To anyone who has gone through anything similar to me, I am wishing the best for you 🫶 Thank you all for taking the time to read this.

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

I just recently read an NDA that Organization put my brother under. It is horrible and so long, thorough, specific…very much intended to be intimidating and silencing! Thanks to Trey’s Law, I now know what my brother signed and it’s atrocious that Organization the “ministry” specifically demanded and wanted the NDA (not other involved parties/defendants). It’s also obscene that his lawyer let him sign this. The system is broken. Victims don’t deserve this after everything else they’ve been through!

I was 3 years old when I was first raped. That time, by my neighbor—my parents’ chiropractor, to be exact. The abuse continued until I was around 5 years old. I was suddenly no longer allowed to go to his house, and I didn’t understand why; after all, we just were “playing doctor.” My traumatized, yet innocent brain couldn’t handle the memories so I chose to never think about it again…until I remembered it all. EVERYTHING. The second time I was raped, I was 15 years old. The perpetrator was two years older than me, and much stronger. I don’t remember much of the actual assault, but I sure do remember the aftermath. I remember walking out from the Uber into my house, holding my ripped underwear in my hands. I remember when he sent threats to hurt me afterwards if I dared to tell anyone. I remember him forcing me to take a video of swallowing a Plan B pill. Flash forward to four years later. I am 19 years old. I have severe mental health issues with suicide attempts and a hospitalization under my belt. I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and borderline personality, along with severe PTSD. I dropped out of high school and got my GED. I’m trying to function as a normal young adult, with a job and family drama and lots of emotional baggage. Yet I fail; then I stand up and fight again. And again. And again.

It started as me being 16 and him being 28. He and I met on an AOL chatroom, and it started with the generic a/s/l question. He ended up driving from his home over 1.5 hours away to my mom's home. The graphic nature of it is I felt dehumanized during the entire experience, he stated later when he turned himself in that I had invited him to the house for sex. Never mind that I was a literal child, and he was a fully grown adult. Later on, he would apologize to me and in my not being ready to process the full extent of what happened I had told him that it was consensual (it was not) and that it was not his fault (it most definitely was). I decided that to fully heal from my experience with him I took a friend to the federal courthouse 22 years later to see what exactly he said to the police when he had turned himself in. There were lies and manipulations within him trying to paint himself as the "good guy" who had "guilt" towards the situation. He said he picked me because of geographic location, that due to my age I would probably not expect marriage from him, and he could control when we would meet and talk. He lied about the number of times that we had had sex and also the location where the sex took place. The bulk of the file is a psychiatric evaluation. I recall the Sheriff coming to our house, but I could also tell that 1) it was not taken very seriously because I talked to a Sheriff very briefly and 2) it was a complete violation of what I had told him I actually wanted to happen. Like always, he had to control the narrative, not the victim. He knew that if I had come forward with the truth of what happened, had I opened up to my therapist, friends or dad about what this man had done then he would have gotten way more than 3 years' probation and a slap on the wrist fine with very minimal sex offender classes. It has taken me 22 years to want to regain control of what happened to me at 16 years old. It has taken me 22 years to realize that I need to heal from the trauma that this man gave me at way too young of an age to fully comprehend said trauma and way too young of an age to ever have given consent to him. Going to the federal courthouse to obtain copies of the lies that he told, including the lies he told in order to get friends and acquaintances to write character references (one mentioned a job, and another mentioned a program he was wanting to enter). I know the truth about what happened, even if a court of law never did, he knows the truth about what happened as well, but wants to continue to control the narrative, because that is just how he wants to be perceived. His life is in a whirlwind, but as long as he believes he is in control, then he is in control.

in january of this year i was sexually assaulted by the head chef at a restaurant that i worked for. the restaurants manager asked me to not go to the police otherwise i would lose my job. i went to the police anyway but they closed my case because of the little evidence they had. however, it has just come out now that this chef has a criminal record and three other girls have come forward claiming it has happened to them too, from the same man! our case is going to trial and there is a strong chance he might face prison time!!!

I think I am a victim of COCSA. I've only told two people of this and they are my closest friends that I am associated with and that I love dearly, they mean the absolute world to me, and they have told me that I am. When I was a child, about 5 or so, my family brought me to my cousins house. (I don't remember how old he was or exactly how old I was, just that we were young) That night we were doing the usual things kids do, sitting on the couch watching a movie and playing games with his siblings, until he grabbed my hand and said, "Come here." So, thinking nothing of it, I let him lead me to the tent he had in the same living room. He had me lay down and then zipped the tent up before saying, "I want to show you something." I had a weird feeling about it but I trusted him nonetheless, bc he's family and I was innocent with no understanding of what was going to happen. He then pulled down his pants and then mine before proceeding to SA me. I didn't understand what was happening or that what he was doing to me was bad, I was never taught about sex or sexual assault due to being sheltered. Afterwards I felt weird about what had happened and had a feeling of disgust even though I didn't know what had happened. We haven't met since then but growing up was definitely difficult when I thought about that, along with some other stuff that had happened to me. I always felt disgusted and dirty when I learned what sex was and hated myself because I was so young and we were related, constantly blaming myself for it. I've caught myself several times growing up telling myself that I was gross for doing something like that at such a young age with someone I was related to and that he wasn't to blame because he was a kid and kids don't understand what they're doing. Even though it was difficult I taught myself that it wasn't my fault, that I didn't understand what was happening and that he knew what he was doing. Even though we were young and about the same age the mental gap was there. I've only very recently become comfortable with only people I'm close to touching me just because it brings the unwanted memory or what had happened back. I've been coping and putting myself back together from that and some other experiences, I have grown more aware and have grown as a person.

I was raped 59 days ago. I took my last pill for HIV that made me nauseous 29 days ago. I had my second check up with my OBG/YN for STD’s and STI’s 6 days ago. I had my first nightmare where my rapist was violent 20 days ago. I heard from the detective that she received my rape kit and it will take 6-9 months to be processed by the lab 11 days ago. I cried when someone asked me how I was doing three hours ago. This is my life now. The last words, my therapist said in our first session were “There are two things you need to know. You will never be the same, and you will still be able to do everything in life that you always wanted to do.” It started as a great Saturday. A girlfriend and I were open to spontaneity and fun, got dressed up cute and went to meet a group of her guy friends at a bar for drinks and to watch the game. One drink became two, became three, and then became shots. we were having a great time, and our team won! We weren’t friends, necessarily, more like acquaintances. I met him through work 5 or 6 years earlier. Our social interactions were no more than small talk at a handful of work functions, and a Christmas party or two. He text me the Wednesday before asking if I had recommendations for a happy hour spot. It was out of the blue, but being the friendly person that I am, I sent him a list of different hotspots. He said he and some buddies were going to go to one that night, and I should meet him. I was having dinner with my stepmom and told him that I couldn’t make it, and then he mentioned that he was moving into the city and needed some friends. I told him if I was ever out with a group I’d let him know. This specific Saturday was such a fun day, and I was with a great group of people. I shit him a text, and just said “hey, if you don’t have plans for the game, I am meeting some friends at a bar.” I gave him the name of the bar, and he text me back stating he was going to go to a buddies house, but might come by later. Several hours passed, the game had ended, and he asked if I was still at the bar. I told him yes, and then he said “my friends left me, you should come meet me” and he told me where he was. I simply said no I am with friends, so instead he came my direction. I remember introducing him to the people I was with. We were on opposite sides of the table, I was engaging in conversation with everyone, and didn’t give him any sort of special attention. This was not someone that I was ever interested in or attracted to. Before I knew it, the bar seemed to be closing. I was pretty drunk, and planned to call an Uber. I remember he asked to give me a ride home. I thought sure! No other thought crossed my mind. This was someone that I knew. He was a non-threatening person to me. I remember one of the guys that I had met that night offering to get me an Uber instead. I wrote him off thinking to myself that I didn’t know him, but I knew this guy. This guy was safe, and if I could save a few bucks on an Uber, why not! I don’t remember walking from the bar to the car. I don’t remember the car ride. I don’t remember giving him directions or telling him my address. I don’t remember parking at my building. I don’t remember getting out of the car. I remember being inside the elevator. I remember we went to the rooftop. My building rooftop has an incredible view of the city and I remember commenting on the city skyline. I remember he said he needed to pee. I remember stating we could go down so he could use the restroom. I don’t remember the elevator ride down. I don’t remember the long walk through the hallways to my door. I don’t remember entering my apartment. I remember being in the kitchen. I remember that he brought with him a bottle of alcohol. It was brown in color and the clear bottle was roughly 1/4 full. I remember having two shots and commenting that the alcohol was sweet. I remember him saying “you’ve never had this before?” I remember he went to the restroom. I think I went to the restroom but I’m not sure. I have so many black spots in my memory…so many things I don’t recall. I remember he was on top of me. I was laying on my back on my bed with my feet hanging off horizontally, bent over the side at the knee. I remember feeling him pulling my underwear and shorts down the right side of my thigh. I remember feeling dizzy and sick. My eyes were closed and the room was spinning. The next thing I remember is my limp body sliding off the bed and his hands grasping me by the sides, and pushing me up while he was inside of me. I remember coming to consciousness and gasping for air as he choked me. I remember I couldn’t breathe and I was coughing. I remember coming to again and he was no longer inside of me. With my eyes still closed, I crawled to the top of my bed and lay my head on my pillow. I felt so sick, so tired, so dizzy. I remember he came to the top of the bed and peered over me and said something along the lines of “oh so you’re going to go to sleep now?” I remember I muttered an acknowledgment. I woke up around at 9:15 AM. After realizing that I was in my room and in my bed and the sun was shining it hit me like a ton of bricks. I remember the choking and felt that I had severe pain to my neck and chest. As I looked down, my dress was on but my undergarments were removed and on the floor. I started freaking out and I text my girlfriend from the night before. I told her he was at my place and we had sex but that I didn’t remember anything and I didn’t remember telling him I wanted to, and that I was scared. I went into my living room and saw the bottle and the empty shot glasses on my kitchen counter. Then on my couch, I found a sock that was not mine, and appeared to be full of his semen. My dog must have drug it to the other room during the night…my dog, who I didn’t put in his kennel. I always put him in his kennel. I always took out my contacts. I always took off my make up. I always locked the door and I always turned off the lights. Not this time. I went to the bathroom and threw up. I felt sick and hung over and nauseous. I called my best friend, and when I went back into my bedroom, I saw that my bed sheets had a large liquid stain mixed with blood. My blood. I went to the bathroom and wiped and there was blood. There was blood on my duvet. I didn’t know what it was from. I called my mom, who brought me to the emergency room. I spent eight hours in the emergency room. All I wanted to do was brush my hair and brush my teeth and take a shower, but instead I spent the day getting tested and waiting constantly being asked by nursing staff if I was ok. Constantly being pitied and told “I’m sorry.” My chart just said sexual assault victim in bold sharpie. I remember the forensics nurse, she was so kind. I was terrified but she walked me through everything and made me feel comfortable. She swabbed every piece of my body and asked for my story. It was the first time I said all of the pieces that I remembered out loud. I was shaking. I was scared. I cried. She told me that the bruising on my cervix was some of the worst she had ever seen. She told me she thought that this wasn’t just penetration from a penis. How would I know? I was unconscious. She told me that I would have five years to report it to the police. I went home and I took a shower. I brushed my teeth and brushed my hair. I hardly slept, while my mom watched over me carefully. My chest and my neck hurt so badly and all I could do was try and try and try to remember. Replay it over and over and over again in my head. Why did my chest hurt? What happened? How did we get to my bedroom? I was in agony. The next morning I went to my OB/GYN and had her do a secondary examination. She confirmed the bruising on my cervix was bad. She stated there was tearing and and bleeding. The next morning, I reported to the sex crimes unit. It was terrifying. I cried through parts of it, but not all of it. I was scared and I just wanted it to go away. I don’t want to have to deal with this. I don’t want there to be an investigation. I don’t want to go on a stand. I don’t want to have to explain what happened to me over and over and in front of people. I don’t want to feel aafraid about how he might retaliate when he finds out I’ve reported it. I don’t want to have to justify why I don’t remember, and have a defense twist up the facts to make it look like I acted irresponsibly and that this attack was somehow my fault. I just wanted to rewind. I can’t believe that this is my life. In the weeks that have passed, what I can say confidently is that this was not my fault. This happened to me. This was violent. This was somebody that I thought I could trust who took advantage of me in my own home. This was not okay. I was raped. I’m living one day at a time, and every single day I have a thought that scares me…a nightmare, a thought about what the future holds, if the DA will pick up the case, if the test results will be conclusive, if I have to go on the stand and face my rapist. Everyday I am scared, but everyday I remember that I am also strong. I remember that I can do this. I remember that I am not alone and that I have a support system. I fear the worst is yet to come, and that the next few years will be harder than ever, but I am proud of myself for moving forward and slowly trying to take back my power. No matter how many days pass, what happened to me will never change, but I know that with time (and therapy) I will be able to do all the things that I’ve always wanted to do in life. I will be okay. Thank you for reading my truth.

I was 5 the first time my mother's foster brother touched me because we were "playing a game". I did not realize it was wrong until I was 1o. That man touched me from 5-8. The worst part about that was that my mother told me I was a liar because I did not remember all the little details. Then from ages 11-15 my stepdad raped me almost every day. I told my mother and again nothing was done to the next man that took my privacy and innocence away. These two men are still out there living their lives while I suffer.

I had become accustomed to being called horrible names (fat, bitch, cunt, stupid,whore, hairy,pathetic, ugly) being screamed at, shoved, pushed, hair pulled, my wrist grabbed so hard that I think I have nerve damage. But the day he punched me, choked me and I thought I was going to die is when I had enough. It was the lowest scariest moment in my life. Before it got to that extreme I felt I had to tolerate the abuse what I then labeled bad behaviors because that’s what loving someone else was. I accepted it as part of his short comings and believed I was so mentally strong they did not affect me. I also believed I could change him if I just showed him I loved him enough. That I could heal his wounds. It was a lie I told myself not realizing how toxic that was. When someone that claims to love you and who you love treats you with such disrespect, it wounds even the strongest of us. Eventually, that love became hate for him and for myself. I carried so much shame too because I couldn't believe that I allowed him to treat me with such cruelty. I believed myself stupid and weak. I was vulnerable because I craved affection. I was codependent and did not know it. I was easy prey for a narcissist. After I left him a part of me was relieved but another part was so hurt and lost. I had days I felt like just crying and staying in bed, days going to work was almost impossible because I hated myself for everything specifically where I found myself at 27. I soon realized that what I thought was weak was actually the good in me. The understanding, emphatic and caring parts of me were not weakness, I was just giving that to someone that did not deserve it. Did not deserve me. I had to learn to heal by showing myself the compassion and love I gave him. I had to learn to love myself and I did. I realized I am strong and resilient and deserve to be happy. I found my joy to live and an inner strength I had no idea I possessed. To anyone that feels trapped in a cycle of abuse I say you are not alone and you are NOT crazy. I remember the first time I allowed myself to speak about all the abuse. It was to a therapist and I only seeked out therapy because I no longer recognized myself. I was either sad or angry and began suffering from anxiety. She said to me, I can't imagine how it feels to live with all those feelings and I remember crying. For the first time, I felt like my feelings mattered and I was not insane because I had been gaslighted and manipulated to the point I didn’t trust my feelings. Most of that hour I was balling and could not stop. It was like the flood gates opened and there was no closing them. I just had to wait for it to empty out. The pain I was holding in was indescribable. I just know I do not wish it to anyone. It was also the start of my healing. The last few years on my own have forced me to grow and really love myself. I can say today that I look back at that time and feel like this all happened to someone else. There are moments, triggers that remind me of the sad girl I once was but I am so much stronger now that they do not last. It took years to get here, and there is still work I got to do like learn to be vulnerable again but one thing I know for sure, I will NEVER go back to that version of me.

Most of the abuse and neglect I grew up with was verbal abuse and emotional neglect. It was a lot of being yelled at by a parent. A lot of violence on objects in our presence - fists pounding on the dinner table, milk pitchers getting thrown off the table while we were all seated, banished to my room when I was angry and upset, a telephone getting violently torn from the wall while a sister and I stood inches away. The phone incident occurred at night. My memory is my sister and I were in bed. We were called out of our bedroom and yelled at for going to bed without doing the dishes. We were told we were lucky because our parent was so mad at us for not doing the dishes that they wanted to hit us but they didn’t hit us, instead they violently tore the phone out of the wall in front of us. I didn’t feel lucky. I was very upset, angry and scared and walked out of the house at night in my nightgown crying. I was then told I was overreacting and crying in order to get attention and sympathy. Another night as a younger child, I was having nightmares and crying. I was really scared and upset and couldn’t sleep. A parent came to my room and slapped me repeatedly every few seconds on my cheek. As they slapped me, they told me I would continue to get slapped until I stopped crying. I was slapped on the face every few seconds until my crying stopped. I am learning that as a result of the verbal abuse and emotional neglect I grew up with, I have thought and acted as though I was to blame for how I was treated as a child. I have lived a life plagued with guilt and self-reproach. My brain interpreted how I was treated as how I deserved to be treated and that I, not my parents, were at fault. If I hadn’t been scared and crying, I wouldn’t have gotten slapped. If I had done the dishes, the phone wouldn’t have been torn out of the wall in front of me. It’s pretty messed up thinking but not uncommon in people who were treated the way I was as a child. I am working hard to unlearn that way of thinking. The effects of the abuse and neglect endure to the present day. I have come to understand that a lot of my current overwhelming emotions like rage, anger, depression and passive suicide ideation are throwbacks to my childhood when no one helped me contain, process and move through big, strong, volatile feelings. As a result, I have had bouts of profound and debilitating depression. I have been passively suicidal, wishing I was dead or at least in a hospital. All my siblings have suffered. I have a sister who has been hospitalized over fifty times for mental health issues and is also on disability for those issues. I have pretty constant low grade anxiety that has been around so long I wasn't aware of it until recently, such a part of my being it is. I am hyper-vigilant and routinely react to present day situations in ways that don't match the present day issue. Something minor can happen and instead of being slightly bothered by it and quickly returning to calm, my nervous system interprets it as an unsafe situation, I unconsciously go on high alert and have an overblown reaction. I also frequently interpret a benign situation as dangerous. For example, I hear a certain tone in someone's voice and suddenly I think I'm about to get yelled at, hit, or have something thrown at me when someone is merely telling me I dropped a dollar bill on the floor. Learning about complex ptsd (cptsd) has been extremely helpful as has Internal Family Systems (IFS) and my therapy which is in part traditional therapy but also trauma informed with a lot of body based, bottom up (as opposed to brain based, head down) concepts and work. I was 56 when I realized I am dealing with cptsd and now feel, in many ways, like a new person. It’s never too late!