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The dark parts don’t trigger me anymore. I know I’m safe now—in myself, my mind, body, soul, home, relationships, and life. It wasn’t always that way. I can talk about it if I choose to. Not everyone gets to hear my sacred story, and that’s how it should be. I’m no less worthy, and neither are you. Naturally, it took time to recover. The past could be unsettling during the healing process, often in unexpected ways. One day, I opened a social media account, and an acquaintance from my soccer community posted a team picture of his latest league victory. There, kneeling in the front row, was the strange case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde I once lived through. Seeing him smiling while standing dangerously close to others I knew was unnerving and reminded me how effortless it was for Hyde to convince people he was something he wasn’t. I left that relationship. More accurately, I secured my safety and Hyde’s departure, changed the locks, and blocked any way of contacting me. I thought I had to do it that way, on my own, but that wasn’t true. I painted the walls, but it would always be a trauma environment. Despite my efforts to see past the wreckage, open up, and have conversations, I often felt criticized and painfully alone. If you are unaware of the long list of reasons why it’s difficult for women to speak up, inform yourself. It wasn’t until much later that I experienced solidarity's power in such matters. We scrutinize and scowl at these stories from afar, my former self included, with an air of separateness and superiority until we experience them ourselves. For, of course, this could never be our story. But then it is, and now it is. Other women sharing their sacred stories were the most significant to me in the healing years - confidants who embraced me with the most profound empathy and stood and breathed in front of me with their scars that were once wounds. And my mentor of many years who held hope when I couldn’t and taught me how to give that to myself. Over the years, I have often asked myself if I would ever be free - truly free - from the psychological, emotional, physical, and spiritual damage that had occurred. Would my wounds heal? Would I always have some adaptation in my body from holding my emotions in a protective posture? Or could I get it out and be released? Would my stress response and anxiety always be easily heightened? Would my PTSD symptoms ever go away? Would I ever trust myself again? Trust another again? Would I always be startled by loud noises and glass shattering? Would “normal” ever be normal again after being exposed to such severe abnormalities? Would I ever forgive myself for how small I became during that time? Would the anger, confusion, disorientation, sadness, and grief abate? Would the dark nights ever end? Would I ever be held again, be myself again, or was I changed forever? The thing about liberation is that it can seek justice that doesn’t arrive. I was in a relationship with Dr. Jekyll, who hid the evil Edward Hyde, his intimidation tactics, wildly premeditated orchestration of lies, manipulation, and gaslighting. A part of me wanted clarity until the truth was true, and my mind could unfuck the mindfuck and rest again. Don’t wait for clarity that is never coming. Some of us must live big lessons to break patterns and cycles of this magnitude, even to believe again that it’s possible. But let me be clear—no woman, no person, wants to live these types of lessons. If you understand nothing else from this essay, understand that. If you are one of the lucky, privileged ones to sit on your throne of judgment when hearing these stories, you don’t understand. You don’t understand that what you’re misunderstanding is not the woman or victim in the story, but it is yourself. That’s the harshest, blindest truth. Another truth about this all-too-common story is that the parts of the victim stuck in that situation do not belong to the public to dissect. That’s her burden to bear. And it will be. In actuality, each individual walking through abuse is trying to stand up and say, “This happened. It is real. I am alive. Please breathe with me. Please stand there near enough so I can see what it looks like to stand in a reality I am rebuilding, in a self I am reconstructing, in a world I am reimagining. Because if I hear you breathing, I might breathe too. And if I see you standing, I might pull myself up, too. And, eventually, I’ll be in my body again—I’ll be able to feel again. Not surviving, but piercing through my life again.” For the victims, I’m going to be honest with you: the meandering process of recovery is ultimately up to you. It’s your responsibility. Therapists, books, podcasts, and support groups can help but can’t heal you. You have to heal yourself. You have to accept the victim's role to let it go. You have to feel—to struggle through the feelings. It’s daunting and scary. You’ll want to give up. If you have people in your life who are stuck in their shallowness while you’re trying to go to your depths, let them go and let them be. Pivot and seek the sources and people to show you how to stand and breathe. You have to start thinking for yourself now, caring for yourself now, and loving yourself now. But trust me, you’ll need people, and you’ll need to find them. You don’t have to be strong; you can be gentle with yourself. Often, the intelligent, empathetic, and enlightened part of a person gives Henry Jekyll a second chance to work on himself and make things right. I must acknowledge a narrow and perilous line between the resolvable, troubled soul and the soul that spills over into malice, rigidity, maladaptiveness, and steadfast personality. Most people never encounter evil and retain their naivety, while victims lose this innocent vantage point of the world. It’s not the victim’s job to rehabilitate or reintegrate anyone but herself. Our stories are pervasive, and we come from all walks of life. On March 9th, 2021, The World Health Organization published data collected from 158 countries reporting almost one in three women globally have suffered intimate partner violence or sexual violence. That’s nearly 736 million women around the world. We need more voices of survivors—more voices of the human conditions we let hide in the shadows for fear of discovering it in ourselves. I lost parts of myself during that time with Hyde. The destructive consequences of this style of person are astounding, and the impact on my connection to myself and others was among the most challenging aspects to overcome. The rage that boiled in Hyde resulted in outrageous displays of public humiliation, screaming, and, on one drunken occasion, physical violence. If Hyde had called me a stupid bitch before grabbing my neck, throwing my head against a stone wall, and my body across a room to smash into a bedpost and break my ribs while we were in the United States, I would have been able to call the authorities. And I would have. But because we were in the middle of nowhere in a foreign country, vindication occurred through the fog of shocking circumstances I didn’t deserve. After years, Hyde popped up in a picture on social media. He plays soccer on the same fields I used to play on with joy in the absence of hypervigilance. It’s that disparity in fairness that can grip us in bewilderment. I’m on another path now—one where my trust and love are respected. I remain open and available for peaceful, constructive ways of being, relating, participating, and having a voice. I hope you’ll embrace my sacred story with sensitivity and compassion as I offer it to those in need so we may come together and let her stand up and live.

back in the summer of date i was 12 years old mom, dad, and myself went to city for a week o see my grandparents because i was summer break from school and we were having a cookout when relavives from my grandmothers side of the family came down to see her, they stayed at the ramada inn down the the road from my grandparents house, when it happened, after dinner i excused myself from the table so i could stretch my legs and i started going into the woods to go see the deer that were not far from my grandparents house, when lee came following behind me and took me by the arm further into the woods so nobody would be able to see what was about to happen, he made me strip naked and touched my naked body including my penis and my genitals and said to me this is how people have sex then he pulled his pants and boxers down and made me feel his penis and made me try to swollow it and threatened me by say dont you tell your parents or grandparents about this or i will say that you are lying about it so i never say a thing about it, then the next day he found me behind the house looking down the hill at the 18 wheelers going by on the interstate and took me into the basement forced me to take off my clothes and then forced me to masturbate well its a was good thing that i kept myself from ejaculating sperm because the basement floor was dirt and had my grandmother asked me about why the floor was wet i would have had to tell her because i could never lie to my grandmother because of our special bond between grandma and grandson, so once i got dressed again i walked around spread dirt all over where my bare feet were this way she had no idea about what had happened, to this day i wish i had told them because then that bastard would have died in prison but he has since passed away a very painful death so i dont ever have to worry about him ever again.

My name is Name I am a lifelonglocation 1and relocated to location 2 3 years ago. I never thought in my most horrific Nightmares that I would have a devastating story like this to tell. But now I do and this is my location 2 life. Welcome to location 2. The land of delusion. I have been trying to file a lawsuit for the following abuse and mental/psychological cruelty that has happened to me since relocating to this God forsaken state: -False Imprisonment -Medical Malpractice/Medical Negligence -Defamation of Character -Falsafying Records I have been trying to file these claims against Mental Institution Name in location 2. I have been working with Name 2 of Organization Name since last year regarding ordering a site inspection against this facility due to all the violations they committed that have gone unnoticed and undocumented from the inspection done by Agency Name Please see below for an outline of what has occurred: ========================== Date: Followed up on my rape kit done at the Rape Crisis Center Name a few weeks prior with the policewoman assigned to my case, Name 3. I went to the precinct to speak to her because I missed her call and they told me she was going to come to me later that day. Name 3 of the Name of Department came to my apartment later that day with 2 other policemen/women, bullied and forced me out of my home, Name 4 Acted me and sent me to Psych Ward Name via ambulance and restraints. I was told by all 3 police that Hospital Namewas going to examine me and look into why my stomach was so enlarged. I was kept at Psych Ward Name all night. No one examined me nor did the ask about my stomach issues or my vaginal soreness from being REPEATEDLY raped. I was then taken by ambulance in the middle of the night to Mental Institution Name 2. All of this was STRONGLY AGAINST MY WILL. Date 2: 1st day at Mental Institution Name 2: --Violently ill and throwing up nonstop from the medication, which they stated they had no record of the next day in their charts, I was then given a shot in the buttocks because I refused the medication that made me ill and then reacted terribly from the shot, jumping out of my skin for a straight 24 hours. --Complained of my vaginal soreness throughout my 2 week stay due to being repeatedly raped and no medicine was given to me for this, I was completely ignored. --Was unable to shower for days due to lack of towels --Badgered/Harrassed by another drunk patient who threw her dirty diaper in my room in the middle of the night and frightened me. When I complained to staff about this nothing was done. ---Changed my medication the first time with a new medication which caused my tongue to swell up, was unable to talk the entire day/evening. --Psychiatrist who was assigned to me decided to change my medication again throughout my 2 week stay which made me more anxious, feeling like I was going to have panic attacks. She then decided to give me an injection to treat skyzophrenia in my left arm. I am NOT SKYZOPHRENIC. My left arm blew up and was very achy. She wanted to keep me for an additional 4 days after that to give me the second injection so I then petitioned the court to be discharged with the help of the public defender, Public Defender. Public Defender never mentioned anything about the mandatory 72 hour hold for LegalActs, as I was already kept against my will for nearly 2 weeks before reaching out to him for assistance. I Learned that on the police report Name 3 stated false 911 calls. THIS IS A BLATANT LIE and the report was falsified. I followed up on a rape kit and responded to Name 3's call ONLY WHEN SHE CALLED ME. Date 3 Discharged from Mental Institution Name 2 I was traumatized for a week after being discharged. I was unable to drive or leave my house due to constant panic attacks. To this day I still baracade my front door with 3 dining room chairs due to lack of protection from the police, as my rapist is still at large. In addition to this, I was told the police threw out my Rape Case due to insufficient information. REGARDING THE INSPECTION FROM Agency Name: It was 7 months from point of complaint sent to the field office for them to inspect. We are no longer in COVID so this does not make sense why it took so long. I was held for 10 days with no hearing and no sign of voluntary admission. There is no evidence in the medical records that a petition was even requested per law. This is CLEARLY false imprisonment! I have been continually suffering from PTSD, Nightmares & Panic Attacks since this horrific incident has occurred. I am seeing a Psychiatrist and have been prescribed 3 psychotropic drugs to help assist in my suffering. I have already called 20Location 2 ATTORNEYS & 10 Location 1ATTORNEYS since last year to try and seek justice however no one is willing to take on my case. I have been walking around for nearly 3 years carrying all this pain of sexual and emotional trauma and there are days that destroy my peace so much that I get physically ill. I have several health issues that have developed since relocating to Location 2 and Doctors that are unable to cure me. I am grateful for the few people I have in my life who offer support and so happy yo have this platform to assist in my healing. Thank you for listening. ❤️

When I was 8 I was molested by my older 13 year old “friend.” It was a typical grooming situation with secrets we can’t tell others that weren’t playing our “game”. This time was very confusing and I felt like I couldn’t talk to my parents or sister about it. It lasted for months- touching, hiding spots, secrets, oral sex, and vaginal sex. She ended up telling her friends at school - my mom was a school counselor that worked there. She overheard and reacted. She came to my elementary school and said that the girl said that I started it. I felt completely unsupported by my mom- unloved, unheard, not trusted, hurt, broken. I shut down from then emotionally. My parents didn’t hug me or tell me it wasn’t my fault or anything it was just pure fear and chaos and their disbelief that they didn’t know it happened even though it would happen in the same room as them sometimes. I told them this and they still couldn’t validate me or take responsibility- they never even cried for me- for the devastation I went through. We went on like all was normal. When I was 11 I started trying drinking. When I was 13 I basically wanted to die but didn’t know why. I went to a different school when I was 14 and it was all people that were upper class- I didn’t quite fit it but it was very important to my parents that we did. I was stealing to have the clothes the other girls wore- I didn’t want to depend on my parents. I then got into my first relationship at 15 and lost my virginity in the back of his car- it was abusive- verbally, sexually, emotionally and psychologically. He would intimidate me by throwing boxes, raging, screaming in my face for hours, calling me every name in the book and not letting me leave the house- he isolated me from my friends- and cheated on me whenever he wanted. That lasted for 2 years. Then I went to college, broken. I was raped 10 times when I was in college at parties or in their dorm room or mine. I woke up with a condom inside me one time… bruises on my vagina another… with no recollection of how or who did it. I was over drinking so I felt like they were my fault. I told the dean of students about one time I got roofied and nothing happened- he was a D2 football player so got a slap on the wrist. He then harassed and followed me for months intimidating me saying I was lying and ruined my reputation. I felt the same every time I woke up- confused, shocked, embarrassed, sick, alone, empty, raw, and scared to death- how did it happen again. I got sober thinking that would stop the assaults- I have since been assaulted and taken advantage of on multiple dates. Most recently, at work, I was sexually harassed for months and raped at my coworkers house. I reported it after he was reported to HR by another colleague and the state police didn’t do a thorough investigation and didn’t seem to believe me or care. He violated the restraining order and has faced no ramifications- he is a nurse. I have undergone trauma treatment for 6 months now. Healing means waking up in the morning free to do what I want, when I want, where I want, with who I want. I am learning how to voice myself and say no, set boundaries and speak up when I am uncomfortable. I have come a long way from the chaos and trauma that I reenacted without a solution. I go to sex and love addicts anonymous meetings- I went no contact, went through a painful withdrawal and am starting to see things differently. I see that the lies were not love. Love bombing isn’t love. I was chasing a fantasy of someone I wanted him to be but he never was. I live in mental health housing and I’m looking for a job. I have peace now because I spoke up. I am grateful to be alive. I pray anyone in an unsafe situation trusts the smallest voice inside you that knows what is happening isn’t right. I pray you get out safely with a plan. Don’t think “I should have” or “I was smarter than this” we are smart and we may have known better, but abusers are good at what they do - mine was when I was 15 and I recreated that traumatic hell for 15 more years. It needs to end now. I deserve a good life with a healthy person. I deserve to be treated with respect and love. I am loveable, and I am worthwhile. I say affirmations each day to move toward the life I want and not look back to a life where I was suffering in silence. I thank God everyday that I get the chance to heal, pray, laugh and have the chance to know what real love looks like, starting with my friendships. I hope to find and participate in therapy groups so I can continue to be vulnerable and heal. I hold on to the hope that I will feel safe in my body as I did when I did to prepare for EMDR. I had never felt safe in my body before. I will feel this again- I wake up every day with hope. Things are getting better slowly, healing is possible, and I am grateful for the start of a new life.

I was eleven when it happened. It was Wednesday in September of sixth grade. The boy who assaulted me I had only met on Monday of the same week, when he’d asked me if I had a boyfriend and/or any romantic interests (to which I responded I was gay), told me lesbians shouldn’t get married (to which I responded with the question why), and told me he knew this because he watched pornography. The day he assaulted me, he got uncomfortably close to me, and whispered in my ear that he liked me and wanted to kiss me, before placing his hand on my left thigh and moving it upwards, stopping briefly in the middle. I forgot for over a year, and when I remembered it triggered a relapse of self harm.

I always thought I'd never be married to an abuser, then I was. I didnt understand how i fell for it. But I did. That's when I realised I wasnt tricked. I wasnt fooled. It was calculated, planned and organised. It wasnt clumsy, it was methodical. Healing has been like letting a fresh wound bleed, messy. Chaotic. But needed. To realise I am still whole, still loveable, still wonderful... while carrying so much.

When I was younger, I was sexually abused. Those words still sting. He was a neighbor and family friend who gained my trust at a young age. I felt so alone, ashamed, guilty, dirty. I felt so stuck. It took years for me to open up and start talking about it. But taking that step, and sharing my story, began my healing journey. I was abused for almost 10 years before it stopped. I am here to share my story to say that there is a light. There is hope. Taking that step to share your story is the first step towards healing. Healing is possible. You are not alone 💙

I will not longer live in fear for my self and my sons life. I will no longer be told how ugly and fat I am. I will no longer have him put his hands on me. I will no longer allow bruises on my face. I will no longer let this happen to someone else. I was in a situation where I couldn't leave for a long time and couldn't ask for help. The most fear I have ever been in in my life. But I have a 3-year-old son and NO ONE will ever hurt him the way they hurt me. I am putting a stop to being the victim and taking back control in my own life. One thing that I learned that is the most important to me... Is that you're never alone, and you are beautiful!

I Say No More Cause..... I am a mother of a 5 year old daughter. I was 23 when I had my daughter, left my mothers house and moved in with my daughters father. You know there is a saying "you will only know a men true colors once you live with them under the same roof", its absolutely true. My daughters father was a drug addict and he loved women. I used to get beaten up for asking questions for looking at his phone and especially when i use to find out the truth, that was it knowing about the truth should eat him up. He use to beat me while i had my daughter in my arms, he use to chock me till i have a black out, he use to take my head and bang it on the wall and fridge, he use to call me names , disrespect me and my family. He sold/pawned all my daughters jewelry to support his bad habits. I was so stupid cause i left him & went back around about 3 times. Do you know at one point he was saving my neighbors (female) picture on the phone , he use to chat to a lady that was married and bad mouth me to her. I was dark in my skin . I was so thin (I) use to fit in a size 26 jeans I still have scars on my body cause of the dirty, dis-respectable animal not even a women begin. As for his family they never kept me safe at all even when I spoke up.When he use to lift his hands for me I started doing the same to protect myself from digging my own grave, I had to stand up for myself cause nobody else was going to do it for me. The day I left my daughters father for good was the day he broke my nose he punched me in the face I was covered with blood, still lied to my family and said "I fell in the bathroom" but deep down I knew my family knew it was a lie. Today I still look in the mirror with a Crockett nose. I packed my daughters & my clothing called my father and went to my mum. It has been 2 and a half years since I am not with him, thanks to my mother I look an feel beautiful again. My parents & 2 sisters supported my daughter & I till I got a stable job. I am so glad that I walked away as soon as i seen blood on myself that was it. I TOLD MYSELF I HAD ENOUGH.... Date today am 28 married to such an amazing men that treats me like a queen never disrespected me or even tried to lift a finger on me, makes me feel beautiful , loved am truly blessed. My daughter does not have to see her mother getting beaten again. Oh yes am in a size 34 jeans now :-), it feels great. I say am blessed cause the men i married accepted me with my scars and a daughter. ''DONT BE AFRAID TO WALK AWAY"

No more feeling shame. The shame is my abuser's to bear. I was in an abusive relationship 7 years. She would Yell and throw items around the room. Tell me who I can and can't see, and where I could go. She would degrade me by playing on any insecurity I had. If I questioned her motives I was gas lighted to change my way of thinking. She would smack my chest and call it play fighting. She would convince me "I'm the only one who is looking out for you" she monitored where I was and how long I was there. I would hid in the bathroom, because I was terrified of her. She would convince me to cut people out of my life. She would manipulate me emotionally and physically. Everything was on her terms, she loved that I feared her. No more feeling afraid of speaking my truth. #yournotalone

I was raped 7 years ago on Date I just so happened to be one of those college girls who would go to my guys' friends houses to study and had never had any problems with them. One day I started talking to a guy online and it went well enough that I decided to go to his house to meet him. That's when it happened, and for years I was blamed and shamed by everyone. Law enforcement, victim advocates, lawyers, prosecutor, etc. I wanted charges filed, but nobody did anything. It was almost as if all these people just got a job just to get paid, not to actually "DO" their job..... It was crazy the amount of doctors and therapists I saw that told me it wasn't my fault, and those are the people who stick with me to always let me remember that to this very day.

As man who suffered abuse and watched as my mother and sister suffered it with me, here's my story. I have turned it into a book called Book Name that will be published in 2025, in the hopes my story will help others who have been silent to speak up and speak out. Growing up in 1960s City, my father’s explosive temper ruled our house like a storm that never stopped raging. His beatings were a ritual—unpredictable but inevitable. His belt was his weapon of choice, and I was the target. First came the verbal assault. “You’re worthless!” he’d scream, spitting his venomous words before unleashing the belt on me. The crack of leather against my skin was sharp, but what cut deeper was the fear that filled my every moment. His attacks were brutal and relentless, and I learned quickly that crying only made it worse. I developed a mantra to survive: “I’m not crazy; he is.” I scratched those words into the wall beneath my bed and held onto them like a lifeline, clinging to the idea that this madness wasn’t my fault. But no mantra could protect me from the pain or the scars that came with each beating. My body bruised and welted, and I carried those marks into adulthood, hidden beneath layers of clothing and false smiles. When I was six, a moment of curiosity nearly killed me. I had been playing outside, tossing sticks into a neighbor’s burning barrel, when a spark landed on my nylon jacket. Within seconds, I was engulfed in flames. As I screamed and ran, my back burning, a neighbor tackled me into the snow, saving my life. In the hospital, as doctors worked to heal my third-degree burns, my fear of my father overshadowed the pain. When I came home, still covered in bandages, my father’s violence continued. He slapped me across the face for not attending the party he had arranged for my homecoming. The message was clear: no amount of suffering would earn me compassion from him. His cruelty was unyielding, and I realized that nearly dying had changed nothing. As the physical scars from the fire healed, the emotional scars festered. I lived in constant fear, not knowing when the next beating would come. His footsteps sent shivers through me, each step a reminder that I was never safe. Even after his death in year his influence loomed over me. I was relieved he was gone, but unresolved grief and anger remained. I sought to reinvent myself in university, throwing myself into academics and work. I was determined to escape the trauma, but no matter how hard I ran, it followed me. The violence I experienced as a child soon became violence I inflicted on myself. In my twenties, bulimia became my way of coping. I would binge on food and purge, as if vomiting could expel the pain I had carried for so long. It was a twisted ritual of control, and yet I had no control at all. Afterward, I would collapse in a heap, my body drained but my mind still haunted by memories I couldn’t outrun. Each cycle promised relief, but it never lasted. Obsessive exercise became another outlet. I spent hours in the gym, pushing my body to its limits, believing that if I could perfect my exterior, I could somehow fix the brokenness inside. I built muscles to protect myself, but the mirror always reflected the truth—hollow eyes staring back at me, the emptiness never far behind. Even as I climbed the ranks in my career, becoming a corporate executive, the gnawing self-doubt persisted. I was successful, but success didn’t heal the wounds my father left. I also sought comfort in strangers. Fleeting encounters became a way to fill the void inside, offering temporary escape from the relentless pain. But after every encounter, the emptiness returned, more consuming than before. No amount of running, lifting, or sex could fill the gaping hole in my heart. I was numbing myself, not living. It wasn’t until I sought therapy that I began to confront the traumas I had buried so deeply. My first therapist suggested writing letters to my parents, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It took finding the right therapist—someone who pushed me to go beyond the surface—to finally begin the healing process. Slowly, I unraveled the layers of pain, facing not only the abuse from my father but also the self-inflicted harm I had continued to impose upon myself for years. My wife, name became my greatest support, helping me peel back the layers and confront the darkness I had hidden for so long. Together, we built a life of love and connection, but even in those happiest moments, the shadows of my past never left me. When my mother passed away indate, I found closure in our complicated relationship. Forgiveness—both for her and for myself—became an essential part of my healing. Today, I use my story to encourage others to speak up and break the silence around abuse. The pain I endured was not in vain. I believe that our past can fuel our purpose and that, ultimately, our pain can become our power.

I am a victim of domestic violence. 4 out of the 5 relationships I was in through high school til I was about 24, every last one of them was emotional/mental abuse. I would get called names, like dumb ass or stupid. They would look at me in disgust because of what I looked like. I got sent to the hospital one year because I wanted to be skinny by not eating all day. One of my exes would’ve grabbed my stomach and laughed because I had extra weight than he did. Another ex would argue with me over something stupid. He wouldn’t let me hang out with friends. I was single for four years because I didn’t want to feel that pain again. But when I read It Ends with Us, and saw the movie, I was brought to tears because I felt that pain back. There is a happy ending though. My current relationship now, he is the light of my life, he treats me like a queen, he treats me the way someone is supposed to be treated. I never want to go back there again.

i was assaulted at Dateby my neighbor someone who we thought we could trust. and it was awful telling. i mean he never you know but yeah. and it happened for 2 years before i told anyone. he is still my neighbor and i still seem him sometimes. when i was younger it was a issue to where we got a protective order because he would wave at me. the cops wanted to arrest him but they said there wasn’t enough so i still have to see him. and i wasn’t okay for so long. i attempted and everything, i had bad ptsd, but im okay and im stronger than ever. and i have thought about it so much, but yk what, i don’t think if i could go back i wouldn’t change it because i stopped someone else from going through it. anyway, you will be okay

Six years have passed, since fleeing the abuse. No one prepares you for the struggles your mind goes through consciously and subconsciously. Almost everyone you meet along your healing journey does not understand, nor know how to navigate your emotions and actions. Expected to just move forward and put all psychological abuse in the past. Folks who knew you before the abuse, expect you to snap back to reality. For many like myself, snapping back to reality was a sense of being stuck in auto pilot. On the outside, working to please those around me. Not knowing who I was, hobbies or interests. I began my journey an empty shell. My emotions and actions scrambled. Struggled with mind numbing substance, became evident to me, that was not a solution. A couple years after, still struggling with waking night sweats and the same nightmare playing over and over. I set out on a mission to help myself help others. I discovered I was not alone through the different platforms. I began writing out all the difficult memories, using just a notebook, and any writing utensil available. Some years have since passed. Beginning my personal journey, has liberated me and I discovered how beautiful I truly am and how complex the healing journey truly can be. I do not have the nightmares anymore and I am the strongest I have ever been in my adult life. I have been empowered through self awareness. While documenting my experiences, I have learned how to write more than just my name. I am still learning how to speak to people. And everyday since, I set out to help others overcome their nightmares as well. It took some time to realize the grass on this side is breath taking and in a positive way.

I grew up in an emotionally and mentally abusive household. I never knew when I’d be in trouble next, and the feeling of walking on eggshells created in me a need for hyper-vigilance. I became angrier the older I got, and when I was 17, I ran down the steps to try and intervene when my dad was yelling in my mom’s face. He chased me up the steps, and I was able to lock myself in my room. Even though I was never smacked in my face or punched or even beat, I was spanked within an inch of my life. Quite often I could barely sit, and it really did a number on me. I swore I’d never get married if this was what marriage was all about. I am very thankful I was able to break that cycle, and today I am married to a very passionate, loving husband who promised to keep me safe and has kept his promise. There is light at the end of the tunnel. You can break that cycle of abuse. It has taken me years to try and undo the damage that was done to me, and even now, I still struggle with the PTSD and automatic jumping if someone steps too quickly or raises their voice a bit too loudly. But I am thankful I have been able to raise my own kids much differently and show them how healthy relationships work.

Freedom is Glorious I've been working alone the past two days, and instead of taking out the scissors and cutting my hair, I took out an old CD of pictures and remembered how far I have come in this journey. I found pictures of the animals I left behind so very long ago ~ his pets who were like children to me ~ I teared up at their precious faces and remembered how much I love and miss them every day. Then I found some pictures of me taken in my old rental office on campus the night before my 41st birthday. And I was amazed at how clear and blue and full of life my eyes were in each picture.  The weight had been lifted from my shoulders.  I stood tall and proud.  The color was back in my face, and my face was fuller because I had finally started to regain the weight I had lost when my food intake was so limited on the weekends. My eyes sparkled in those pictures.  I could not stop staring at myself.  The pictures were proof that I was free.  That I was me again.  I looked at the CD and reached for a snack.  And I thought about how I can eat whatever I want now.  There is no watchful eye mentally counting my calories ~ keeping the cupboard bare.  I am no longer charged $20 to eat a home-cooked meal.  I am no longer ridiculed for not cooking that home-cooked meal myself. I can do what I want, say what I want, feel what I want, wear what I want.  I am not some dress-up doll used to cloak in leather to be propped up on the back of a motorcycle for the whole valley to see ~ no I am middle-aged now, often without make-up, and finally comfortable in my own body not to care if I am not perfect. Because perfect was never good enough anyway. I can speak again.  I have a voice.  I can have an opinion on anything I want.  I see my family again on all holidays.  I do not have to lie about where I am living.  Where I am going.  What I am doing. There is no shame anymore.  No more secrets.  Even the writing I am doing has eliminated the secrets from the people I care about the most. I think about all of these changes as I ponder what it is like for him to be sitting in jail right now.  To have his freedom finally taken away from him.  To be told what to do, when to do it.  And to be isolated from family and friends. It took the news of his jail sentence to wake me up to what I had blocked out for so long.  To bring those horrible memories back up to the surface in dreams, flashbacks, and fleeting moments of sadness.  To finally realize that I had to write down my truth, or they would never go away.  He would still be controlling me in my head through those nightmares, those flashbacks.  He would still be present in my life if I did not get rid of him by writing down all the ugliness of our time together and sharing it with the world. He never wanted me to be a writer.  He made fun of my dream every day.  And it hit me today that the irony of my life story is that one of the biggest stories of my life will now be about him.  And maybe there will come the book or the screenplay out of all of this ugliness that I have shared with the world.  Because if you can skim off the scum, if you can sand down the rust, beneath the surface of all that pain and sadness is the beauty that was once there ~ that was once my life ~ that was once me. Beneath the surface lies the freedom that never really left my side.  Freedom was waiting in the distance for me all along.  Freedom was God taking care of me through the whole ordeal and seeing me through to the other side.  Where life is precious and pure and sweet. Freedom led me to a new life where I can now help others as they had once helped me. Freedom came with its own price ~ the scars beneath the surface that may have scabbed over ~ in order for me to survive. But those scars are my battle wounds for my freedom.  I paid the price for a new life.  I earned my freedom.  I survived.

When I was 11 yrs old i was raped by three boys. We had just moved to the place i live now. I never told anyone until i was in high school. I lived with guilt and self harm for yrs over the incident until in therapy i learned that it wasnotmy fault and those boys had no right to do that. I try and help people by sharing my story. We should speak out about it

For a long time, a seemingly eternity, I have always felt ashamed at being at the receiving end of DV as a man. I always thought that it eroded my masculinity. After 12 years since leaving my abuser, and with age, I see things differently, but surely scars always remain. The thing about DV for men is that society, a big part at least, discard DV as reason why a husband would end a marriage with a wife. I guess the gossip of extramarital affairs has more of a ring than people confronting the ugly truth that a woman, and a charming one at social gatherings, can be abusive, mean, and violent. Without going into the long history of violence pre-marriage, as early as maybe the first six months of going out, I got delivered my first black eye in an elevator. Now I can laugh at it - picture having a heated argument with your girlfriend, you walk out towards the elevator, as you wait you hear footsteps approaching you, the elevator opens, you turn your back towards the footsteps and see you girlfriend, and think, she’s come around and maybe ready to talk. Instead, youre delivered a punch to your eye that pushes you to the back of the elevator, and the doors closed as you’re thinking what the hell just happened. The complexity of my story is that by the time I decided to leave her, 12 years after the elevator incident, there were 2 small children involved, a 3 and half little boy, and a couple of months old girl. Leaving your children is the must gut wrenching thing that any parent has to deal with. There was a certain stigma attached… why? Why did he leave this poor woman with two small children - he is a monster, untrustworthy, cheater, what kind of man would do that? And these were not comments for strangers, in some cases, they came from colleagues, ‘friends’. Truth is that it took many attempts. The defining one, surprisingly came for my little boy. In one of the final fights, my little one intervened. He stepped in, took me out of the room by the hand, took me to the living room and in his imperfect language told me that ‘mommy is angry right now, so stay here, but then she will be ok’. I will never forget the bravery of this boy to stop his mother from hitting his father. As I cried in the sofa, something inside me snapped. I would not allow my little boy, and infant girl, to see that kind of DV ever. That would be the last time, or so, that I would be abused. We separated, she moved to the US to her parents with the children. In that year I visited frequently. After a year she came back to the country where I was stationed, seeking reconciliation for the benefit of the children. I had moved on. Incredibly, I had met an incredible person who took what I call the most significant gamble in history - a leap of faith. She took a broken man and gave so much care and love, that I actually began to erase so much numbness. In the years that have passed, I’ve had so much time to reflect. To put it simply, no body ever should feel that there is no way out, even though it would seem that way. When I was in the deep end of things, I remember thinking that I was in this deep hole, but the only person in the world that could take me out of there was the person who put me there in the first place. That’s the thing about abusers, they hurt you, but after, they try to make it up doing things that you mistake for love and care - let me make you a chicken soup so you feel better. Or, you made me do this to you, but let me go get ice so your face doesn’t swell. In hindsight, I should have spoken more, be less ashamed. I feel I did not counter sufficiently the narrative that was put forth by my ex-wife. The narrative that I left her for another person, and that I never wanted kids, therefore, thats why I fled the home. The reality is that the impact of leaving the children was the heaviest toll that to this day I carry. After three court cases, in three countries, and a joint custody, I finally have a peace of mind that the children, now teens, are ok, and that seeing them happy, truly happy, and doing well at school and socially might have been a sacrifice worth taking. Their mother was never violent towards them, or at least not in a physical manner. Some takeaways: 1. There are signs, there are always signs. Do not ignore them as you begin entering more serious stages of relationships.. As one lady said to me one day on the street, when she witnessed my girlfriend hitting me. ‘If she hits you now, wait until youre married’. 2. Confided in family and friends, and listen to them! They know you better than perhaps, when youre young, you know yourself. After I got divorced, some school friends came to me and said…. Really? You thought that would work? 3. Be honest with yourself. You know if something is wrong. If there are red flags. Be honest with yourself. 4. Importantly, there are many people in the world and there is a special one that is willing to place all her/his chips to bet on you. You shouldn’t feel cornered and that you will face eternal loneliness once you leave your abuser, no matter how many times they will say that to you. 5. It is better to be alone than being in an unhealthy relationship. Your mental health will thank you for it. 6. Lastly, leaving an abuser is not an act of cowardice, throwing the towel, it’s an act of love, to yourself!