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I could never remember my childhood well, even as a kid. But I started to be hypersexual at 3, and so thats when I believe me and my brother started touching (hes 3 and a half years older). When I was 12 I remembered and told my parents, my mom freaked out and screamed at me. She said it was my fault and that it wasn't too bad if I didn't tell anyone. I fear thats she's right. When I was 14 and in deep psychosis, I felt like there was more to remember. I started to feel my brother's hands over my body and mouth. I remembered us having sex 3 times. The first time when I was 6 and the last when I was 8. One of those times he was hitting me and pinning me. I dont know how real those memories are because I recovered them in psychosis. I started doing really bad cus all I could think about was me and my brother fucking. A couple of months ago I remembered my brother fucking me with his hands around my neck (which was painful). Im so scared that really happened because I see my brother daily and hes my best friend. Im worried ill remember more.

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

I was abused by my mother. She was harsh with me, hitting me, calling me stupid, and saying I shouldn't have been born, making me feel like I had no value in life. My mother wasn't just a scary person; she was kind to my younger brother Name , so she could be kind to him too. I met my current husband at University , got married, and had children. I was overwhelmed with anxiety that I might do the same things to my own children as my mother did, and I cried to my husband many times about it. My husband suggested I talk to a counselor, and I am now attending counseling sessions. I always thought that my mother's harshness was my fault, but now I realize that it's not entirely my fault, and talking to someone about the words and actions of my mother that I had kept hidden until now has lightened my burden. I hope that sharing this here will bring some comfort to others. Thank you for reading this.

Four Years Later: My Story Didn't End in That Courtroom Four years ago, I walked out of a courtroom after one of the hardest chapters of my life. I didn't know exactly what healing would look like or how long it would take. I just knew that I wanted to move forward. Four years ago, I stood in a courtroom and shared some of the hardest parts of my life because I had to. Today, I'm choosing to share my story because I want to. I want someone who is struggling to know that they aren't alone, that what happened to them doesn't define their worth, and that there is still so much life waiting for them beyond what they've experienced. I'm not sharing this because everything is okay now or because I've completely healed. I'm sharing it because I've learned that moving forward is possible, even when the effects of what happened are still part of your everyday life. Several years ago, someone I trusted betrayed me in a way that changed my life. He was my cheer coach, someone who was supposed to be a mentor, someone I looked up to, and someone I believed I could trust. Instead, he took advantage of that trust. He was eventually convicted of crimes involving the exploitation of a minor, unlawful photographing of a minor, and attempted child sexual abuse material. I was a victim in that case. I remember how quickly everything changed. One day, I was a young girl going about my normal life, and the next, I was trying to understand something that no child should ever have to experience. The hardest part wasn't just what happened. It was realizing that someone I had trusted had never been the person I believed him to be. I questioned myself. I struggled with trusting people. I felt angry, embarrassed, confused, and overwhelmed. Things that had once felt normal suddenly became difficult. Even places and activities I loved could bring back painful memories. It also changed the way I saw myself. Being a teenage girl is already hard enough when it comes to confidence and body image. You're growing up, figuring out who you are, and learning to feel comfortable with yourself. After everything happened, I became incredibly self-conscious. I struggled with how I viewed my body and with insecurities that were already difficult enough to navigate at that age. What happened added another layer to those feelings, and it took a toll on my confidence and the way I felt about myself. One thing I wish I had understood sooner is that I had nothing to be ashamed of. I was a child who trusted an adult who was supposed to look out for me. The responsibility for what happened was never mine to carry. It took time for me to begin separating the way someone else treated me from the way I viewed myself. I wish I could go back and remind that younger girl that she was never the problem. Then came the court process. I had to face what happened, speak about things I wished I could forget, and watch someone who had caused so much pain show little to no remorse. I never received the apology I deserved. For a long time, I thought getting through court would mean finally getting closure. I thought that once it was over, I could put everything behind me, but I've learned that healing doesn't work that way. A court case can end, but that doesn't mean the emotional effects disappear with it. For the first year or two after court, I had nightmares almost every night. Sometimes they were about what happened, and sometimes they were about what could have happened if he hadn't been caught when he did. Even though the legal process was over and I knew he had been held accountable, my mind didn't seem to understand that I could finally begin moving forward. Sleep became something I struggled with, and even now, four years later, there are nights when I still have trouble sleeping. I was prescribed medication for PTSD, depression, and anxiety as I worked through everything. As of this past June, I'm no longer taking any of those medications, which has been a meaningful milestone in my personal journey. However, I also know that medication was part of the help I needed at the time, and I’ve had to learn that there's no shame in that. Being off medication doesn't mean everything has suddenly disappeared. I still struggle with trusting people. What happened made me question people's intentions, even when they've given me no reason to doubt them. That has affected my relationships. There are times when I find myself hesitant to trust people, not because of something they’ve done, but because of what someone else did years ago. It's frustrating sometimes, knowing that someone who is no longer part of my life can still influence the way I respond to people who genuinely care about me. I still struggle with my body image and confidence. I still have moments when I feel uncomfortable with myself, even though I know I have nothing to be ashamed of. I also find myself constantly aware of my surroundings. Sometimes, I feel like I'm always on alert, questioning situations or people around me. It's as if a part of my mind is still trying to protect me from something that happened years ago. These are things that don't necessarily go away just because a court case ends or because enough time has passed. While all of these things have gotten better, they still haven't completely disappeared. I think that's one of the biggest misconceptions about healing. People sometimes assume that once enough time has passed, you should be okay, but trauma doesn't follow a timeline, and neither does recovery. Something I've learned over these four years is that healing isn't linear. There are times when I feel like I've made so much progress, and then something happens that brings back feelings I thought I had worked through. I used to get frustrated with myself when that happened. I would wonder why I was still struggling, why I couldn't just move on, or why something from years ago could still affect me so deeply. I still struggle with this sometimes, but I'm learning that having a difficult day doesn't mean I'm back where I started. It doesn't undo the work I've done or the progress I've made. For a long time, I was incredibly hard on myself. I felt like I needed to be strong all the time. I didn't want people to see me struggling, and I didn't want to show what I thought was weakness. I was embarrassed by what had happened, even though I had absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about. So I pushed my feelings down. I pretended I was okay when I wasn't. I convinced myself that I should be able to move on and that I shouldn't still be struggling with something that was already over. Looking back, I wish I hadn't put so much pressure on myself. I wish I had understood that being strong didn't mean hiding how I felt. I wish I had opened up more, allowed myself to cry when I needed to, and stopped feeling like I had to have everything together. I spent so much time trying to convince myself I was okay that I didn't always give myself the chance to actually work through what I was feeling. That's something I wish I could tell my younger self. Let yourself feel. Be angry if you're angry. Be sad if you're sad. Cry if you need to. Talk to someone when things feel overwhelming. You don't have to pretend you're okay just to make yourself or everyone around you more comfortable. You don't have to prove your strength by suffering in silence. Most importantly, stop being so hard on yourself for struggling with something you never should have had to experience in the first place. Another important part of my healing journey has been my relationship with God. Throughout everything I've experienced, I've learned to turn to Him for strength, comfort, and guidance. My relationship with God has grown tremendously over these past four years, and I truly believe He has helped me get to where I am today. I've always believed in the saying, "God gives His toughest battles to His strongest soldiers." I believe that God wouldn't give me anything I couldn't handle, even during the moments when I questioned how I would ever make it through. There have been times when I've felt overwhelmed, when I've questioned why things happened the way they did, and when I didn't understand what my future would look like. Through those moments though, I've found comfort in knowing that I can turn to God. My faith hasn't taken away every difficult day, every painful memory, or every struggle I still face, but it has given me hope when I needed it most. It's reminded me that I don't have to have everything figured out and that I don't have to carry everything on my own. I don't believe that what happened to me was something I deserved or something I needed to experience to become a better person, but I do believe that God has helped me find growth, purpose, and strength in the years that followed, and while I know I still have healing to do, I trust that He will continue guiding me through it. My faith doesn't mean that I never struggle. It means that even when I do, I have somewhere to turn. When I look back at the girl I was four years ago, I wish I could tell her how far she would come. I wish I could tell her that she would find reasons to laugh again, that she would continue making memories, and that the things she experienced would not have to define the rest of her life. Because today, that's what I'm most proud of. I'm proud that I kept going. I'm proud of the person I've become. I'm proud that I've learned to appreciate life in ways I might not have before, and I'm proud that despite everything, I haven't allowed what happened to control my entire life. I don't want to pretend that what I experienced made me stronger every single day. There have been days when I've felt anything but strong. There have been moments of frustration, sadness, and setbacks. However, strength isn't always about feeling fearless or having everything figured out. This is a lesson I’m still trying to teach myself. Sometimes, strength is allowing yourself to be vulnerable. Sometimes, it's asking for help, and sometimes, it's simply recognizing how far you've come, even when you still have a long way to go. One thing I've come to understand is that moving forward doesn't mean forgetting what happened. It means learning that your life can hold so much more than what happened to you. To anyone who has experienced a similar situation, I want you to know that your feelings are valid. Healing isn't a competition, and there is no deadline for when you're supposed to be okay. You don't have to forgive and forget what happened right away. You don't have to pretend it doesn't affect you, and you don't have to share your story before you're ready. You are allowed to have good days and bad days. You're allowed to be proud of your progress while still acknowledging the things you're struggling with. Your experience is part of your story, but it is not the entirety of who you are. When I look back at the statement I wrote for court four years ago, I see a young girl who was hurting, confused, and trying to make sense of something she never should have experienced, but I also see a girl who, despite everything, still had hope for her future. In that statement, I wrote: "I don't believe in somebody being better than somebody else, but I do believe that people's actions define them as a person." Those words still mean something to me today. For so long, I struggled with the decisions someone else made and the ways those decisions affected my life, but I've learned that his actions were a reflection of his choices, not of my worth. I cannot change what happened or the decisions he made, but I can continue choosing how I want to live my own life, how I treat others, and what kind of person I want to become. Near the end of that same statement, I also wrote: "I hope to stay resilient to the pain you've caused me, and I hope to work each day to be a better and stronger person than you ever have been." Reading those words four years later brings up a lot of emotions. At the time, I wanted so badly to be strong. I wanted to prove that what happened wasn't going to destroy me. I wanted to believe that one day, I would become someone I could be proud of. While I still believe in the importance of resilience, my understanding of strength has changed. Back then, I thought being strong meant holding everything together. I thought it meant pushing through the pain, hiding my emotions, and refusing to let anyone see me struggle. Today, I know that strength can look completely different. Sometimes, it's allowing yourself to feel the emotions you've spent so long trying to avoid. Sometimes, it's admitting that you're having a hard day. Sometimes, it's giving yourself permission to heal at your own pace instead of constantly expecting yourself to be further along, and sometimes, it's simply being proud of yourself for how far you've already come. I've also realized that healing isn't about becoming the person you were before something happened. It's about giving yourself the time, patience, and grace to keep growing into the person you're becoming. If I could go back and tell the girl I was then anything, I wouldn't tell her to be stronger. I wouldn't tell her to move on faster or to stop letting things bother her. I'd tell her to be kinder to herself. I'd tell her that she doesn't have to earn the right to be proud of herself by being completely healed, and I'd tell her that one day, she'll look back and realize just how much life she's lived beyond the things she thought would always hold her back. Four years later, I'm still not exactly where I want to be. There are things I'm still learning to work through, feelings I'm still trying to understand, and parts of myself I'm still learning to give grace to, but I'm not where I was four years ago, either. I've grown in ways I couldn't have imagined back then. I've learned to appreciate the good things in life, to recognize my own progress, and to understand that having difficult days doesn't mean I've failed. I know I still have a long way to go, and I'm okay with that. I don't have to have everything figured out right now. I don't have to be completely healed to be proud of myself. He took away things I can never get back, but I didn't let him take everything from me. Four years ago, I was hoping that one day I would become someone I could be proud of. Today, I can say that I already am. While I'm still not where I want to be, I have hope that I'll keep growing, keep healing, and keep building a life that I'm proud to call mine. My story didn't end in that courtroom four years ago. I have a feeling, the best parts of it may still be ahead of me. 2 Corinthians 12:9 (KJV) — “And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.” Isaiah 41:10 (KJV) — “Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.”

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.