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I'm 63, but it was 6 weeks ago I was first molested by a priest. It started 57 years ago. I was 6, an alter boy, a cliche', multiple priests for 5 years. No one paid attention to the signs. The temper tantrums, the crying, the acting out? No one saw a thing, and I was handed off like it was nothing. It stopped at 11, I think. Memories are still flowing in. It wasn't over. At either 14 or 15, in September. Odd I remember that. It was cold. I just gout into the boat after my turn skiing. I was really small for my age, maybe 5'3" and 100 lbs. Brother name, a christian brother, grabbed my towel and wrapped it around me to "warm me up" I can feel his fucking hands on me as I type this. I turned to look at my brother who is 3+ years older than me turn his back to me. My brother fed me to this wolf. Who does that? There's more I haven't uncovered yet. BUT Because I'm 63 I am past every statute available. I've gone from making over $400K to now, living in a beat up camper, with no job, only anxiety, anger, why, fear,and most of all determination. For all accounts I shouldn't be here. For all accounts I should be a drug addict, hooker, or was. I wouldn't have gotten past 30. I attribute my intelligence and the ability I had to bury everything that happened to me from age 4 - 18. If it wasn't clergy raping me, it was my brothers bullying me, my parents ignoring me, the several times I was left behind and no one noticed for hours. Finally I told my little sister, 7 years my junior, and 'm quoting "We all had a tough life, get over it" She's been blocked. I texted my brother and asked why he left them (I said them so I'm afraid of what's coming), he blocked me. Admission? I think so How do I get my JUSTICE?!

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.

You Are Not Alone You are not alone. So many of us had so much taken from us by people who put pleasing their basal urges over our sanity. For their moments of bliss and dominance we suffer. We blame ourselves for their sickness. THEIR pathology. There is an army of us. That is what these stories teach us. They show us we are legion. We are strong. Our psychological reactions of fear, mistrust, hatred are not crazy. They are normal. It is also normal, but not easy, to climb out the darkness together. I grew up in a large low income black of flats that was like a village. My mum worked and we went about by ourselves. In the winter we were never expected to be seen if we left. We were in some flat mucking about with some kids or neighbor, and it all worked out fine. I did lose my virginity when I was eleven to a friend of my older brother who was in year ten. But that was no bother because it was not uncommon there, sadly. I am half Brazilian on my absent father’s side and was considered quite exotic and fit. My secondary sexual characteristics developed early. I was reasonably careful and in control. True abuse began years later when we moved out to a proper house with HIM. HE was my mom’s dream man. HE was fit for a middle-aged man. By that time my brother wasn’t with us because he took work in Alaska on a fishing boat. HE was ex-Army and seemed like a good man at first. I was a bit of trouble maker and over-cheeky and my mom gave HIM carte blanche to discipline me like father. We weren’t there the length of a full season when HE started treating me like a tart. The spanking part mom knew about and thought it was funny, even with me being fifteen. HE spanked my bare bum even when she was home. She said I’d always needed a man’s hand to block of my rough edges. It was cringe, humiliating, but nothing compared to what HE did when mum was away. Not to get detailed, HE soon got to a point where I was going to get HIS load whenever there was the chance. Since HE got to set my schedule he made sure there were regular chances. It was my HELL and HE was the Prince of Darkness. He was rough but careful not to leave any marks. Unless time was short I had to shower first. Sometimes after there would be something specific sitting out to wear, like a costume or lingerie, or my netball kit. The grating anticipation of what was going to follow was the real torture. HE would tell me to “Pick a hole”. My holes! My foof was one, my mouth was two, and you’d think I would never select three. But you’d be wrong. I hated HIM. I am very sensitive sexually and if I went with one I looked like I loved it and if I chose two I was doing work to please HIM. Three was the way I could shut down and brace myself without him ever seeing me smile, even if I was facing toward him. When I was strong with hatred I would choose three. I compartmentalized that small but brutal part of my life for my mum. If was a mere thirty to one hundred twenty minutes per a week of 10080 minutes. And I saw no other way then. Mum, for the first time was living a happy life. I could have won a BAFTA for how I seemed so cozy and content for her. It gutted me that my fear of upsetting HIM made it appear that HE had smoothed out my rough edges and made me into a proper lady. I kept my marks up and stayed on the netball team in spite of being the shortest. I kept going. I developed a habit of stabbing mechanical pencil tips into my skin and biting my nailbeds to illicit pain. I had one boyfriend for a short time. I went to the dances. Home was my hell so I did everything HE would allow to be anywhere else. I could not work but he made my mum keep her job so he could have me. My birthdays I would get my way of having a just girls’ night out with mum. There were only two birthdays before I got free of him. College cost 1000 pounds and when HE paid it HE did not know I was not going to be his tart anymore. I had a friend with a home much closer to my school. They had spare bedroom because an older sibling had moved out. Being seventeen, HE couldn’t force me to live with them if I had other safe accommodations. I took employment and paid the meager rent. He got me one more time when I was sleeping back at his house on Christmas eve. Probably drugged mum to keep her sleeping. I made sure he never got a chance again. Through my Portuguese class I met a man who lived in Portugal and invited me to come stay with him as long as I wanted rent free. I finished one year of sixth form and went to Portugal. I had fleeting relations with the man I stayed with but he traveled often we both had our own things. I worked at an American-themed restaurant as a server then. I spoke with my mum on the phone most days. She visited once, with HIM. I missed her and tried not to show much of my sorrow about being forced apart from her. Seeing HIM was horrendous, yet I kept it contained inside like a cancer. It helped solidify my decision. I traveled with a friend to Florida and got a job serving in a posh restaurant. I applied for a work VISA and on my second try I got it. I am thirty-eight now. Only three years ago did I confront my demons because I read online stories about other abuse survivors. It opened up a deep wound so I could start to heal. It was and still is hard work and an ongoing process. I confessed to my mum who had split with HIM after years of her own abuse that she also kept hidden. HE had let her go when she started having health problems, showing his true black heart. She lives with my brother and his family. I regret losing years with mum and my brother and being chased away from my home when I was young but it made me stronger. I have never married but I have a loving partner, two dogs and I speak three languages. I am a physical trainer and work near the beach where I go to meditate and body surf. Our journeys and stories are individual but we are in this together. Worldwide. You are not alone in carrying the pain and the shame and the fear and the flashbacks! Even if you are in the dark, start toward a path that looks like others are using to try to climb out. Use the resources, even if just right there on your computer, and build from there. Just start and keep climbing, especially when it seems too hard.

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

Former employer have a history of this thing I think. When worked there did wage theft and harassment, official whistleblower, feels like a crane sometimes, after stop working continue to stalk and harass for over a decade now, follow in vehicles, harassing phone calls daily, listen in on phone calls using tech. , no full time job since 2007, engage in blacklisting campaign, have friends and family on payroll to harass even right down street not a very pretty picture.

It happened when I was eight. I still question if it actually counted because I had a crush on him and we were the same age. The first time it happened, all of us had free time after our lesson to go talk with friends or play games. He brought me to a corner where many kids didn’t really go to, so it was just us. He told me that he wanted to do something new, and I was excited until he told me what he wanted. He was gonna put his hand somewhere, and I felt uncomfortable. I kept saying that I wasn’t sure if we should do this, but he kept insisting that it was fine until I said yes, which is another reason why I don’t know if it counts as actual SA. He did it, and I feel wrong with my body after. It wasn’t just one day. He did it again for days until he asked me to change my bus to his so that we could keep doing it. I felt uncomfortable, so I agreed but never changed my bus. I still think about it and whether or not it was just me being disturbed.

Hi I can't possibly share all the details in small box. So I made my own page as part of my healing process. So far I have had women saying that I've inspired them to write and share their own stories so I am very encouraged. I hope to help someone in all of this... Blog

After the election, the very end will have the political ask - feel free to cut that if you want to share. Thanks so much for reading my story. Link

Just words. You have trouble talking about these things. You realize you have trouble talking about a lot of things. You remember being excited about your first job at Company Name. One of your friends works there and you know a lot of people work there as a summer job. It’s the 1990’s and it’s been grandfathered in that they can pay you less than minimum wage because it’s like a part time training experience for students getting their first work experience. Like a newspaper route. Those are for boys. You got so excited after being nervous you asked for an application along with your friend. You don’t remember meeting him then. So many people want to get chosen for that crap job because for some reason it’s become a sought after thing among the cool kids. You do remember the phone call that you can come for an interview. Walking home you wonder if being cute and having larger breasts than most almost freshman girls had something to do with it. You met Name and remember him for sure this time. The way you look has been a curse far more than a blessing. One reason people would not feel that bad for you. 'God sure blessed you, honey." You have so many bad memories, blocked memories, repressed memories because of Name. You are having second thoughts as tears build up. You need a drink. You quit drinking years ago and today you have three months and eight days sober. Your record is nine months and two days. You are strong. Most of the time. You are hollow. All the time. Name wasn’t the last but he was the first. You change his name although you don’t want to. He is the symbol of your hatred of all that is wrong with men. You were tricked. Name got what he wanted from you. Too many times. Too many times before you stopped going back. Just stopped. You could have just stopped after the first time he held you close and caressed you before your mom picked you up that night. The first time. You still don’t understand or forgive yourself for that. You had let a boy at a party and a boy at an 8th grade dance put their hand up your shirt. You had liked it so much those times. It had been exciting and happy. Name did not make you happy. You went back. You want to talk about something else now. Not the other men who thought your body was their plaything. Not the time you went to Ireland with your Aunts and mom. You miss mom. That was a good trip. You got back to that a lot. You sat down to talk about things you don’t talk about. On a family trip to Adventureland you asked your cousin if was considered losing your virginity of a boy did it to your boobs. You pretended it was a cute boy, not Name. It was hard to breathe with him sitting on your torso thrusting. You sometimes break things and scream. Never when your son is around. You have two jobs and don’t really like the one that pays the most. Your college degree does not count much. How much life is wasted on despair and doubt and taking the wrong path? You feel relief when he finally finished. You hate when he finishes because you know he is stealing his ultimate pleasure from you when he has a wife. He acts like it was just another day at work to keep you on his leash. You are pathetic. His remnants are inside you every time you go home after closing with him. Just another miserable day in the life. You say nothing. You tell no one. You are worthless except as a vessel for him. Your parents say nice things to you, about you. They always have. They have to. They don’t know what you really are. A black shame is the times you felt pleasure in your body while he was doing it do you. At least while you remained quiet and motionless there was some dignity. Defiance. Insult to him. When your body and voice reacted like you liked it it was a betrayal. Like you liked that tub of disgusting man on top of you and inside of you, fucking you on that tile floor, kissing you like a lover. You befriended a group of guys by mid high school. Over a year after Name was more than thorn in your soul. A deep callous. The group figured out what you were. They played football. They were important and had strong will. They shared you and passed you around. They told you they loved you. That you were the coolest girl. They took what they wanted when they wanted. Why? Name 2 was you lab partner for biology. He was the first. He was the only one your age. You went in his car for lunch and met some others. They wanted you. You volunteered. It is all you are good for. Draining them of their juice so they can be happy and feel like men. So you can feel empty and dirty. Even after they graduated they got together for group fun, or had you sneak out at night to go for a ride. You headed far west after you graduated. A fresh start. An exodus. An escape. You went to one reunion. The ten year reunion. Name 2 came with his wife. He introduced you as his ex-girlfriend. You let hm take you to the disabled restroom and have his quickie. You went to the bars afterward and ditched your real friend and let Name 3 take you back to his hotel room to live his fantasies just because he claimed that he always loved you. They say attractive people have sex more frequently with more partners than normal people. The darkness behind that statement is that for females it is no always because they want it that way but because of the relentless pressure from men and how they will do anything if they get the opportunity. You are not a nice innocent girl. Would you have been if it had not been for Name like you want to think? Would you have let your much older cousin you barely know take you back into the woods with him behind their house to the shack where he smokes pot after a wedding. Then wait there for him to call his friends after he found out you were a bad girl and wait for them too. Swatting flies in your underwear while you waited for them. You did not drink because your mom did not allow it even though kids younger than you were. But your cousin and his local friends did. Four of them counting your cousin old enough to be your uncle. Still, you acted like you liked everything they did. They took it so far like you were the world's greatest toy. Porn star, they called you like it was the best thing you could be. The anal was excruciating. It was easier to just wash off all your makeup than to try to fix it after all the sweat and sticky. Smiles and complements followed by the deep hollow feeling of total isolation in the station wagon on the way back home from Kansas city. Hating Name and feeling like you betrayed your aunt because one of them was her fiancé. You got an infection and it was embarrassing when the doctor told you. At least it was a female doctor. The idea of a male gynecologist is unnerving. The one time you were examined by one was terrifying. You were in college. He was way too thorough and talkative like he was working up to asking you out on a date and you decided never again. The only one you ever had that did not wear gloves for the breast exam. The most sensual digital vaginal exam you ever had to check the cervix and ovaries for pain. Was his thumb supposed to be brushing your clitoris? You even wonder if he was recording it on his phone that you saw him adjust twice as it was peaking out of the breast pocket of his lab coat. His stupid November mustache he asked you if you liked. So some days you don’t eat. You exercise to maintain the body they want. It gives you value to them. You are nothing. People always say nice things. Hollow things. What if you had never met Name? What if you never got fucked on the floor for $3.45 an hour. On your back, on your hands and knees, sometimes even on top of him. Your first orgasm on that floor that smelled like stale milk and bleach. Having to tell your mom pick you up 45 minutes after the place closes for your cleaning duties. You used tampons just to keep from his semen leaking out on the way home. You pretended to be a virgin when you were far from it. He told you not to worry because he had a vasectomy. That part must have been true. You don't got on dates even though they always try to set you up. Not a chance. Your son is a good excuse. And a real reason. Real love. The Earth spins in space. Why can’t it just freeze and die like me? Your boss doesn’t go all the way with you because he won’t cheat on his wife. You give him oral because he doesn’t think that counts. Preserves his purity. He says he wants to so badly, like he can take whatever he wants from you but he is strong and valiant. You are nothing. He is handsome. You let him kiss you and fondle you. You long for his touch. He is not a great man but you long for him. The closest thing to a good man you have known. A father figure. Your son needs a father figure. He is everything. He deserves better. He loves you. He tells you are a good mom and that is worth enduring the world for as long as it takes. You put on a good face but he knows you are hollow, deep down. A wounded duck pretending to be a swan. Always pretending. Was there no pretending before Name? Maybe not. The days begin and your mind pretends and it is hard and the days end. Bad dreams on both ends. Will he be a good man? The funny thing is you want him to be a prince because he is your prince but even if he is like most men you want his total happiness. You want beautiful girls, good times, and strong friends for him. You exist to fake it and to have let those men enjoy you but mostly to give your son the best life possible beyond you. You are not worthless. It is not your fault. You are stronger than you know. Hollow words. They have to say it. They always have. No creativity. No insight. No truth. Just words.

I didn't realise I had experienced Sexual violence until I was in a women's refuge. It was when they were going through my experiences and fully explained the sexual abuse that I realised. I was often coerced into sex and one time after a night out I woke up to him on top of me, I was frozen and couldn't move. This was my husband, I trusted him.

When I started 4th grade, I had recently moved more north in the state I lived in (mainly to be more closer to family) and had to go to a different school for the first time. Within during that whole situation that my GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder) had started to form and become out of control. So when I started my first day, I was a mess; and with my homeroom teacher knowing that, she assigned me to another student to help me get to know everything. She is the main person I’ll be talking about in this story and what happened with them still haunting me to this day. We immediately become best friends that day and at first everything was fine. She understood my situation and helped me calm down when my anxiety got too much for me, she helped keep me safe when I felt overwhelmed by my impulses, I was basically attached to her by the hip and was everything to me in the beginning. Over time though (specifically when her guardians (her grandparents) allowed us to hang out more/have sleepovers)…she changed. My memories are a little bit blurry (maybe due to not wanting to remember or my depression, idk why) but she was very different from if she was either at school or not. She started putting more blame on me for certain things, namely situations out of my control, started putting more possible unavoidable situations into my head that I’ll probably suffer through in the future. Sharing her weird imagination with me (with telling me she was a fused twin and her irl situation with her being a baby when her parents divorced and caring for her falling into her grandparents hands). Whatever gift I give her ending up in their garage/near the trash. And in later circumstances, she started hitting me. Being more physical behind closed doors; one moment acting kind and then the next, she’s on top of me and punching me in the face. I know I should’ve thought better since I was 10 at the time, but…I depended on her, I thought it was something common I had to experience with friendships and had to get used to even though she made my anxiety worse. This continued past after moving schools again and before COVID with the last time seeing her in person being for her birthday, we accidentally broke something and decided that I should take the blame for it even though it was her idea in the first place. After telling, I hid myself in a guest bedroom and fully broke down, feeling like I was going to be punished and my friend never checked on me at all even thought she saw where I went. After that, we namely called but she keep on calling over and over again, every day, multiple times by hour. One day, it just stopped. And sooner or later realized what really happened to me. Yesterday night, I thought about an infamous event with her that I’m still numb about. Basically from what I remember was talking in her room saying our goodbyes to each other since I was getting up to leave, but then she went up to me and unexpectedly kissed me on the cheek. She said her final goodbye after that and I silently left the room, confused about what happened. Thinking about it again recently has made me numb, uncomfortable, and having a buzzing sensation of where she’s kissed and hit me… If you’ve wondering about me now besides this, I’m safe, healthy, going to therapy (after a ‘recent’ incident with a friend), and am possibly looking for being revalued again after what has happened to me (including this incident) but namely for autism since a lot of friends and others suspect that I possibly am on the spectrum, but I still struggle with my mentality and now having to ‘become an adult’ even though I still feel like I’m 13. More things did happen to me after which did almost push me to suicide, but was (still am) too chicken to commit, especially with not wanting to leave my family or close friends behind (they are the only ones who know what happened). Also recently enough though did I hear of what happened to them after losing communication, my mom’s father (who was friends with her guardians) moved away a few years ago, which did somewhat ease my anxiousness of her somehow still being in my city’s area. But, I’m still so scared if she somehow sees/spots me again with it being a ‘small world’ situation. She may remember it as recalling by seeing an old friend again, but I’m still scared by how I’ll react if she finds me, after everything that happened.

10/10/18 My Daughter, These Things I Know Do not go to bed angry Make eye contact Offer a firm handshake Smile at people—stranger and friend alike No one will remember in one month Exercise your mind Go outside Studying does not count without a pen Focus on your lifestyle over your waistline Say yes to travel Say yes to long car rides Say yes to sharing one on one moments Pick up a book—the closest we have to time travel Take pictures Please and Thank you matter Raise your argument rather than your voice Time heals Your body is yours—to explore, to protect, to celebrate There is strength in vulnerability Know when you do not know Parents are just people too Never turn your back on the ocean You will make mistakes Forgive yourself—now try again It is alright to not be alright Write it down Practice loyalty A habit forms in seven days—stick with it Sing in the car—blame the voice on your mother Do not get on a motorcycle Be kind—stranger and friend alike Stay humble Stay curious Do not walk alone at night Do not pretend that is fair Stand your ground Know when to not stand your ground Find your people—love them fiercely and fully Trust your gut You are not alone

What if the path you walked wasn't shadowed by the trauma of child abuse? The road not taken is always a mystery, but your journey could have been remarkably different. Imagine a childhood cradled in safety and affection. This could have nurtured a deep well of self-belief, unshakeable confidence, and an openness to trust. Relationships, both close and professional, might develop with honest communication and mutual respect. Perhaps you would have chased your passions with fearless abandon, leading you down unexpected but fulfilling paths. While the past is unchangeable, this "what if" can be a source of strength. It shows the remarkable resilience you possess. You've overcome incredible challenges, and that strength can be a guiding light as you build the future you deserve. They may still carry the scars of the past, but those scars don't define them. This strength and resilience are powerful tools to build the future they deserve. With courage and self-compassion, they can rewrite their story, one filled with possibilities that were once dimmed but never extinguished. The "what if" lingers, a bittersweet reminder of what could have been. Yet, within it lies a profound truth: you are stronger than you know. The scars may be a part of you, but they are not all of you. Now, with the wisdom of your journey, you stand at a crossroads. Which path will you choose?

Coercion, Abuse, and Feeling Alone in My Struggle I’ve been coerced into sex by someone who I thought was a mentor and a leader in human rights. He’s a researcher, a women’s rights defender, and runs a civil service organization. He approached me romantically and coerced me into sex, making me feel trapped and confused. We were in a relationship, but the whole time, I felt pressured and controlled. There were some times I was sick, intoxicated, or under his influence, and he used that to manipulate me. I initially resisted even his kiss,but it felt impossible to escape later days because of his repeated attempts and influences. Looking back, I now realize that what he did was wrong, but at the time, I didn’t understand it fully. What hurts the most is the disbelief and blame I’m facing from others, especially on social media. People don’t understand coercive control and rape, and it feels like no one believes me. He kept reaching out to me online, using me as a sex object, and I’m devastated by how he used me for his own purposes. I feel worthless, like I’ve lost my dignity and self-worth. The trauma, nightmares, and pain are overwhelming. I’m seeing a therapist almost every day to try to make sense of it, but it’s hard to cope when society and the connections he has make me feel so alone. I feel like no one understands what I went through. I don’t know if I can handle this trauma anymore. Advise me what I can do, or I am so tired of being hurt. … Please Name

For context: few things I want to mention. Before I tell the story. And English is not my first language, so excuse my English grammar. It happened to me longtime ago… around 5 years ago. - It was our first time having sex but we did other things together before. - Every time I voiced about my desire or concerns, he ignored. - I always the one who please him every time we done it prior to having penile intercourse. I have asked him to do something for me I am ignored. - We have up and down relationship roughly two years. We met when we were freshman year in college. That night we had sex… we texted and he wanted me to come over to his dorm room. It was last minute plan. I came over anyways, I absolutely didn’t expect that we would have sex right away but we did anyways. I arrived he immediately touching me then we started to strip down. I was tensed up all the way but I hid it. I appears to be confident. He wanted my tshirt off I told him no. Then he told me he will leave his top on which I didn’t care. I told him that’s fine then he took off his shirt immediately after. Then I laid down and had him top of me and he fingered my clit. He seems he wasn’t really know what he was supposed to do with my clit. I guided him and faked the pleasure. Then he was going for penile intercourse but he seems like he is not comfortable in that position. So we switched, I am top of him I slid his penis to my vagina and it couldn’t go in all way because it hurts so… I told him I would like to change the position again. We were positioned in doggy style and the penis got in. The he started to thrust his hips and I felt the pop. I started to feel good finally… then I feel the blood and I stopped him middle of sex. I was bleeding heavily all over his bed. I mean like really badly. I was gushing all over I ran to the bathroom it took a while for the bleeding to stop. I came back to his room I asked him to help me clean up. And he refuse, it made me feel worse. I was asked him to bring me cleaning supplies because I don’t know where it is. I cleaned the room and hall. He came to me and hugged me I wasn’t feeling it. I feel awkward and uncomfortable as I am still tensed up. He told me don’t worry about it or don’t feel bad or something like that I can’t remember what was exact words he said. And he asked me did you feel good I told him yes and he told me he was very close to cum. Then he removed the bed sheets since it was stained with blood. He lay on the bare mattress and asked me to blow job and I told him no. He begged and I told him I don’t want to because I am tired and exhausted. He begged me again and said it will help him sleep good. I just too exhausted to argue and I gave in and I gave him blow job while bleeding. After we are done I felt bad that I bleed on his bed and he doesn’t have spare sheets. I offered him to come with me when I was going to leave. He declined and asked me to wash his sheets instead. I told him his dorm building has their own laundry room and he can wash them. He said no and he prefer that I wash them. I was hurt when he said that I just said yes and he packed sheets in brown bag. I left and walked to my dorm building which was around ten to fifteen minutes away from his dorm around four in the morning. I arrived and changed my underwear and put on menstrual pad because I was still bleeding. I washed his sheets and went to bed. Next morning I saw him and he texted me wishing that we didn’t do it. He didn’t say anything about sheets. Later he told me he was worried that I would report him for rape. Around week of waiting I was fed up and dropped off his sheets to RA at front desk. He later told me why did I drop off the sheets and said I don’t want my mom to find out about us. Shortly after that he jumped to other girl and we didn’t talk much after that. One night he texted me out of blue saying he wants to talk me on FaceTime. When we are on phone he asked me if I am pregnant I told him no. He was afraid that his girlfriend and mom would found out about us. He kept asking me questions about symptoms of pregnancy. I know my own body so, I told him I am not again. He kept pushing until he pushed too far I got really mad and he hanged up. We haven’t spoken since. We didn’t exchange much words and everything happened so fast and I just walked away then we never talked again since for five years… many things came to light lately. I wasn’t sure about many things like it was rape or etc… I have mixed feelings about it. I would say yes but I kept giving myself another reasons that wasn’t a rape. I just don’t know. I am struggling to find my ground because accuse someone of rape is serious accusation. If it was rape I still wouldn’t turn him in but I have mixed feelings about calling myself a victim of rape.

Healing is saying the secrets that you hid from the rest the world so you could get up, put up, and never give up. Healing is not lying to yourself anymore by saying, "Everything is fine." Healing is giving yourself the time to process the myriad of emotions that came flooding in when you finally left your abuser. Healing is forgiving yourself for the choices you made. Healing is not believing all the derogatory things you were called to control you and make you question your worth. Healing is telling yourself that you are strong enough to survive on your own, "You got this." Healing is taking responsibility for any pain or suffering you caused your child to endure because you were too afraid of what would happen if you tried to leave. Healing is finding gratitude in all that you do have. Healing is finding a way to help others that have experienced trauma bonds. Healing is knowing that you deserves to experience unconditional love... Healing is a journey that can help you appreciate living in the moment.

When I was eight or nine years old and older girl showed me while humping a girl a year older than me the year older than me girl used to take me down to the basement and help me. We would pull down our pants though so it was not dry humping a year or so later I showed a girl my same age and asked her if she wanted to do the hump she said yes a couple times and eventually said no and that was it however, I worried that I could’ve made someone gay or by sexual and I Was never able to think about it without getting very depressed and I didn’t tell anyone for years. It has been many years since and I had a family situation that caused me to be depressed, and it all came back to me. The shame the guilt the depression. I contacted the girl about 20 years ago and she said I had not harmed her and I kept asking her and finally she said you’ve given this a lot of thought maybe I should give it some thought too. Maybe I can get something out of it and I was shocked that she hadn’t given it any thought because I was worried during Puberty Maybe something would happen and it was my fault. I am a person that always blames myself anyway, I am going to therapy now twice a week online and trying to deal with my emotions regarding this. I know I was a normal child and I read that childhood sexual play and experimenting or learning about your self is common, but it just felt bad to me. I would appreciate any comments or feedback.

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

On Date, I escaped an abusive relationship and embraced the freedom of living without my abuser’s control. Just four months later, he was sentenced to five years in prison for the abuse he inflicted upon me. Although it felt like an eternity to reach that day, I’m grateful I didn’t have to wait as long as some survivors do. Many survivors never experience justice; some victims never become survivors. Life will never be the same for either of us or our families, especially our children. What's beautiful is that I am no longer the woman who accepts abusive behavior in any form. I don’t want to be the woman who tolerates less than what I deserve because I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to be the woman who dims my light so that the man I love can shine brighter. I don’t want to be the woman who hurts myself in an attempt to save a broken man. Had my abuser had his way, I wouldn’t be here today. My children’s world would be a lot different. I have an amazing circle of family, friends, and coworkers who have supported me the best way they know how during this difficult and very emotional time. I love them and thank them for loving me by showing up and being there. I am now able to fully enjoy my children and live for them every day. I show up for them, strive to be the best version of myself, lead them, and love them by loving myself. It’s easy to say that life is a gift until you face a moment when you realize it could be taken away. I still have triggers and am taking it one day at a time. I have accepted that some people don’t deserve to be in my life. I am choosing me! I am choosing real love! I am choosing healthy relationships!