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Story
From a survivor
🇪🇸

That night my brother touched me

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.

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  • You are wonderful, strong, and worthy. From one survivor to another.

    Story
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    You are NOT alone

    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.

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  • Story
    From a survivor
    🇬🇧

    #1504

    mum was at work and my brothers were in the garden playing football with each other as dad had sent them outside so i could watch my show. Dad and I were sitting on the sofa, I was lying on his chest and he had one arm around me (right hand, disabled one) and the other was stroking my hair (left hand). He began to put his hand near my private parts, I squirmed slightly as it was uncomfortable, he chuckled to himself and whispered to me “it was normal for a father to show his daughter some love.” So I tried to relax. eventually excused myself to the bathroom but he followed saying “he didn't want me making a mess”. When I walked in I took my trousers down and he pulled me closer to him, his grip was rough and it hurt (I yelped a bit), he began to touch my private parts and I tried getting away again as his touch was uncomfortable and his grip was still hurting. At one point he pulled his trousers down and guided my had to his private parts making me touch them, he told me he was showing me love and i believed him, he said if I touched him he would give me a treat and love me more as well so I began to do it willingly. He asked if he could take a photo of me “for some friends” and then did it anyway, not giving me a chance to reply and fight back. about a minute later, my brother called dad because he was losing and dad was annoyed. He washed his hands and went out to josh. Later he returned with some chocolate and a ‘drink’. From what I remember of the smell it was beer of some kind but as a kid I didn't notice, he did this as a reward every time. It wasn't long before dad got kicked out, I was alone with him in the kitchen. He was annoyed at me as I had tried to tell someone about him, and he was punishing me. i was trying to go to mum and he had grabbed me tightly, i was terrified, he was towering over me and i had nowhere to hide. He walk over to the side and grabbed a knife holding it to me, i began to apologize to him over and over, he made me bow to him and call him ‘master’ . He seemed to find joy in threatening me. I wanted to get away from him. That night he still attacked me and beat me but I was too afraid to scream. He ended up using the knife to cut himself on his legs while telling me it was my fault he was hurting himself because I didn't love him anymore. I offered to touch him because I wanted him to be happy again. He accepted and I did it, after that I kept offering when we were alone to keep him happy. I didn’t tell anyone about him touching me because I thought I would get in trouble for offering to touch him. When mum kicked him out I was scared he was going to kill himself because I couldn't make him happy anymore. I still feel guilty for that night as if i would have not tried to tell someone it wouldn't have happened.

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  • “Healing to me means that all these things that happened don’t have to define me.”

    Message of Healing
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    Healing, for me, is an ongoing, deeply personal journey shaped by pain and resilience. It’s about confronting the scars left by years of abuse, navigating emotional trauma, and learning to move beyond experiences that once defined me. True healing began when I faced the emotions I had long avoided. Therapy helped me understand that my self-destructive behaviors were a response to deeper wounds from childhood. For the first time, I began to confront the shame, fear, and sense of worthlessness that had been buried for so long. Learning to embrace vulnerability was essential to my healing. My wife, Name, was a cornerstone of that process, offering me love and support that helped me tear down the emotional walls I had built. Through her belief in me, I found the courage to face my past. Emotional Martial Arts (EMA) also transformed my healing process, teaching me to Recognize, Validate, and Release (RVR) my emotions. This practice allowed me to confront old pain without being consumed by it, helping me break free from the patterns that had once trapped me. Ketamine treatments were another profound step in my journey. These sessions allowed me to address deep-seated trauma I hadn’t fully confronted. They provided relief from the weight of decades-old pain, helping me feel unburdened for the first time in years. I’ve learned that healing is neither linear nor one-size-fits-all. It’s a personal process, and what works for one person may not work for another. The key is to remain open to the journey, exploring different paths, whether through therapy, alternative treatments, or practices like meditation. The most important thing is to keep moving forward. Today, I know the shadows of my past still linger, but they no longer define my future. Every step I’ve taken has brought me closer to peace and self-understanding. The pain of my past is now a source of strength, fueling my purpose to help others break the silence around abuse. Healing is possible, even after deep wounds. It’s about reclaiming your life, allowing your pain to fuel your purpose, and continuing the journey toward a future where your past no longer holds power. In sharing my story, I hope to encourage others to break the silence around abuse. Healing is possible, even after the deepest wounds. Our pain doesn’t have to define us—it can fuel our purpose and empower us to reclaim our lives. Healing, for me, is about embracing the present, recognizing the past for what it is, and continuing the journey toward a future where pain no longer holds power.

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  • Story
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    Breaking Free: Escaping a Narcissist's Grip

    Leaving my ex was a decision shaped by years of isolation and physical abuse, but the breaking point was when he tried to control my livelihood. He wanted me to quit my job, and when I refused, he didn’t care. Another time, he looked me in the eyes and said, “You’re not leaving this apartment alive,” before laughing. That was the moment I realized—why was I letting this man decide what I did with my life? Why was I letting him determine whether I got to be alive at all? The day I finally left, I called my mom and told her I wanted out. When my ex threatened to throw all my belongings away, I called the police. They gave me five minutes to gather what I could. I grabbed whatever I could carry and walked away. But leaving wasn’t the end—it was just the beginning. He stalked and harassed me relentlessly. Social media messages. Presents left on my car. Showing up at my parents' house. Nonstop calls. I eventually had to change my phone number. Even then, it took me a while to file for a Protection Order because, somehow, I still felt bad for him. Then, after months of no contact, I ran into him at the gym. He made a threatening remark, so I reported it, and he was banned. That set him off. As I left the gym, he tried to run me off the road. I managed to pull into a parking lot where bystanders gathered around me while he screamed. The police arrived and told me I should file for an Emergency Protection Order immediately—something I had put off, thinking I had to wait for regular business hours. I got the order and thought that would be the end of it. But exactly one day after it expired, he showed up again—and this time, he wouldn’t let me leave where I was parked. Panic took over as I desperately tried to get someone’s attention to call the police. Finally, I managed to get to safety, and someone had already made the call. As I started driving home, I realized he was following me again. Instead of going home, I turned back and told the police. They offered to follow me, and as I drove off, I spotted him on the other side of the road. I motioned to the officer, who immediately pulled him over. A few minutes later, the officer called me and said I needed to get another order against him, warning that he was "mentally unwell." He hoped that pulling him over had given me enough time to get home safely. This time, I had to file for a Peace Order, which only lasted six months. He even tried to appeal it—but in the end, it was granted. Looking back, I learned that the most dangerous time for a survivor isn’t during the relationship—it’s when they try to leave. Those months after I walked away were far more terrifying than any moment I spent with him. But in the end, I made it out. And that’s what matters.

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  • “These moments in time, my brokenness, has been transformed into a mission. My voice used to help others. My experiences making an impact. I now choose to see power, strength, and even beauty in my story.”

    Story
    From a survivor
    🇮🇪

    Autistic voice

    I used to think rape was what you'd see in movies. Jumped on by a stranger and violently assaulted. Turns out I was wrong. I have been raped on multiple occasions and didn't fully understand it until I got older and wiser and also found out that I'm autistic. This is what helped me to understand what had really happened. I learned and studied autism in girls and women and figured it out from there. I was vulnerable and impressionable and masked so much that I was a completely different person on the outside than who I really was on the inside. When I was younger and had no clue that I was being preyed upon due to my vulnerability and started to pretend as though I just liked sex and was willingly promiscuous. It was a lie I told myself and my friends so that I didn't have to face the fact I couldn't and didn't know how to say no and mean it. There is flight, fight and also freeze. So many times I was telling them no and when they didn't stop I just froze and realised that my voice was pointless and they weren't listening to me. It was easier to allow them to finish without fighting and having it be violent too. I didn't realise how badly the mental impact would be. One particular night I was out in a bar and a few of us went back to a house party. One guy was showing interest in me and I actually liked it. We kissed and had fun and then he led me to a bedeoom and I hesitated but ended up going in. When he started to undress me I held my dress and said no. I said it so many times and he started to get really rough and forceful and started saying things to me about leading him on and what did I think was going to happen and I just wanted it rough. I realised that no matter what I said, sex was going to happen so I had two options, fight and be both violently and sexually assaulted or just have the sex without any further resistance which would mean that I'd be only sexually assaulted without the extra violence. I chose the latter and for a long time I believed that I just had sex that night. I now realise that was absolutely rape. It's played with my mental health for over ten years and I'm ready to acknowledge what happened to me instead of being in denial.

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  • Story
    From a survivor
    🇮🇪

    My story

    I was raped when I was 18, just after my Leaving Cert. The man who raped me was a former partner. He had been physically abusive which had prompted me to end the relationship. Not long after it ended, he got in contact and asked to meet up to exchange items we had left at the others’ homes. I agreed, not thinking anything of it particularly. We arranged a time and agreed to go for a coffee in a spot we had often frequented as a couple. However, he was hours late turning up and looking back now, this was a huge red flag. I got into the car with him and he drove to a secluded location, incapacitated me and raped me. I will never forget the feeling of trying to prise his hands off of me and finally realising I wasn’t strong enough. It lasted nearly 4 hours and I was orally, vaginally and anally raped. He also used a foreign object during his attack. After it was over, he let me go and I walked for hours in the dark to get home. I didn’t tell a soul for days. The only medical attention I sought was the morning after pill. After about 3 days, I started to come to terms about what had happened to me, and that it wasn’t ok. That I wasn’t ok. I sought help from the SATU in Location and chose ‘Option 3’ which allowed samples to be taken and stored without a Garda present. I couldn’t speak highly enough of the care I got in SATU. They are angels. I later suffered a miscarriage at a relatively late stage in pregnancy, after finding out quite late. I eventually made a statement to Gardai and my perpetrator was arrested, although I decided at the time that I was not strong enough to allow the case to go to court. I suffered hugely at that time with symptoms I have now come to understand were PTSD and depression, and even considered taking my own life. But I accessed supports and met a wonderful psychotherapist and I later repeated my leaving cert and went on to gain entry to university, where I have had such brilliant support. I was lucky to access support that made all the difference to me, and my message to anybody reading this who was affected by sexual violence is that it gets better, and you can get through it.

    Dear reader, this story contains language of self-harm that some may find triggering or discomforting.

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  • Story
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    #342

    “You are not alone. It was not your fault. It is possible to heal. It is not too late.” As a survivor of trauma and abuse, I am learning to cope with strategies – such as denial, self-blame, an unconscious reenactment of unresolved traumatic experiences, and normalizing sexual exploitation. When I was hurt being sexually traumatized by my father, secrecy, shame, and self-worth boundaries did not matter. No one could be trusted, and the world was not safe. Emotions from my childhood were complex and confusing. There was no single method or pattern of remembering a traumatic experience. I went through my life trying to satisfy everyone, and always forgot myself, but God blessed me by helping me get through my adulthood trauma. With faith in the Lord, everything comes to light. Yes, good is the light that shines within ones-self, and that makes you attract and remember that any trauma can be overcome, as-long-as you remember that we can teach ourselves appropriately how to feel about ourselves. And, that we all deserve the best. Remember we are born to love, to express love, and feel happy about living. Remember, God has our back, and always remember, He sees all. Amen. I experienced that shame and defensiveness throughout my childhood and all through high school. I kept moving, and I kept attempting to ignore the fact that I had this massive entity inside me which I needed to get out of! Today there are many times I do not feel comfortable expressing my emotions and attempt to cope through self-destructive behavior which then impacts my life. I have finally shared my story publicly, and have started feeling some real, significant relief. I’ve expressed my emotions, and no one has reacted negatively. No one has judged me nor have they thoughtless of me. But now I think, “You know what? My family doesn’t know this about me.” I have been afraid to tell my family for so many years! And, finally, it is time. Here is what I want you to know: If you’ve experienced any kind of sexual abuse or trauma, you do not have to feel guilty! You can forgive yourself, and you can forgive others for their behavior. You no longer need be a prisoner of these experiences. Focus on what you have. That may be easier said than done. But, when you’ve lost something so important, you need to focus on what you have, and make the best of what you have, and do not fall into the trap of self-pity! One neat trick is to find at least one positive thought and focus all your energy on that premise! At first, it may feel too little, but once you maintain focus and all your energy on that one thought, you’ll find coping with the present setting a much more positive experience. Take small steps to make subtle shifts, “The journey of 1000 miles begins with a single step.” – Lao Tzu. Again, in dealing with trauma, healing will not happen quickly. You must remember to be patient and gentle with yourself while allowing the process to unfold. It is important not to be harsh with yourself. Indeed, you’ve already experienced enough. The good news is that there are very effective ways to cope with and treat the effects of trauma. I have found these actions quite helpful. *Lean on your loved ones. Identify friends or family members for support. If you feel ready to discuss the traumatic event, you might talk to them about your experience and your feelings. You can also ask loved ones to help you with household tasks or other obligations to relieve some of your daily stress. *Face your feelings. It’s normal to want to avoid thinking about a traumatic event. But not leaving the house, sleeping all the time, isolating yourself from loved ones, and using substances to escape reminders are not healthy ways to cope over time. Though avoidance is normal, too much of it can prolong your stress and keep you from healing. Gradually, try to ease back into a normal routine. Support from loved ones or a mental health professional can help quite a bit as you get back-in-the-groove. *Be patient. Remember that it’s normal to have a strong reaction to a distressing event. Take things one-day-at-a-time as you recover. As the days pass, your symptoms should start to gradually improve. One final thing: The Sexual Violence Survivor’s Bill of Rights: 1. No one has the right to abuse you or anyone else. 2. No one deserves to be assaulted or abused. 3. You have a right to stop the abuse that is happening to you or anyone else. 4. You have a right to pursue healing and justice for the abuse that has happened. 5. Sexual violence is wrong. The abuser is wrong. People who protect the abuser are wrong. YOU ARE NOT TO BLAME. 6. You did not destroy the family or betray their trust by speaking out about your abuse. The perpetrator destroyed the trust of the family every time he/she committed an act of abuse, Bible Quotes: Isaiah 41:10 "So do not fear, for I am with you, do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." 2 Corinthians 1:4 “Suffering in this life often feels meaningless. Scripture immediately brings a sense of purpose to our suffering. Those who have been comforted by God—strengthened, encouraged, relieved of the burden—have opportunity to pass along comfort to others who are suffering. In that sense, God's comfort is reproducible and repeatable. God remains the source, but believers can keep distributing God's comfort to others who suffer as they have.”

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  • “It can be really difficult to ask for help when you are struggling. Healing is a huge weight to bear, but you do not need to bear it on your own.”

    We all have the ability to be allies and support the survivors in our lives.

    Story
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    From Lies, Secrets and Shame to Truth, Freedom, and Healing

    My father began sexually abusing me when I was 12 years old. I now know that he had been grooming me for years before that. He married my mother when I was 7, and was everything my biological father was not. He spent time with me and made me special and loved. I was still healing from the physical abuse of another family member when he came into our lives; my mother and I were both vulnerable and lacked a good support network. So he could swoop in and sweep both of us off our feet. By the time I was 9, I was legally his daughter, bearing his last name, calling his family my family. It felt good to belong and I would do anything to earn and keep my place in this new family with this new dad. When my parents separated for their pending divorce, I stayed with my dad and wanted nothing to do with my mother. My father had become my hero and I worshipped the ground he walked on. Little did I know that I was being groomed, that all of the special father-daughter things served his evil purpose, and that he had been using the tension between my mother and me to isolate me. By the time I was 12 years old, he had me right where he wanted me, alone and under his control. It started with him ordering me into the bathroom as he was taking a bath, to look at him and then to touch him. He told me I wanted it and that it was good for me to get it out of my system because it was just part of puberty to be curious. I felt so ashamed and dirty, but I couldn't betray my father, my hero, by telling an adult what had happened. Things eventually escalated to oral sex in exchange for special privileges, such as alcohol, driving lessons, and being allowed to have friends over after school when I was home alone. He justified the abuse by telling me that he was educating me so that one day when I was in a relationship I would know how to please a man. He also assured me that it was neither abuse nor incest because were aren't blood-related and he would stop if I said no. But when I did say no, he made sure I paid for it by treating me like I was worthless, and then reminding me of my choice to tell him no. When I spoke up for myself in an argument or talked back to him he would become aggressive. He once punched me in the face, knocking me down, briefly unconscious. I came to with a bloody nose, and a black eye. My aunt and uncle were there for that one, and they would go on to tell me that it was my fault things "got so out of control" because I "pushed my father too far". I had no relationship with my mother or the family where I thought I belonged. I couldn't tell anyone my horrible secret because I was so ashamed. My father assured me that I was complicit and that if he went down I would go down with him. I believed this lie from the pit of hell, and it kept me silent. The sexual abuse continued until I graduated high school. I was convinced of my worthlessness at this point and had made two attempts to take my life. When I told my father that I was no longer willing to have any sort of sexual relationship with him, he made it clear that he wanted me to leave. He told me that nobody could stand to live with me unless I provided them with sex. This was another of his lies I believed. When I finally did move out, I lived an increasingly self-destructive lifestyle. I sought out relationships to "save" myself, and because I believed all of the lies of my father, I slept with every guy who showed interest in the hope of earning their love. I didn't understand why this wasn't working and I attributed it to my not being good enough. The weekend parties and drug use became a daily thing until I woke up at one party with someone on top of me. I had been drugged and raped by I don't know how many people before I regained consciousness. I went to my mother for help, and I asked her to help me start over, I had just turned 20 and I wanted to go to college and make better choices. She sent me to my father telling me that he would have to take half of the financial responsibility if she were to help. So I went to my father. He told me that the only way he could stand to live with me was if I provided him with oral sex on demand and took care of the home. I was desperate and in a desperate situation facing homelessness and unemployment. So I agreed. This time my father assured me that this was my choice because I was an adult now, so I was convinced that it was all my fault. I had finally learned the art of going along to get along and I shrunk down until I disappeared. I continued in this toxic living arrangement and became pregnant. I had a baby with my father. Who does that? I was convinced that I was sick and wrong, but no one could know or they would take my baby away. My father married me illegally, and I became pregnant again. I had another baby with my father. I thought it was too late to ask for help now, how was I going to protect my children? I kept the secret, I kept my father satisfied, and I hid. The secret ate me up until one day I just couldn't take it anymore. I told my story to a friend, who referred me to a therapist. I was shocked to learn that I was being abused, and my therapist helped me make an exit plan. I confided in a few others who helped me to get out. When my kids were 18 and 14, I left and cut off all contact with my father. I retained a lawyer and got the "marriage" annulled. I am now free. I have a job I love and am working on finishing my degree in education. My kids are safe. It isn't perfect, and it's still a work in progress, but we are healing. I have since reported my father's crimes to law enforcement and there are two active investigations against him. Telling my story was the hardest thing I have ever done, but it was worth it. I am worth it. My kids are worth it. The truth has set us free.

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  • Taking ‘time for yourself’ does not always mean spending the day at the spa. Mental health may also mean it is ok to set boundaries, to recognize your emotions, to prioritize sleep, to find peace in being still. I hope you take time for yourself today, in the way you need it most.

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    123

    I don't know, I don't know who to go to. I don't know if l'm being overdramatic because l've been taken advantage of before. And I really hope nobody I know finds this because they'll know it's me. I don't know if I'm just convincing myself he's a bad person because I finally have something good. I haven't been able to eat good without nausea and it's been 2 days since | drunk and hang overs don't usually last that long. I haven't eaten today at all and what happened has been keeping me up at night. God, I feel like a little kid again writing this about my ex. Me and my boyfriend decided to drink and smoke weed together. I'm a fast drinker sometimes and unfortunately l am a very low weight. He brought something that had only a 14% alcohol level or whatever. I must've drunk around half of the bottle and I can't remember him drinking that much, because he was talking a lot but he was holding the bottle for most of the time. I got really drunk while we were outside and I couldn't walk anymore AT ALL. I fell into a tree and he had to walk me to his house because I had to use the bathroom. We get in there and I use the bathroom and trip in his shower. After he helps me to his room because he said we should go up I think. And later on, I start to record so I could know what happened. In the video I'm repeatedly asking him if he was sober or as drunk as me. And I told him I wasn't in control at all. I was confused on where I was and I kept asking him where I was. I spilled water on me and a couple minutes later I asked why I was wet because I totally had forgotten that happened. I also could not see at all and I'm staring right into the phone camera asking if I was recording him or me. I don't remember a lot from this point, just what I have from like the 40 minutes of recording. We played my favorite artist. I was singing really bad lol and I was asking him if I could smoke his pen and he gave it to me a couple of times and never said no (imo he should have, I couldn't walk by myself and could only crawl) I started to become really touchy, like laying my head in his lap, caressing his arms, putting my hand on his upper thigh, and once I accidentally moved my hand against his crouch or something. Hard to explain. He was caressing my neck or wrapping his hand around it. He was also putting his fingers sort of in my mouth or on my mouth. One time when a finger did go in my mouth, I moved my head back. Another time, I did move his hand from my neck onto my mouth because it felt warm. Either he was laying right next to me or my head was in his lap most of the time. I'm sorry this is so confusing I'm doing it all out of order. And just talking about what he did. In one clip, which made me uncomfortable maybe the most, as I was laying close to him and our faces were facing eachother, I asked him "did we kiss?" (I asked him if we kissed earlier, in none of the videos it shows us kissing at all) and he must have thought I asked him to kiss me. He didn't say anything and just leaned in to kiss me, then I started repeating "no, no,no". And I started squirming. He grabs my arm and maybe pulls me a little closer but I can't tell, it looks like he's grabbing something behind me a bit but he's saying "sorry, I'm sorry" and then I asked if he was playing my favorite music artist. In other clips, it looks like he's trying to kiss me. Like when I'm under him and he's grabbing my chin and he's getting closer but then I realize then I start to move away. I was really drunk, but I remember being so scared he was going to do something bad to me that I recorded to know what happened, I told him don't let me do anything bad, that I trusted him, and that I was scared and not in control. He was drunk as well but he didn't really seem very drunk. He said he wasn't as drunk as me while I kept asking and asking. I remember that in 2 hours I started crying and asking for my dad and I was really scared and I was gonna ask him for a pregnancy test. I know we didn't do anything super sexual like that, because I would've felt pain. There are some gaps in the recording of time, and I do not know what happened between those minutes. I don't think I would have kissed him but I cant remember at all. He told me we kissed 3 times and that they were about 4 seconds. I don't think he had any bad intentions and I feel bad for posting this, I don't think he's a bad guy. I still love him and I don't think I'll break up with him. I don't know if I see a boner or not in the videos, idk what one rily looks like lol. I do know that he has a enc kink from what he's talked to me about over text while I was on drugs. (Such as sleeping and me falling

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  • “It’s always okay to reach out for help”

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    Name

    {~Name~}
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    #20

    At the age of four, my mom used to take me out to the trunk of her Jeep and beat me for 20-30 minutes at a time. She would hit me, pull my hair, and scream profanity at me. The physical abuse lasted until I was 11-years-old, and she only stopped once CPS got involved. My dad knew; he did nothing. At the age of 6, I got sexually molested at school by another female. My mother told me it was not molestation, and that I was just "playing around." At the age of 11, I was sexually abused by the neighborhood boys. They were in their mid-teens, and would touch me inappropriately, rub their penises against me, and tell me inappropriate jokes. At that same age, I was also dry humped on the face by multiple boys who I considered friends. At the age of 16, I was raped by a 26-year-old man. He groomed me beginning at the age of 14-years-old, and convinced me he was a safe person. At that same point in my life, I was raped by a 23-year-old that I had known for two years and considered safe. He took me to a room where we could "be alone" then proceeded to force himself on me. I was crying and telling him to stop, but he didn't stop. I dated him for three months after that, and he continued to pressure me into sex and emotionally abuse me. Starting at the age of 14-years-old, I began getting harassed online. I stupidly gave out my phone number and address to someone I had trusted, and they were posted on 4chan (a public image board). I was harassed daily: I received death threats; I received threatening phone calls; I would receive calls to my school. I then found out that the person I trusted killed a girl in his home city, and that they had proof I was going to be the next victim. At the age of 17, my step-dad physically assaulted me and almost broke my wrist. He put a cigarette out on my head, strangled me, and threatened me. My mom watched, holding the phone, and told me it was my fault for "not leaving when [she] told [me] to." The only help I got was from a neighbor who saw me run out of the house, covered in blood. That same year, I was kicked out because I refused to lift the restraining order off of my step-dad, and my mom gave me an ultimatum. I refused and went to live elsewhere. At the age of 18, I moved in with my first serious boyfriend. He was abusive and cheated on me multiple times. He would call me every name in the book and threaten to harm me and break my belongings. I did not get away until I was just turning 19. At the age of 20, I moved in with my dad. My step-mom was jealous of my dad and I's relationship and physically assaulted me and kicked me out on my 21st birthday. My dad did nothing again. At the age of 21, I developed life-threatening bulimia and anorexia and began drinking heavily to self-medicate. My fiance helped me through these disorders and saved my life. I am now 24-years-old and have many stable and healthy relationships--both in friendship and love. I am also receiving help via medication for C-PTSD, GAD, and major depressive disorder. I began therapy recently, too, and am learning to confront my traumas and move on. It's hard, and there are many things I remember each day that send me into a panic, but I want to heal and reclaim my innocence, power, and self-worth.

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    The red flags were always there. But, we were all kids.

    Hi, I'm Name, and since everyone is speaking out about bad relationships, I want to share mine. (A thread) I was a minor, who was not ready for a relationship, and I'm asexual. I hate sexual touching and a lot of jokes. I will be referring to my boyfriend as K. K was not a good person, but I was attracted to terrible people. I told him at the beginning of the relationship that I was uncomfortable with sexual jokes and comments. This did not stop him, over the span of our 4 months of dating, he would concisely make disgusting remarks towards me. Some over text and some in public, I had expressed that I was uncomfortable with this type of talk towards me. (Mostly because I was a minor.) What I didn't know at the time was that I was not the first woman he had done this too. Most of the comments I dumbly ignored, or laughed nervously. K would get very upset if I didn't text him. Calling me out for being Distant or, annoying. would say dumb shit like 'Fuck myself or something', then he would reply with something weird or disgusting. K has had 3 relationships. Me, B, and W. W, he sent an inapposite pic to her and would say weird shit to her. B, He would grab their thighs, and ask them to send him pics. Me, he would say disgusting things to me even though I asked him not too. And C. K never dated C. He would say disgusting things to C, and "Accidentally" grab her boobs. That's not my story to tell. This lasted for months, with irl. He would sometimes tackle me, or grab me weirdly. I tried to protest for long months, without any avail. When I did call him out, he got defensive, saying I was switching sides. And It wasn't that serious. At the moment, I'm still dealing with this. And the mental pain it caused me, please don't ignore the signs. Or the signs in your kids. Thank you -Name

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  • Healing is not linear. It is different for everyone. It is important that we stay patient with ourselves when setbacks occur in our process. Forgive yourself for everything that may go wrong along the way.

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    That night my brother touched me

    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.

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    #1504

    mum was at work and my brothers were in the garden playing football with each other as dad had sent them outside so i could watch my show. Dad and I were sitting on the sofa, I was lying on his chest and he had one arm around me (right hand, disabled one) and the other was stroking my hair (left hand). He began to put his hand near my private parts, I squirmed slightly as it was uncomfortable, he chuckled to himself and whispered to me “it was normal for a father to show his daughter some love.” So I tried to relax. eventually excused myself to the bathroom but he followed saying “he didn't want me making a mess”. When I walked in I took my trousers down and he pulled me closer to him, his grip was rough and it hurt (I yelped a bit), he began to touch my private parts and I tried getting away again as his touch was uncomfortable and his grip was still hurting. At one point he pulled his trousers down and guided my had to his private parts making me touch them, he told me he was showing me love and i believed him, he said if I touched him he would give me a treat and love me more as well so I began to do it willingly. He asked if he could take a photo of me “for some friends” and then did it anyway, not giving me a chance to reply and fight back. about a minute later, my brother called dad because he was losing and dad was annoyed. He washed his hands and went out to josh. Later he returned with some chocolate and a ‘drink’. From what I remember of the smell it was beer of some kind but as a kid I didn't notice, he did this as a reward every time. It wasn't long before dad got kicked out, I was alone with him in the kitchen. He was annoyed at me as I had tried to tell someone about him, and he was punishing me. i was trying to go to mum and he had grabbed me tightly, i was terrified, he was towering over me and i had nowhere to hide. He walk over to the side and grabbed a knife holding it to me, i began to apologize to him over and over, he made me bow to him and call him ‘master’ . He seemed to find joy in threatening me. I wanted to get away from him. That night he still attacked me and beat me but I was too afraid to scream. He ended up using the knife to cut himself on his legs while telling me it was my fault he was hurting himself because I didn't love him anymore. I offered to touch him because I wanted him to be happy again. He accepted and I did it, after that I kept offering when we were alone to keep him happy. I didn’t tell anyone about him touching me because I thought I would get in trouble for offering to touch him. When mum kicked him out I was scared he was going to kill himself because I couldn't make him happy anymore. I still feel guilty for that night as if i would have not tried to tell someone it wouldn't have happened.

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    Breaking Free: Escaping a Narcissist's Grip

    Leaving my ex was a decision shaped by years of isolation and physical abuse, but the breaking point was when he tried to control my livelihood. He wanted me to quit my job, and when I refused, he didn’t care. Another time, he looked me in the eyes and said, “You’re not leaving this apartment alive,” before laughing. That was the moment I realized—why was I letting this man decide what I did with my life? Why was I letting him determine whether I got to be alive at all? The day I finally left, I called my mom and told her I wanted out. When my ex threatened to throw all my belongings away, I called the police. They gave me five minutes to gather what I could. I grabbed whatever I could carry and walked away. But leaving wasn’t the end—it was just the beginning. He stalked and harassed me relentlessly. Social media messages. Presents left on my car. Showing up at my parents' house. Nonstop calls. I eventually had to change my phone number. Even then, it took me a while to file for a Protection Order because, somehow, I still felt bad for him. Then, after months of no contact, I ran into him at the gym. He made a threatening remark, so I reported it, and he was banned. That set him off. As I left the gym, he tried to run me off the road. I managed to pull into a parking lot where bystanders gathered around me while he screamed. The police arrived and told me I should file for an Emergency Protection Order immediately—something I had put off, thinking I had to wait for regular business hours. I got the order and thought that would be the end of it. But exactly one day after it expired, he showed up again—and this time, he wouldn’t let me leave where I was parked. Panic took over as I desperately tried to get someone’s attention to call the police. Finally, I managed to get to safety, and someone had already made the call. As I started driving home, I realized he was following me again. Instead of going home, I turned back and told the police. They offered to follow me, and as I drove off, I spotted him on the other side of the road. I motioned to the officer, who immediately pulled him over. A few minutes later, the officer called me and said I needed to get another order against him, warning that he was "mentally unwell." He hoped that pulling him over had given me enough time to get home safely. This time, I had to file for a Peace Order, which only lasted six months. He even tried to appeal it—but in the end, it was granted. Looking back, I learned that the most dangerous time for a survivor isn’t during the relationship—it’s when they try to leave. Those months after I walked away were far more terrifying than any moment I spent with him. But in the end, I made it out. And that’s what matters.

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    #342

    “You are not alone. It was not your fault. It is possible to heal. It is not too late.” As a survivor of trauma and abuse, I am learning to cope with strategies – such as denial, self-blame, an unconscious reenactment of unresolved traumatic experiences, and normalizing sexual exploitation. When I was hurt being sexually traumatized by my father, secrecy, shame, and self-worth boundaries did not matter. No one could be trusted, and the world was not safe. Emotions from my childhood were complex and confusing. There was no single method or pattern of remembering a traumatic experience. I went through my life trying to satisfy everyone, and always forgot myself, but God blessed me by helping me get through my adulthood trauma. With faith in the Lord, everything comes to light. Yes, good is the light that shines within ones-self, and that makes you attract and remember that any trauma can be overcome, as-long-as you remember that we can teach ourselves appropriately how to feel about ourselves. And, that we all deserve the best. Remember we are born to love, to express love, and feel happy about living. Remember, God has our back, and always remember, He sees all. Amen. I experienced that shame and defensiveness throughout my childhood and all through high school. I kept moving, and I kept attempting to ignore the fact that I had this massive entity inside me which I needed to get out of! Today there are many times I do not feel comfortable expressing my emotions and attempt to cope through self-destructive behavior which then impacts my life. I have finally shared my story publicly, and have started feeling some real, significant relief. I’ve expressed my emotions, and no one has reacted negatively. No one has judged me nor have they thoughtless of me. But now I think, “You know what? My family doesn’t know this about me.” I have been afraid to tell my family for so many years! And, finally, it is time. Here is what I want you to know: If you’ve experienced any kind of sexual abuse or trauma, you do not have to feel guilty! You can forgive yourself, and you can forgive others for their behavior. You no longer need be a prisoner of these experiences. Focus on what you have. That may be easier said than done. But, when you’ve lost something so important, you need to focus on what you have, and make the best of what you have, and do not fall into the trap of self-pity! One neat trick is to find at least one positive thought and focus all your energy on that premise! At first, it may feel too little, but once you maintain focus and all your energy on that one thought, you’ll find coping with the present setting a much more positive experience. Take small steps to make subtle shifts, “The journey of 1000 miles begins with a single step.” – Lao Tzu. Again, in dealing with trauma, healing will not happen quickly. You must remember to be patient and gentle with yourself while allowing the process to unfold. It is important not to be harsh with yourself. Indeed, you’ve already experienced enough. The good news is that there are very effective ways to cope with and treat the effects of trauma. I have found these actions quite helpful. *Lean on your loved ones. Identify friends or family members for support. If you feel ready to discuss the traumatic event, you might talk to them about your experience and your feelings. You can also ask loved ones to help you with household tasks or other obligations to relieve some of your daily stress. *Face your feelings. It’s normal to want to avoid thinking about a traumatic event. But not leaving the house, sleeping all the time, isolating yourself from loved ones, and using substances to escape reminders are not healthy ways to cope over time. Though avoidance is normal, too much of it can prolong your stress and keep you from healing. Gradually, try to ease back into a normal routine. Support from loved ones or a mental health professional can help quite a bit as you get back-in-the-groove. *Be patient. Remember that it’s normal to have a strong reaction to a distressing event. Take things one-day-at-a-time as you recover. As the days pass, your symptoms should start to gradually improve. One final thing: The Sexual Violence Survivor’s Bill of Rights: 1. No one has the right to abuse you or anyone else. 2. No one deserves to be assaulted or abused. 3. You have a right to stop the abuse that is happening to you or anyone else. 4. You have a right to pursue healing and justice for the abuse that has happened. 5. Sexual violence is wrong. The abuser is wrong. People who protect the abuser are wrong. YOU ARE NOT TO BLAME. 6. You did not destroy the family or betray their trust by speaking out about your abuse. The perpetrator destroyed the trust of the family every time he/she committed an act of abuse, Bible Quotes: Isaiah 41:10 "So do not fear, for I am with you, do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." 2 Corinthians 1:4 “Suffering in this life often feels meaningless. Scripture immediately brings a sense of purpose to our suffering. Those who have been comforted by God—strengthened, encouraged, relieved of the burden—have opportunity to pass along comfort to others who are suffering. In that sense, God's comfort is reproducible and repeatable. God remains the source, but believers can keep distributing God's comfort to others who suffer as they have.”

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  • Story
    From a survivor
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    123

    I don't know, I don't know who to go to. I don't know if l'm being overdramatic because l've been taken advantage of before. And I really hope nobody I know finds this because they'll know it's me. I don't know if I'm just convincing myself he's a bad person because I finally have something good. I haven't been able to eat good without nausea and it's been 2 days since | drunk and hang overs don't usually last that long. I haven't eaten today at all and what happened has been keeping me up at night. God, I feel like a little kid again writing this about my ex. Me and my boyfriend decided to drink and smoke weed together. I'm a fast drinker sometimes and unfortunately l am a very low weight. He brought something that had only a 14% alcohol level or whatever. I must've drunk around half of the bottle and I can't remember him drinking that much, because he was talking a lot but he was holding the bottle for most of the time. I got really drunk while we were outside and I couldn't walk anymore AT ALL. I fell into a tree and he had to walk me to his house because I had to use the bathroom. We get in there and I use the bathroom and trip in his shower. After he helps me to his room because he said we should go up I think. And later on, I start to record so I could know what happened. In the video I'm repeatedly asking him if he was sober or as drunk as me. And I told him I wasn't in control at all. I was confused on where I was and I kept asking him where I was. I spilled water on me and a couple minutes later I asked why I was wet because I totally had forgotten that happened. I also could not see at all and I'm staring right into the phone camera asking if I was recording him or me. I don't remember a lot from this point, just what I have from like the 40 minutes of recording. We played my favorite artist. I was singing really bad lol and I was asking him if I could smoke his pen and he gave it to me a couple of times and never said no (imo he should have, I couldn't walk by myself and could only crawl) I started to become really touchy, like laying my head in his lap, caressing his arms, putting my hand on his upper thigh, and once I accidentally moved my hand against his crouch or something. Hard to explain. He was caressing my neck or wrapping his hand around it. He was also putting his fingers sort of in my mouth or on my mouth. One time when a finger did go in my mouth, I moved my head back. Another time, I did move his hand from my neck onto my mouth because it felt warm. Either he was laying right next to me or my head was in his lap most of the time. I'm sorry this is so confusing I'm doing it all out of order. And just talking about what he did. In one clip, which made me uncomfortable maybe the most, as I was laying close to him and our faces were facing eachother, I asked him "did we kiss?" (I asked him if we kissed earlier, in none of the videos it shows us kissing at all) and he must have thought I asked him to kiss me. He didn't say anything and just leaned in to kiss me, then I started repeating "no, no,no". And I started squirming. He grabs my arm and maybe pulls me a little closer but I can't tell, it looks like he's grabbing something behind me a bit but he's saying "sorry, I'm sorry" and then I asked if he was playing my favorite music artist. In other clips, it looks like he's trying to kiss me. Like when I'm under him and he's grabbing my chin and he's getting closer but then I realize then I start to move away. I was really drunk, but I remember being so scared he was going to do something bad to me that I recorded to know what happened, I told him don't let me do anything bad, that I trusted him, and that I was scared and not in control. He was drunk as well but he didn't really seem very drunk. He said he wasn't as drunk as me while I kept asking and asking. I remember that in 2 hours I started crying and asking for my dad and I was really scared and I was gonna ask him for a pregnancy test. I know we didn't do anything super sexual like that, because I would've felt pain. There are some gaps in the recording of time, and I do not know what happened between those minutes. I don't think I would have kissed him but I cant remember at all. He told me we kissed 3 times and that they were about 4 seconds. I don't think he had any bad intentions and I feel bad for posting this, I don't think he's a bad guy. I still love him and I don't think I'll break up with him. I don't know if I see a boner or not in the videos, idk what one rily looks like lol. I do know that he has a enc kink from what he's talked to me about over text while I was on drugs. (Such as sleeping and me falling

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  • Story
    From a survivor
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    The red flags were always there. But, we were all kids.

    Hi, I'm Name, and since everyone is speaking out about bad relationships, I want to share mine. (A thread) I was a minor, who was not ready for a relationship, and I'm asexual. I hate sexual touching and a lot of jokes. I will be referring to my boyfriend as K. K was not a good person, but I was attracted to terrible people. I told him at the beginning of the relationship that I was uncomfortable with sexual jokes and comments. This did not stop him, over the span of our 4 months of dating, he would concisely make disgusting remarks towards me. Some over text and some in public, I had expressed that I was uncomfortable with this type of talk towards me. (Mostly because I was a minor.) What I didn't know at the time was that I was not the first woman he had done this too. Most of the comments I dumbly ignored, or laughed nervously. K would get very upset if I didn't text him. Calling me out for being Distant or, annoying. would say dumb shit like 'Fuck myself or something', then he would reply with something weird or disgusting. K has had 3 relationships. Me, B, and W. W, he sent an inapposite pic to her and would say weird shit to her. B, He would grab their thighs, and ask them to send him pics. Me, he would say disgusting things to me even though I asked him not too. And C. K never dated C. He would say disgusting things to C, and "Accidentally" grab her boobs. That's not my story to tell. This lasted for months, with irl. He would sometimes tackle me, or grab me weirdly. I tried to protest for long months, without any avail. When I did call him out, he got defensive, saying I was switching sides. And It wasn't that serious. At the moment, I'm still dealing with this. And the mental pain it caused me, please don't ignore the signs. Or the signs in your kids. Thank you -Name

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  • You are wonderful, strong, and worthy. From one survivor to another.

    Story
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    You are NOT alone

    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.

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  • “Healing to me means that all these things that happened don’t have to define me.”

    “These moments in time, my brokenness, has been transformed into a mission. My voice used to help others. My experiences making an impact. I now choose to see power, strength, and even beauty in my story.”

    Story
    From a survivor
    🇮🇪

    My story

    I was raped when I was 18, just after my Leaving Cert. The man who raped me was a former partner. He had been physically abusive which had prompted me to end the relationship. Not long after it ended, he got in contact and asked to meet up to exchange items we had left at the others’ homes. I agreed, not thinking anything of it particularly. We arranged a time and agreed to go for a coffee in a spot we had often frequented as a couple. However, he was hours late turning up and looking back now, this was a huge red flag. I got into the car with him and he drove to a secluded location, incapacitated me and raped me. I will never forget the feeling of trying to prise his hands off of me and finally realising I wasn’t strong enough. It lasted nearly 4 hours and I was orally, vaginally and anally raped. He also used a foreign object during his attack. After it was over, he let me go and I walked for hours in the dark to get home. I didn’t tell a soul for days. The only medical attention I sought was the morning after pill. After about 3 days, I started to come to terms about what had happened to me, and that it wasn’t ok. That I wasn’t ok. I sought help from the SATU in Location and chose ‘Option 3’ which allowed samples to be taken and stored without a Garda present. I couldn’t speak highly enough of the care I got in SATU. They are angels. I later suffered a miscarriage at a relatively late stage in pregnancy, after finding out quite late. I eventually made a statement to Gardai and my perpetrator was arrested, although I decided at the time that I was not strong enough to allow the case to go to court. I suffered hugely at that time with symptoms I have now come to understand were PTSD and depression, and even considered taking my own life. But I accessed supports and met a wonderful psychotherapist and I later repeated my leaving cert and went on to gain entry to university, where I have had such brilliant support. I was lucky to access support that made all the difference to me, and my message to anybody reading this who was affected by sexual violence is that it gets better, and you can get through it.

    Dear reader, this story contains language of self-harm that some may find triggering or discomforting.

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  • “It can be really difficult to ask for help when you are struggling. Healing is a huge weight to bear, but you do not need to bear it on your own.”

    We all have the ability to be allies and support the survivors in our lives.

    Story
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    From Lies, Secrets and Shame to Truth, Freedom, and Healing

    My father began sexually abusing me when I was 12 years old. I now know that he had been grooming me for years before that. He married my mother when I was 7, and was everything my biological father was not. He spent time with me and made me special and loved. I was still healing from the physical abuse of another family member when he came into our lives; my mother and I were both vulnerable and lacked a good support network. So he could swoop in and sweep both of us off our feet. By the time I was 9, I was legally his daughter, bearing his last name, calling his family my family. It felt good to belong and I would do anything to earn and keep my place in this new family with this new dad. When my parents separated for their pending divorce, I stayed with my dad and wanted nothing to do with my mother. My father had become my hero and I worshipped the ground he walked on. Little did I know that I was being groomed, that all of the special father-daughter things served his evil purpose, and that he had been using the tension between my mother and me to isolate me. By the time I was 12 years old, he had me right where he wanted me, alone and under his control. It started with him ordering me into the bathroom as he was taking a bath, to look at him and then to touch him. He told me I wanted it and that it was good for me to get it out of my system because it was just part of puberty to be curious. I felt so ashamed and dirty, but I couldn't betray my father, my hero, by telling an adult what had happened. Things eventually escalated to oral sex in exchange for special privileges, such as alcohol, driving lessons, and being allowed to have friends over after school when I was home alone. He justified the abuse by telling me that he was educating me so that one day when I was in a relationship I would know how to please a man. He also assured me that it was neither abuse nor incest because were aren't blood-related and he would stop if I said no. But when I did say no, he made sure I paid for it by treating me like I was worthless, and then reminding me of my choice to tell him no. When I spoke up for myself in an argument or talked back to him he would become aggressive. He once punched me in the face, knocking me down, briefly unconscious. I came to with a bloody nose, and a black eye. My aunt and uncle were there for that one, and they would go on to tell me that it was my fault things "got so out of control" because I "pushed my father too far". I had no relationship with my mother or the family where I thought I belonged. I couldn't tell anyone my horrible secret because I was so ashamed. My father assured me that I was complicit and that if he went down I would go down with him. I believed this lie from the pit of hell, and it kept me silent. The sexual abuse continued until I graduated high school. I was convinced of my worthlessness at this point and had made two attempts to take my life. When I told my father that I was no longer willing to have any sort of sexual relationship with him, he made it clear that he wanted me to leave. He told me that nobody could stand to live with me unless I provided them with sex. This was another of his lies I believed. When I finally did move out, I lived an increasingly self-destructive lifestyle. I sought out relationships to "save" myself, and because I believed all of the lies of my father, I slept with every guy who showed interest in the hope of earning their love. I didn't understand why this wasn't working and I attributed it to my not being good enough. The weekend parties and drug use became a daily thing until I woke up at one party with someone on top of me. I had been drugged and raped by I don't know how many people before I regained consciousness. I went to my mother for help, and I asked her to help me start over, I had just turned 20 and I wanted to go to college and make better choices. She sent me to my father telling me that he would have to take half of the financial responsibility if she were to help. So I went to my father. He told me that the only way he could stand to live with me was if I provided him with oral sex on demand and took care of the home. I was desperate and in a desperate situation facing homelessness and unemployment. So I agreed. This time my father assured me that this was my choice because I was an adult now, so I was convinced that it was all my fault. I had finally learned the art of going along to get along and I shrunk down until I disappeared. I continued in this toxic living arrangement and became pregnant. I had a baby with my father. Who does that? I was convinced that I was sick and wrong, but no one could know or they would take my baby away. My father married me illegally, and I became pregnant again. I had another baby with my father. I thought it was too late to ask for help now, how was I going to protect my children? I kept the secret, I kept my father satisfied, and I hid. The secret ate me up until one day I just couldn't take it anymore. I told my story to a friend, who referred me to a therapist. I was shocked to learn that I was being abused, and my therapist helped me make an exit plan. I confided in a few others who helped me to get out. When my kids were 18 and 14, I left and cut off all contact with my father. I retained a lawyer and got the "marriage" annulled. I am now free. I have a job I love and am working on finishing my degree in education. My kids are safe. It isn't perfect, and it's still a work in progress, but we are healing. I have since reported my father's crimes to law enforcement and there are two active investigations against him. Telling my story was the hardest thing I have ever done, but it was worth it. I am worth it. My kids are worth it. The truth has set us free.

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  • Taking ‘time for yourself’ does not always mean spending the day at the spa. Mental health may also mean it is ok to set boundaries, to recognize your emotions, to prioritize sleep, to find peace in being still. I hope you take time for yourself today, in the way you need it most.

    “It’s always okay to reach out for help”

    Story
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    #20

    At the age of four, my mom used to take me out to the trunk of her Jeep and beat me for 20-30 minutes at a time. She would hit me, pull my hair, and scream profanity at me. The physical abuse lasted until I was 11-years-old, and she only stopped once CPS got involved. My dad knew; he did nothing. At the age of 6, I got sexually molested at school by another female. My mother told me it was not molestation, and that I was just "playing around." At the age of 11, I was sexually abused by the neighborhood boys. They were in their mid-teens, and would touch me inappropriately, rub their penises against me, and tell me inappropriate jokes. At that same age, I was also dry humped on the face by multiple boys who I considered friends. At the age of 16, I was raped by a 26-year-old man. He groomed me beginning at the age of 14-years-old, and convinced me he was a safe person. At that same point in my life, I was raped by a 23-year-old that I had known for two years and considered safe. He took me to a room where we could "be alone" then proceeded to force himself on me. I was crying and telling him to stop, but he didn't stop. I dated him for three months after that, and he continued to pressure me into sex and emotionally abuse me. Starting at the age of 14-years-old, I began getting harassed online. I stupidly gave out my phone number and address to someone I had trusted, and they were posted on 4chan (a public image board). I was harassed daily: I received death threats; I received threatening phone calls; I would receive calls to my school. I then found out that the person I trusted killed a girl in his home city, and that they had proof I was going to be the next victim. At the age of 17, my step-dad physically assaulted me and almost broke my wrist. He put a cigarette out on my head, strangled me, and threatened me. My mom watched, holding the phone, and told me it was my fault for "not leaving when [she] told [me] to." The only help I got was from a neighbor who saw me run out of the house, covered in blood. That same year, I was kicked out because I refused to lift the restraining order off of my step-dad, and my mom gave me an ultimatum. I refused and went to live elsewhere. At the age of 18, I moved in with my first serious boyfriend. He was abusive and cheated on me multiple times. He would call me every name in the book and threaten to harm me and break my belongings. I did not get away until I was just turning 19. At the age of 20, I moved in with my dad. My step-mom was jealous of my dad and I's relationship and physically assaulted me and kicked me out on my 21st birthday. My dad did nothing again. At the age of 21, I developed life-threatening bulimia and anorexia and began drinking heavily to self-medicate. My fiance helped me through these disorders and saved my life. I am now 24-years-old and have many stable and healthy relationships--both in friendship and love. I am also receiving help via medication for C-PTSD, GAD, and major depressive disorder. I began therapy recently, too, and am learning to confront my traumas and move on. It's hard, and there are many things I remember each day that send me into a panic, but I want to heal and reclaim my innocence, power, and self-worth.

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  • Healing is not linear. It is different for everyone. It is important that we stay patient with ourselves when setbacks occur in our process. Forgive yourself for everything that may go wrong along the way.

    Message of Healing
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    Healing, for me, is an ongoing, deeply personal journey shaped by pain and resilience. It’s about confronting the scars left by years of abuse, navigating emotional trauma, and learning to move beyond experiences that once defined me. True healing began when I faced the emotions I had long avoided. Therapy helped me understand that my self-destructive behaviors were a response to deeper wounds from childhood. For the first time, I began to confront the shame, fear, and sense of worthlessness that had been buried for so long. Learning to embrace vulnerability was essential to my healing. My wife, Name, was a cornerstone of that process, offering me love and support that helped me tear down the emotional walls I had built. Through her belief in me, I found the courage to face my past. Emotional Martial Arts (EMA) also transformed my healing process, teaching me to Recognize, Validate, and Release (RVR) my emotions. This practice allowed me to confront old pain without being consumed by it, helping me break free from the patterns that had once trapped me. Ketamine treatments were another profound step in my journey. These sessions allowed me to address deep-seated trauma I hadn’t fully confronted. They provided relief from the weight of decades-old pain, helping me feel unburdened for the first time in years. I’ve learned that healing is neither linear nor one-size-fits-all. It’s a personal process, and what works for one person may not work for another. The key is to remain open to the journey, exploring different paths, whether through therapy, alternative treatments, or practices like meditation. The most important thing is to keep moving forward. Today, I know the shadows of my past still linger, but they no longer define my future. Every step I’ve taken has brought me closer to peace and self-understanding. The pain of my past is now a source of strength, fueling my purpose to help others break the silence around abuse. Healing is possible, even after deep wounds. It’s about reclaiming your life, allowing your pain to fuel your purpose, and continuing the journey toward a future where your past no longer holds power. In sharing my story, I hope to encourage others to break the silence around abuse. Healing is possible, even after the deepest wounds. Our pain doesn’t have to define us—it can fuel our purpose and empower us to reclaim our lives. Healing, for me, is about embracing the present, recognizing the past for what it is, and continuing the journey toward a future where pain no longer holds power.

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  • Story
    From a survivor
    🇮🇪

    Autistic voice

    I used to think rape was what you'd see in movies. Jumped on by a stranger and violently assaulted. Turns out I was wrong. I have been raped on multiple occasions and didn't fully understand it until I got older and wiser and also found out that I'm autistic. This is what helped me to understand what had really happened. I learned and studied autism in girls and women and figured it out from there. I was vulnerable and impressionable and masked so much that I was a completely different person on the outside than who I really was on the inside. When I was younger and had no clue that I was being preyed upon due to my vulnerability and started to pretend as though I just liked sex and was willingly promiscuous. It was a lie I told myself and my friends so that I didn't have to face the fact I couldn't and didn't know how to say no and mean it. There is flight, fight and also freeze. So many times I was telling them no and when they didn't stop I just froze and realised that my voice was pointless and they weren't listening to me. It was easier to allow them to finish without fighting and having it be violent too. I didn't realise how badly the mental impact would be. One particular night I was out in a bar and a few of us went back to a house party. One guy was showing interest in me and I actually liked it. We kissed and had fun and then he led me to a bedeoom and I hesitated but ended up going in. When he started to undress me I held my dress and said no. I said it so many times and he started to get really rough and forceful and started saying things to me about leading him on and what did I think was going to happen and I just wanted it rough. I realised that no matter what I said, sex was going to happen so I had two options, fight and be both violently and sexually assaulted or just have the sex without any further resistance which would mean that I'd be only sexually assaulted without the extra violence. I chose the latter and for a long time I believed that I just had sex that night. I now realise that was absolutely rape. It's played with my mental health for over ten years and I'm ready to acknowledge what happened to me instead of being in denial.

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  • Story
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    Name

    {~Name~}
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    Welcome to Our Wave.

    This is a space where survivors of trauma and abuse share their stories alongside supportive allies. These stories remind us that hope exists even in dark times. You are never alone in your experience. Healing is possible for everyone.

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