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Welcome to Unapologetically Surviving.

On this page are stories shared by survivors that highlight hope but can be discomforting. Before you proceed, would you like to do a grounding activity?

name, sexual harassment in the work place

Please, do what you ever you can. I promise it will get better, you learn to cope. Contact other survivors and we shall share our stories.


Stay strong, you are not alone.

The Snapshot

TW: Incest
I have had the extreme pleasure to be a part of a weekly writers group for over twenty years. Through these years I’ve come to write about my experience of surviving incest both through non-fiction and fiction pieces. Sometimes the fiction can be just as empowering for my voice as the memories. Recently our wonderful leader gave us our starting prompt: “Think of a photograph and enter it.” Here’s what I came up with:

Relationships Do Not Equate to Consent

In the beginning, he was the perfect boyfriend. Since our first date, we would see each other every single day and we shared the deepest, darkest secrets of our lives within a few weeks of meeting each other. He took me to his favorite places and brought me flowers, met my dog and my family. He was sweet, hardworking, dedicated and placed me on a high pedestal. His family was the best, treated me with such respect and welcomed me like I was their own. I knew we were going to be together for a long time and I was happy – for about 3 months. Fro...

I Was Only 15

TW: sexual violence, child abuse
This is something I’ve never spoken about like this, never sought help for and still think about all the time. When I was a 15 year old virgin, I was raped by a man I met 2 months prior and someone who knew I had no intention of having sex until I was married. MK approached me outside McDonalds and my friend gave my number to him. We started speaking and started meeting up. We never even kissed. I never allowed him to touch me sexually and I never touched him sexually. He was someone I really liked even though...

What Does a Pinky Promise Mean In Terms of Consent?

TW: sexual violence
1 gallon of Diva detergent costs $71.95. His apartment reeked of its sweet scent, clogging my pores and cutting off my airways. When I folded my clothes the morning after, the faint scent of the detergent made my stomach churn and I immediately threw up.


TW: sexual violence, child abuse
I was about 8 and at that time I used to live in a big house with my parents and my cousins. My oldest cousin was 12 and we never really talked to each other. One day I was alone with him and he asked me to come downstairs and then when I did he locked the door, proceeded to take my clothes off and then rape me. After I cried and cried he asked me to fuck off. I ran to my bedroom and cried. I kept all of this inside me for 6 years. I told my parents recently and they have taken legal action since.

It Doesn’t Matter

TW: sexual violence
We dated for a long time. He supported me the most and we were always together, like our identities merged into one. Looking back I know it as codependency. Looking back I know there were signs, but I wasn’t educated enough to see them. He made me think I was the abuser after it all ended.

Stronger Than You Think

One of my sexual assaults still lives in the same city as I do..in 2017; I hadn’t seen him in a year. I walked out a building and he was there. My cab had just arrived. I could not let him feel he got to me. I walked to the car and got in. I felt safe the driver was there. The driver took like what seem like forever to go. My assailant was right there. He shouted just loud enough that I could hear…What he said “was remember me. What my name…” I said his name….As soon as I got home it was or fight or flight thing… I stayed.

Not Alone

TW: sexual violence
I am a survivor.
I don’t know a lot of what happened when I was small. I only have short memories of incidents, and then it’s black. I know they’ll come back to haunt me someday. Especially because I want to know what happened to me. I know men, particularly my mom’s boyfriends, were involved. But I can’t remember.

Once Was Already Too Many Times

TW: Description of sexual assault and rape included
I, like many others, don’t talk about it much. I’ve always been one to deal with bad things on my own. I don’t enjoy burdening other people with the knowledge of my problems. Even just thinking about it puts a knot in my stomach and a lump in my throat. Every muscle in my body feels week as I begin to think about how I should tell this story. I will preface this by saying that I was raised Christian. I have always had Christian beliefs and values deep in my heart. I believe that sex – at leas...

My Path Back to Myself

TW: sexual assault
I’m going to begin by saying that I have moved forward by the means that made it possible for me to do so, but I encourage others to do what is best for them. It has taken a lot for me to post to here given that beyond my attacker and myself, only two other people in my life know about my rape. I tend to internalize my problems to handle them, and only when comfortable internally do I ever truly express things externally. I am not one to ascribe to the title of “victim” despite being victimized, so sharing here I suppose is...

Where Time Stands Still

TW: description of sexual assault
Deep breath.
The thing that I hate about my story is that while I hate that it happened to me, I hate how similar it is to so many other people’s stories. I don’t mean that I wish that there had been a unique or standout factor in my rape (wow, even typing that word makes breathing a chore), but that it kills me that so many others know exactly what I am talking about despite there only being some differences in our respective situations, and likewise, I know exactly what they’re talking about. I don’t know ho...

I Don’t Talk About It Much

TW: sexual violence
“I don’t talk about it much.” It’s my phrase, my shield, my deflection. I say it happened to me, but I don’t talk about it much, that it’s not about that night, but who I’ve become after. They don’t know it’s because I can’t talk about it, that if I say it out loud it becomes real, that the details exist in someone else’s mine and not just my own. I keep hidden inside of me the flash of the bartender I was trying to ask for help but my body couldn’t make the words because it was lethargic and incapacitated who looked at me...

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