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I survived. I got out. You can too. Insidious and devious are the words I think of when I've wondered how I got trapped. My ex-spouse was so charming, everybody thought he was a great person and I did too. So much so that I decided to ignore the fact he raped me and chalked it up to us drinking. Then gradually as we dated and then married he tried to spin a web of control around me by being angry and violent when I would spend time with friends or go to the gym or go to the library to study. Telling me I was not allowed to go to the gym because there were men there. Being told I couldn't go to work events. Calling my work when I was working late and accusing me of having affairs, then being verbally and physically abusive. He was so successful at manipulating others even my dad, initially, didn't believe me when I told him about the monster and the horrible things I had endured. I finally told my dad what had been going on when he threatened to kill me and chased me with a baseball bat. I was able to get in my car and get away and called my dad crying and screaming. He thought I had lost my mind. Some of my friends also thought I had lost it, and told me oh he is so nice and scoffed when I said I was filing for divorce and a protective order. After the first two calls to the sheriff they believed me and were so kind, frequently driving by my house and making sure I was safe. There is power in being believed. There is strength in knowing that others have made it out both alive and eventually became whole. I still experience occasional flashbacks and certain situations will trigger my anxiety, but I am able to trust people again and no longer fear "being in trouble" if I spend time with friends. Even more, I have allowed myself to become emotionally vulnerable with other people again after all these years. That was a huge leap for me. And I genuinely feel like a good person again.

This story is not easy to read but it's harder to live. I am a survivor of narcissistic abuse, sexual assault, and systemic failure. I share this not for pity, but for truth. For every woman who's been silenced, dismissed, or retraumatized by the very systems meant to protect her. I write this to reclaim my voice and to help others find theirs. It took me until my fifties to realize my worth. I’d spent decades carrying the weight of a childhood that stripped me of confidence and self-worth. That was heavily influenced by a nefarious dictator who called himself Dad. The physical abuse was bad enough but he managed to see to it that his children sailed into adulthood without knowing our own value, and no self-esteem whatsoever. I still managed to marry, raise children, and hold good jobs. I’m intelligent, I carry myself well. But until recently, no one knew how little I thought of myself—even me. Then came the man who would nearly destroy me. He was younger, persistent, and now I understand: he was conditioning me for narcissistic abuse. What followed was three years of daily trauma. I ugly-cried every single day. That’s over 1,095 days of emotional devastation. By the end, my energy, my vivaciousness, and my tenacity were barely hanging on. He did the most heinous things. He killed my cat. He threatened my life and my children’s lives. He kept me tethered with fear. He destroyed everything I owned—including my 2009 Tahoe, which I used for work and to care for my kids. He blew it up shortly after he sent me to the ICU, fighting for my life. I had refused to give him the name of the hospital or my doctors. I was there for 18 days. It was touch and go every single day. A chaplain visited me daily. Because it was a very Merry Covid Christmas, my teenage sons weren’t allowed to say goodbye. Looking back, I realize that was a blessing—no one spoke death into my children’s lives. God is good. The infection that nearly killed me, and almost costed me my right leg, came from a sexual assault. I went home on a PICC line, receiving grapefruit-sized balls of antibiotics daily, for 6 weeks. My kids administered them. I had four surgeries in three months and a blood transfusion. Two days after I got home, my truck exploded. I was one of those cars you see on the freeway engulfed in flames. After I got out of the hospital and my truck blew up, I knew I had to fight for justice. I had proof—medical records, pictures, witnesses. I had been choked, stabbed, assaulted, and received death threats in writing and on video. I waited a year to file because I was mentally and physically broken. I had nothing left in me. But when I finally did, I thought someone would help me. I thought the system would protect me. It didn’t. The DA never contacted me. Not once. I had to rely on VINE alerts just to know when he was in court. No one told me anything. A judge denied my protective order and called him “honey” and “baby” in the courtroom. I had a strong legal team from a nonprofit, and even they were shocked. They wanted to move the case to another county, but I was scared. I didn’t want to poke the bear. He was still stalking me. Still watching. I was re-victimized by the very people who were supposed to help me. The police ignored my reports. The advocates mocked me. One even made fun of me for asking about a Christmas meal after I had all my teeth pulled from the damage he caused. I had a minor child at home and no food. And they laughed. The Attorney General’s Victims Compensation Office helped with the hospital bill for my teeth removal, but not with replacing them. They wouldn’t relocate me because we didn’t live together—even though he saw me almost every day. They had help, but not for me. He got six days in the county jail. That’s it. No restitution. No accountability. He still knows where I am. He still stalks me on social media as a way of eminding me that someday he will make good on his threat to come after me when I least expect it. I don’t know where he is. And I live with that fear every single day. After the justice system failed me, I had nowhere to turn but inward. I went through three different women’s centers and maxed out every therapy program they offered. I showed up for every session, I showed up for me, and for my two sons who had seen the whole drama play out—even when I could barely speak through the grief. I wasn’t just healing from physical trauma. I was healing from being ignored, dismissed, and re-victimized by the very institutions that were supposed to protect me. And when the therapy ran out, I didn’t stop. I found free entrepreneurship training through Memorial Assistance Ministries, and I poured myself into it—not because I had a business plan, but because I needed something to remind me I still had value. I enrolled in the Navigator program and just being at a feedback meeting at United Way I was able to tap into some education through some of the country's most prestigious universities. I earned certificates from the University of Maryland, the University of Valencia, and even Harvard. I got my graphic design certification and used it to create empowerment products, journals, and visual storytelling pieces that spoke to the pain I couldn’t always say out loud. I earned 17 certificates through the Texas Advocacy Project, becoming a trauma-informed, lived experience advocate. I did all of this while still healing, still growing and approaching my 60th birthday. Now here I am, still unable to find a job. I have all this knowledge, all this training, and nowhere to apply it. I’m still standing. Still creating. Still trying. But the silence from the world around me is deafening. I didn’t just survive—I transformed. And yet, I’m still waiting for a door to open. I’m going to keep writing. Keep pushing. Keep showing up for my health, even when the systems around me make it feel like survival is a full-time job. I haven’t been able to resolve the dental issues yet, and that alone has impacted my confidence, my comfort, and my ability to fully engage in the world. There’s a very real possibility that I’ll be facing a housing crisis in the coming months. Living on disability isn’t sustainable, and the math doesn’t add up no matter how many ways I try to stretch it. But I’m not giving up. I’ve come too far, learned too much, and built too many bridges to stop now. I’m looking for a miracle—not because I’m helpless, but because I’ve done everything I can on my own. I’m ready for a door to open. Ready for someone to see the value in what I’ve built, in what I know, in who I am. I’m not asking for charity. I’m asking for a chance to turn all this lived experience into impact. Into legacy. Into something that finally feels like justice.

Dedication: To all of the women and children that are fighting domestic abuse. I witnessed domestic violence between my mother and her boyfriend every day from the age of 6 up until the age of 11. I witnessed brutal attacks, one time my mother actually stopped breathing. He was a very jealous man. He wanted me out the way as much as possible. He even resorted to breaking my dogs leg in a fit of rage. My mother became a victim of ‘cuckooing’ by a local gang and was introduced to drugs. Her boyfriend stole from them and my mother was kidnapped. We both had to go into protective living. I stayed with my nan for 2 months not knowing where my mother was or even if she was alive. The gang found my mothers boyfriend and beat him to an inch of his life. My mother was later given an ultimatum; Him or me. She chose me. After us he moved on to another family. Unfortunately those children weren’t so lucky. They all got split up by the care system. It has not been until these past couple of months that I have learned to accept what happened. It has been a rollercoaster of emotions. Confusion, anger and tears. I had to say goodbye to the innocent little girl that was once me. At a crucial time when my child brain was meant to be developing and understanding the world, I had to skip that part completely. I was quickly brought into an adults world. After it all ended I had to build a whole new foundation and create a whole new person. It was almost like Norma Jean transforming into Marilyn Monroe or Beyonce becoming her alter ego Sasha Fierce. Before this, I had no identity. At the age of 6 I was just starting to find my place in the world which was then quickly taken from me. It wouldn’t be until I was 17 that I would have to come face to face with my mothers abuser again. She came home one night in a complete drunken state with him in tow. I looked him dead in the eyes and told him that I was 17 not 7 anymore and I was not afraid of him and he couldn’t hurt us anymore. The police ended up escorting him away. My mother was always encouraging of me and always told me she believed in me and to believe in myself. That I am so grateful for. I am so grateful for life. Every day I would wake up and wonder if that day would be the day I died. I think the way I got through it was fight or flight. My body chose fight. I had a best friend at the time who I am still best friends with to this day. Her mother was also tackling her own demons at home, so our friendship grew closer. My mother ended up having a hard time coming to terms with dealing with what happened. She is unfortunately a shell of person he once was. The song by Jessie J – I Miss Her sums it up perfectly. She is still breathing but she is not really living.

We met at a campus Christian fellowship meeting during my first week of college. We were introduced by a friend of his and he walked me back to my dorm. I assumed he would be a safe person since we met through a Christian entity. Up to this point, I had very little dating experience. It went from nothing to intense real quick. We never had the conversation about what we were and all of the sudden we were serious. It went from seeing him weekly at fellowship meetings to all the time, in no time at all. We were THE couple on campus. If we weren't at an event, folks were banging on my door asking where we were. Everyone wanted to be like us. There was never any “are you sure?” or “this doesn’t seem right” conversations from anyone. There was an expectation to see us at events around campus. The abuse was gradual – boundary testing and love bombing. Although I didn’t recognize it as abuse at the time. As far as the smaller signs of abuse, I remember I told him I thought hickeys were trashy and almost immediately he gave me an intense hickey and responses, “you mean just like that?” I thought it was just a dude thing to do but in reality he crossed a boundary I set on the spot. There were so many little things like that that didn’t originally feel like a red flag. If I knew what I knew now, that would have been an immediate no. He and I broke up after graduation. It felt like he dropped off the face of the earth. However, he literally showed up years later at my parent’s doorstep when I moved there to take care of my mother who was dying of cancer. Cue the love bombing again... I was already in a vulnerable place because of my mom. Once my mom passed on his birthday, he dropped everything to be with me. Looking back, he brought his baby sister and she made several comments about how I need to be “cheerful and smiling” because that is what my mom would want. It made me question why he brought her in the first place, because it wasn’t helpful. But, I still was in shock at how he dropped everything for me. We got engaged and married shortly after. The abuse continued. One day when I was heading to the grave site, I was sexually assaulted in the car and I tried to justify it by him not being used to me being dressed up and that I was being hyper emotional. These little escalations over time grew. The gaps between escalation got shorter and shorter and the escalation got more and more. He knew so much about my insecurities that he used it against me, by saying things like “who else will give you attention,” “I am the only man who has come back to you,” “you are hypersensitive just like your mom said.” He would also manipulate me and use intimidation knowing that the local DV shelter was not wheelchair accessible at the time, leaving me without a quick escape. It took me a long time to figure out how to navigate this and move forward. He enjoyed making me fear for my life, but then making me get my emotions together before seeing any of our friends. He enjoyed humiliating, degrading and making me fear for my life. One time he refused to help me accessibility wise (couldn’t get into a bathroom) and I had an accident – he enjoyed the ability to control things. More than a year before I left, I had a disassociation episode and lost hours of time. By the end of that day, I tried to leave and went to my church group for help, and they didn’t support me. So, I figured if they didn’t believe me or think that he is a good man being with a disabled woman, I thought I deserved to stay and I will likely just end up being killed. In fact, I am a strangulation survivor. He would put his hands on my throat and say things like, “you know how easily I can kill you” and once I replied, “just f*cking do it then and get it over with” – I was at that point where I didn’t care if I lived or died. Eight years later it was my birthday eve, we went to dinner – he had to work on my actual birthday – and we began to argue over him wanting to go to a friend’s house that night. Prior to this night, he would leave for three hours or more and I never knew what he was doing or if he was dead somewhere. So, I wasn’t fond of him going back to his friend’s house on my birthday eve and I muttered the statement “well happy f*cking birthday to me” and he replied with “you have only been ruining my birthday for the last eight f*cking years.” And immediately after he said that I unloaded on him. The last thing I said was – I know how long you spend at your friend’s house, and I will be gone before you get back. For context, in the past I tried leaving three times. I had been pulling away for a little bit to try and process what has been going on. Once after staying with a friend for an extended period of time I would question why I would go back but it felt like I was telling myself that it would get better. One time he and I had a nasty fight when he got home very late, and I said “are we going to talk about this or do what we normally do and sweep it under the rug.” His response made me fearful. I immediately dissociated as he banged his fists on the wall and was screaming over me. I curled up and time disappeared. His voice became just noise. Then something switched and he was back to normal. I knew I needed to do what he expected me to do in order to de- escalate. So we changed for bed and I didn’t sleep a wink. The next day I tried to get him out of the house and to church but it wasn’t happening so I just left. I dissociated and don’t remember driving into town. I made it to church and it was clear that I was unwell. That is when I finally made a full disclosure and it was horrible. My pastor said it was too busy and had me sit with his mother in law. After sharing my experiences with her, she said “Are you sure you understand what abuse really is? You just need to go home and be a better wife and appreciate how much he takes care of you.” as she gestured to my wheelchair. I knew I needed to get out of there immediately. I then found a friend and disclosed it to her. She had a similar reaction. This set me off. I got in my car and had self harming thoughts. But I made it home. He told me I might as well just stay. I thought I would just die here. There was more escalation and sleep deprivation - everything got worse. He told me if I went to stay with someone else that I would be a burden to them, and no one would help me due to my disability. Two days after I left, I went home for an already planned trip for Thanksgiving and folks knew something was wrong immediately. That part of the family was and always has been supportive of my divorce. They are two hours away so help is limited. The community I lived in and am back living in, so many people want to minimize abuse towards people with disabilities. They don’t want to see the severity of it. Other folks outside of my family were not that supportive. Many questioned my ability to know what domestic violence truly is. Most tried to justify his actions and tell me it couldn't have been that bad...after all, why would he be with someone like me if he wasn't a good man?!?! As if he must be a Saint to be with someone with a disability and “maybe he was just tired of taking care of me” – utter nonsense. I have had to make my circle small. I have learned which people get it and validate me vs those who made comments or don’t support me. The biggest thing for me was finding validating books and literature. Coming into Speak Your Truth Today and seeing similarities in stories and having that validation of not being over dramatic, over sensitive, and this is a reality I am healing from was a huge thing for me. I really hope to make it known what happened to me and make sure that even if you have the slightest inclination that you are not being taken seriously, find support elsewhere. You deserve help. Not all folks with disabilities need a caregiver. And not all partners are caregivers. This is a common stereotype/assumption that people can have. Validation was rare outside my family until I found SYTT. But know this – there is NEVER an excuse for abuse. Your disability didn't cause it, there's NOTHING you do to deserve abuse. Educate yourself on healthy relationships and know that you are deserving of a peaceful, loving, committed, happy relationship. Educate yourself on the nuances of abuse towards those with disabilities. Abusers use a completely different set of tactics. We have different barriers, complex needs and shame/ ableist mentalities are deeply influenced by our abusers.

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

I got out of an abusive relationship. It wasn’t till I left there was physical abuse and emotional abuse. Even if the physical was minimal. I’m so glad to be apart of a group of women who are healing. Healing is hard, it’s been countless sleepless nights, extra periods, and nightmares over and over. But the reward of being free is so much better than anything I could’ve imagined. I don’t wish to ever be back in that, and am glad I left every day

We were friends for a year before we dated. Our friend group knew he had substance abuse issues and some decided to cut him out of their lives until he seeked therapy/medication. I felt angry for him. Why didn’t they believe in him? Why couldn’t they stand by him? If friends are meant to be our biggest supporters, I felt they left him in his lowest time. He called me one night about to commit suicide. I called an ambulance. He had to get his stomach pumped in the hospital. After that, he told us that he was going to a therapist and was getting better. Time went by. I went through a breakup and he supported me through it. He ended up falling for me. It took me a while to fall for him as at the time I saw him as a friend. But eventually through his elaborate romantic gestures and our time together, I fell for him too. We dated for 2.5 years. The first time he hit me was a nonconsensual slap across the face during oral sex. It had been a magical night before that at his fraternity’s semi formal. He apologized, got me flowers, and claimed he’d never do it again. The second time he got blackout drunk, was on opioids for his “chronic migraine” (which we believe was actually from the drugs… he would mysteriously get tons of opioids on unmarked bottles that none of us knew where they came from and use them to get high), and he had been smoking marijuana. He shoved me outside of a bar after causing a scene at his fraternity formal. I had been late because I got locked out of a hotel room. He blamed me for it even though our friends were drunkenly inside having sex. He unnecessarily tried to cause drama between us. That same night he punched one of his best friends in the face (giving him a black eye) and hit a pledge. When we got back to our college town after the formal, I asked him if he remembered doing that to me. He left without even caring to address it. I took a pregnancy test a few days later and found out I was pregnant. We had a condom break. I hoped it wouldn’t have resulted in anything but it did. I knew that this baby would mean everything to me even despite the difficulties. I told him I was pregnant. He gave me a sweet tea and I ended up miscarrying a few hours later. I’ve always wondered if he put something in that sweet tea as the timing was too strange and it didn’t taste right. Throughout the relationship, he promised he would do right by me. He promised he’d quit substances. He even promised my parents at one point to win me back. He made a million promises. By the end of it, I found out he slept with my best friend, tried to sleep with numerous other women, got me pregnant again and left for several months which left me in complete agony, he threw things at walls, he hit me, he shoved me, he mocked me for the state of my mental health after all of his abuse, he dumped me on the day my dad got cancer, he begged to get back together only to get me pregnant again after finishing in me nonconsensually, cheated on me even more, and hit me across the face after I found out. All of those years came crashing down around me as I realized I spent the best years of my life in college (3 out of 4 years) trying to protect someone who only hurt me. I found out he raped a girl, sexually assaulted other girls, and was dealing drugs. The relationship wasn’t all bad otherwise I never would’ve stayed, but I spent the most formative years of my early adulthood believing in a man who was immensely harmful. I relate to Lily’s story. My dad was abusive my whole life. I grew up with an abusive father figure and I learned to tolerate abusive red flags. I couldn’t discern them. It wasn’t until it was too late and I was in too deep that I realized what it was. I have PTSD now. I will be forever changed from the abuse that man gave me. Before he left, he told me that I had to lie to his mom. I found out that he had told her we were in an on/off relationship so that every time he cheated she would think we were just broken up. I told her we hadn’t been. He said that I had to tell her that he never cheated on me or else he’d leave. I told him that I didn’t care to live a lie anymore. I wasn’t going to be gaslit anymore. I stood up for myself and he left. After that, he threatened to leak nude photos of me (as if everything else he did wasn’t enough). His entire family was crazy. I spent years trying to be friendly with them only to realize at the end that the Apple didn’t fall far from the tree. He claimed his mom was abusive and his dad used to be in a gang. They seemed normal in the beginning. Happy to see me. Thrilled to have me around. She’d get me little gift baskets and we’d go to art classes to bond. When I got pregnant and found out about his cheating, him and his family did a 180. It was the worst experience of my life. I have PTSD triggers about the idea of being pregnant again. It’s hard to imagine having a family one day again after everything he did to me. I broke the cycle by leaving but I will be left with scars for the rest of my life.

I just fled from domestic violence 3 months ago & still struggling to move forward. I forgave him so much & often blamed myself for all the physical abuse I endured. I always had an excuse for him, even felt like I deserved it at times. It went from punching the wall above my head to full on punching me in the face in a matter of weeks. He moved me 24 hours away from my family where things just became worse. He ended up pistol whipping me and putting his gun to my head telling me he’d kill me multiple different times, put knives to my chest & overall just beat the shit out of me. I was so scared I thought I’d be safer staying with him. Thankfully someone witnessed him dragging me in the house by my hair & called the police and he was arrested. I originally was panicking & figuring out how to get him out. But the day after he arrested everything in me told me to pack up as much as I could of my son & I’s things and GO. Crisis funded my gas/food back across the country. I left terrified, hurt & not knowing where my son and I would live. I went to a domestic violence shelter & eventually got my own place again. He was sentenced to only 1 year in jail (3 felonies were dropped he was facing 30 years) & I’ve been in a constant battle between feeling bad and missing him & knowing I deserve more and so does my son. Breaking the cycle has been so mentally draining but I can’t wait to see what life holds for me in the future as hard and unknown as it might be.

it actually began in the summer of 1975 when I was 8 years old. my brother came to home on thackeray court in the sheridan parkside projects. My brother brother 2 had just got his license and was so happy that he brought my brother along. while mom, brother 2, and my sister were outside, i was upstairs playing with my star trek playset, when brother came from the bathroom and asked me if I wanted to play doctor. I thought he meant the child's version of it, but he meant the grown-up version. so he asked me to take off my clothes then started feeling my naked body, touching my genitals and feeling my penis, and then said to me this is how people have sex. He then said some very filthy sex talk like you would read in hustler magazine, then said don’t tell mom or I’ll say that it was your idea. so mom and dad never knew about it. there was no police report or rape kit taken. fast forward to september of 1989 when I was 22 years old, my brother brother, his girlfriend, and their 6-month-old baby daughter came up from florida and stayed with mom and me for 3 months. And when mom was at work, they would rape me every night for 3 months, sometimes by her, sometimes by him, or sometimes by the two of them together. It was 90 days of hell every night. When I would go to bed, all I would think about is wanting to commit suicide just to make it all end. but I did not because mom finally found out about all of this in march 2012 when I turned 45 years old just for the simple reason he said that he would kill her if i said anything. So in june 2012, I started going to counseling because i was diagnosed with p.t.s.d because of it. i still go to this very day, 12 years later because sometimes my p.t.s.d flares up from flashbacks or because of the 4th of july fireworks and I talk to her about it, hold nothing back.

I had just turned 15 years old. I was dating a guy that I felt very safe with. We had been dating for 3 months at that point and we moved pretty fast. It was his birthday in October and my parents were gone for a few days. I invited him over. He stayed 2 nights at my place. The first 2 days all we did was eat and lay in bed together. The first night was a lot of fun. On the second night though, we had just had sex (consensually) and we were going to go to sleep. We were both naked, and I woke up to him inside me. I told him to stop and pushed myself away. I fell asleep again, not really thinking about it, and when I woke up the next morning I had blood and semen on my inner thighs. I had realized, after looking back at our time, he had been raping me in my sleep for our whole relationship.

As I walk this journey that I never thought I would, I am reminded of what I am thankful for. My kids, parents, sisters, brothers-in-law, nephews, nieces, and true friends. The way these people have held me up when I have fallen has been incredible. I used to be worried about what people thought of me, mostly the lies that have been said. Everyone told me, people who truly know you, know that none of it is true. They are right. Why would I want anyone in my life that could believe it anyway? I guess it hurts to think people who said they were family and friends believe it. But I have to remind myself, they also believe he is a good person, so their judgment is way off. I am a domestic violence survivor. I will say it louder for the people in the back... I AM A DOMESTIC VIOLENCE SURVIVOR. For 17 years I was beaten off and on. No, he didn't beat me every day, and yes, he would go months without raising a hand. I probably had a least 3 concussions, too many black eyes to count, I couldn't even begin to count how many times I have been punched in the head and face, and my jaw has been broken (not medical confirmed but when you can't bite down for weeks, your jaw doesn't line up and your teeth were separating and now crooked, it is broken), and dislocated once, a knee injury that lasted months, burned, spat on, head split open twice where I lost some much blood I am almost passed out, broken/bruised ribs, too many bruises on arms and legs to count. When he was in an episode, the fear I felt was like no other. I have to say going to sleep at night was the worst, not knowing if I would wake up in the morning by being beaten to wake. It is a strange feeling that you are happy when the bruise can be covered by clothes or think why can't he punch me somewhere other than my jaw so I can eat? But, I have to say the mental and verbal abuse was just as bad. I have been accused of everything under the sun. I have been called every name in the book. I have been accused of stalking him, tapping into his phone, bugging our wifi, and putting cameras in our home to communicate with "my boyfriend". When I picked clothes to wear, he was always in the back of my brain of what he thought. I didn't wear a skirt or dress to work for 17 years because one night he told me it was easy to access as he pushed me into the tub and beat me. The color and style of my underwear .. l did wear anything lacy during the week. I got nervous any time my phone rang or a text. I blew off my former supervisor every administrator day for lunch because I didn't want to have to tell him I went out to lunch with a man. I stopped eating lunch with my friends in the break room because of his accusation that I was sleeping with my co-worker. I have been accused of having an affair at every job I have had. Why, because I never went anywhere during the evenings or weekends. I have taken 2 lie detector tests at the beginning of my marriage. I passed both but he would tell you now I didn't. He is good at rewriting history. The ironic part, he is the one who cheated. He was in love with an affair and continued for months. And confessed to sleeping with two other women he worked with. They say their accusations are the closest thing you will get to a confession. I guess that I why I was accused of sleeping with coworkers. And I forgave him. But I now know the main reason I did was that I was afraid. Afraid to do all on my own. Afraid to go back to my parents who had been right about him all along. Afraid of the unknown and what my life would look like. And I now know I had nothing to be afraid of. My family embraced me and helped heal me. Those fears don't go away the minute you are safe. I realized this when I walked into the parking lot of our son's soccer game when he was arguing with me. We both walked between two SUVs where no one could see us with him behind me and my first thought "he is going to hit me". But this time my second thought was "If he does, I am calling the police". He has stalked me to the point my brother-in-law made me get pepper spray. After a year and a half of therapy, I realized he started grooming as soon as our relationship started. Telling me he loved me 3 weeks into our relationship should have been the first red flag but at 20, I just didn't see it. I realized I never was in love with him, I was in love with the lie of who he wanted me to believe he was. He is really good at projecting himself as a good person, he has fooled many many people. But more people saw him for who he really was and now aren't afraid to tell me. See what people who are not in an abusive relationship don't understand is there is a trauma bond that forms. Trauma bonding makes you psychologically addicted to your abuser. This explains why trying to stop contact feels like you are coming off a drug . ... Trauma bonding involves cycles of abuse - following an abusive incident or series of incidents, perpetrators will often offer a kind gesture to try to recover the situation. When he came out of an abusive episode, he was the sweetest man. It was all a lie. It is hard to know that your life was one big lie for 21 years. I feel like it isn't a new chapter I am entering into; it is a completely new book. I am not the person I was for 21 years. I am fearless, strong, independent, and a better person. I am happier now than I have ever been in my life. I can breathe for the first time. I have my power back. I know I will make mistakes but it is a freeing feeling to know that it is ok. No one is going to scream at me or put me down. To know I can grow and thrive without someone trying to stop me. This new book is going to be an amazing ride and I can't wait to read it.

Ten days after my daughterX discharge from the hospital, where she had undergone brain surgeries for epilepsy, X was resting in her bedroom and my ex-husband asked me to help him buy something online. I said no (very unusual but I was fixing something for X. to eat) and he exploded, throwing hot coffee on me then trashing the kitchen. And for the first time, a light bulb went on in my mind. The light said, "This is going to stop." Once he saw that something fundamental had changed inside me - that I was indeed serious - he escalated his tactics week by week. We had been married for almost 20 years, and he was absolutely incredulous that I was leaving him. All he knew how to do in response was more assault, more threats, more stalking, more financial theft. He was out of his mind. At one point he stood on the steps outside our house screaming "Why didn't you abort the kids?" over and over. For about 6-8 months I'm pretty sure he was considering doing a murder/suicide. I had to leave everything behind to get away - the home, friends, my job. I sold everything of value that I owned. Since I had grown up in a home of domestic violence, I didn't understand it very well, even as I was being victimized. I didn't know that shoving someone, kicking someone, and throwing objects or hot liquid at someone are all against the law. I didn't know that insults, name-calling, and coercive sex aren't part of normal relationships. I didn't know how dishonest my ex-husband was (and is).

Well I guess you could say that it all started for me at the tender age of 16 . I started dating this guy when I was 15 . We weren't dating very long when I found out that I was pregnant . Yes I found out I was pregnant at 15 and he was 18 . I turned 16 in June and by that October he and I were married. Not something I had planned on but it was a marriage I was forced into because of his parents . They didn't want any "bastard" children born out of wedlock and 2 months later our daughter was born . This is where all the mayhem starts. I wasn't allowed to leave the house unless I took the baby with me , even if I was just going to the little convenience store that was basically right behind our house. It didn't matter where I was going I always had to take the baby with me . The mental , verbal , and emotional abuse I endured for the next 4 years would have been enough to put any vulnerable 16 year old in the Nut House or 6 feet under . It doesn't help the fact that I grew up in a household were my mom was physically, mentally, verbally, and emotionally abused for many years . I'm now 50 years old and I'm just learning how to Love Myself again . I've suffered with zero self esteem , zero confidence, constantly body shaming myself , you know ALL those horrible things that us woman do to ourselves when we hit that all time low in our lives .

We were together for 14 years, married for 11. He still tries to mount a case to take our child away from me even two years out from our initial separation and divorce. His tools: manipulation, confusion/ chaos, coercion, projection, isolation, financial insecurity, doubt, guilt and insecurity, embarrassment and lies. Although he had no friends (biggest red flag ever) he did not act alone. His family actively participated to undermine my sanity, going so far as trying to get me to sign a power of attorney to one of his family members because they “only wanted to help and do what was best for our child”. Not true. Their family motto, “Don’t embarrass the family.” Which translated into do as we say, don’t complain and tell no one because who would believe you anyway. Did he ever hit you? Did he ever threaten your life? How exactly did he hurt you? Didn’t you yell at him? You seem so unstable. I’m sure he didn’t mean it. He was probable in a bad mood/having a bad day/ needs more sleep/ some other lame excuse. You married him so he’s your problem now. Not anymore he ain’t! Thankfully, I am crawling out of that mindset. I am out. I am free. Does he still harass me? Yes. Is it hard as hell out here? Oh, yes it is at times, painful even. I’ve cried oceans of oceans. But thankfully, I feel my strength thanks to kind worlds or actions from many people who did one simple thing….they believed me. When I talked about what I was going through, they believed me. When I talked about what he said to me or what his family said to me or our kid, they believed me. They gave me the courage to start believing in myself. They helped me recognize my strength and help my kid see their strength. It’s been over two years since this process of transformation started. I breathe better and find joy in life again. I am not the terrible person they say I am. I stopped believing their lies and started questioning them. They will not silence me. They will not terrorize me. The kindness I put out into the world and the kindness I receive is my fuel. I am strong, I am brave, I am capable, I can do anything because I am not alone. I will do whatever it takes to always remember I NEVER have to go back to that kind of life, ever. I deserve better. Later Troll.

Date, around time I went on a date with him (a correctional officer), thinking it was an opportunity to become acquainted with him as a friend, but it turned out to be a horrific night which I would only remember parts of. He picked me up in his white pickup truck; it smelled of cologne and winterfresh gum. Two smells I will never forget. He took me to a dirty dive bar without asking where to go. I already didn’t feel safe, and I regret that I never said anything to this day. I got my first drink, rum and coke. Keep in mind that my glass was smaller than a coffee mug. We started talking, and he told me he used to be in the army. He seemed to be trying hard to persuade and impress me, but I was not falling for it. The taste of my drink was no different than I had before. I was nearly done with my first drink when he asked if I wanted another, and I agreed. He returned with another and asked if I wanted to play darts, and I again agreed. I took one drink of my second rum and coke he brought to me and started to feel dizzy, tired, and weak. I didn’t say anything yet. I continued with darts. By then, he gave me a third drink, I don’t remember if I even had a drink of it. I do recall saying, ‘I wanted to go home,’ and we left out the side door to his white pickup truck. I don’t remember getting inside the front seat, let alone the backseat. My eyes flickered open and closed, waking up only to see him face-to-face with me. Raping me, I am frozen in shock. Disgusted by what he was saying to me. When he was done, he threw a towel on me and told me to ‘clean up.’ He tossed my shoe onto my nude body and said, ‘Now I will take you home.’ Twenty degrees outside, I was fully nude in a familiar parking lot. I got dressed. He took me home; no words were exchanged. Once I got in my house, I went straight into the shower and cried. I was a virgin He took my innocence from me that I can never get back. Date, around time Sitting in my office, He came in unannounced and sat down in a chair by the door. I looked up, feeling uneasy. I asked him, ‘what are you doing?’ He replied as he got up from his chair, ‘I know you want this cock.’ He blocked me between my seat, the wall, and my desk, I had nowhere to go. He unzipped his pants and grabbed a handful of my hair, and forcefully give him oral sex. This time I remember the whole brutal rape. Pushing, gagging, and choking only made him put more force and hurt upon me. His strength was unbearable. When it was over, he threw a piece of winterfresh gum at me and left. Crying, feeling dirty, guilty, and shameful, I put myself together and completed my day. Violated, not only once but twice, by the same guy. Once outside of work and the other inside work. After the first attack, I was broken inside, but the second attack really damaged me. If I told anyone, no one would believe me because he was a very well-liked person at work, and I was just a caseworker. My sisters were the first to know about the first assault in April 2020. I held back on the second as I felt they wouldn’t forgive me for allowing it to happen again. October 2020 I told my sisters about the second assault. I went to internal affairs, who sent me to detectives. They supposedly did an investigation, but boys will boys, and where I worked, they all stick together. The DA dropped the case. January - October 2023 I now moved out of that county because of the triggers and the hope that my PTSD will get better with time. I feel stronger I told my story and know I am a survivor. I hope my story will become someone else’s survival guide. This happens when you are a strong, outspoken woman at the County Name Jail inCity, State Name

There are pieces of different stories that fit my situation. I’m a successful executive and I am so embarrassed that I ignored all the red flags and got myself into this mess. I feel so unworthy, a combination of childhood emotional neglect, sexual assault as a teenager, and a 25 year marriage full of emotional neglect and infidelity. I even feel unworthy of putting myself in the same category as the survivors on this page, like my story isn’t as valid. He is a sexual assault survivor himself; he was molested by an older female cousin when he was little. That was part of the attraction at first. I thought we understood each other’s pain and would help each other heal what still remained. At first the attention felt like caring, like someone finally gave a damn. The requests to text where I was at all times, wanting to track my location and share his, wanting to talk or FaceTime all night on the phone, even sleeping with the call still going, next to me, when we weren’t together. Now I know it was about control and a deep lack of trust. I have learned over time to never look around at a restaurant or I will be accused of staring at another man. I have unfriended most of my male friends on social media and I am afraid to post anything in case one of the remaining ones comments. He demands that I show him any communication from any man on social media. He wants to know my work meeting schedule and gets upset if I don’t text him back right away. One time, he was out of town and my phone wasn’t plugged in correctly so the battery died during the overnight FaceTime call. I panicked when I woke up and realized what had happened, and he was furious with me. He wanted to know if I had cheated between 4 am and 8 am when the phone was dead. And I haven’t asked him to leave yet. I don’t know why. We have almost broken up several times, and every time I believe him that it will be different. It won’t be different. I am exhausted and I don’t recognize myself anymore. I am too ashamed to tell my friends or family the extent of it, although they know things are off.

We found each other through Match.com. The first time I hugged her, it was electric. Her body fit against mine perfectly. Being in an area where there aren’t tons of Christians, we were excited that our values and beliefs aligned really well. I liked that she wasn’t materialistic. Both of us were pretty inexperienced with relationships for being in our late 20s - she especially so. Her job involved high-level philanthropic work in the developing world, and I found that impressive and exciting, having previously taught English in a developing country myself. I imagined a life with her would be peaceful and would likely involve adventures together in Africa and Asia. She and I got engaged after eight months of dating, and we were married six months later. The first signs of physical abuse started less than a year after we married. We were having an argument in bed, and she used her feet to shove me out of the bed. Later came her first assault on me, when an argument culminated in her attacking me with her fists. Fits of punching me occurred three more times over the next 18 months. One of the times when she attacked me, she was driving a car and I was in the front passenger seat. We were going 40mph on a 4-lane road around a bend. It was very unsafe. Her violating my physical boundaries also included pinching my testicles and zits on my back after I told her it was painful, and it wasn’t ok. I wanted to share some examples of other abusive situations I endured as well. Once during an argument, she held a ladle over her head in a threatening way like she was going to hit me with it. Twice she banged on the bedroom door over and over after I had locked myself inside to put space between us when it was clear an argument was going badly. One of those times I called an emergency helpline. They stayed on the phone with me as I exited the room and left the house. Once she told me if we didn’t have a child by the time, she was a certain age, and then later we had a child born with disabilities or birth defects, she would blame me for that. She also tried guilting me for using condoms at a time when it was clear to me our relationship needed serious help before it’d be suitable to have a child together. I think these things count as reproductive abuse. Were there red flags? Looking back, I can say yes. One was her angry texts on occasions when I was running late to meet her. Another was that her mom, dad, and brother all said she was a handful as a child, particularly with her tantrums. I assumed that she had outgrown all of that by the time I met her. The final time she assaulted me was in an Airbnb while on vacation in Japan. By this point I had decided that if she got violent with me, I would basically not defend myself at all and would just let it happen. Part of her manhandling me in that Airbnb involved her trying to take my phone away from me. Had she succeeded at that, I would have been in serious trouble if I’d tried to flee. Soon after this happened, I made up my mind we needed to separate. She decided to get domestic violence treatment. I held out hope that if we lived apart for a while and she took her treatment seriously, we could resume our marriage. The second tipping point was when she violated the clearly laid-out terms of our separation by being aggressive toward me again when we got together at a public place (Chipotle) for dinner. That instance, combined with a phone call with a counselor named Name who is knowledgeable about dynamics of women abusing men, convinced me I needed to divorce her. She and I had been attending a Christian small group through our church. I had been a regular attender, and she had attended occasionally. When I initiated separating from her, she insisted on continuing to attend those small group meetings. We couldn’t both continue attending, so I let her have her way, and I stopped attending. This disconnected me from people I had gotten close to. Not one of those people reached out to me at any point after that. That was disappointing. There was a short period when I had made up my mind that I was going to divorce her, but I hadn’t yet figured out how I was going to tell her. I was seeing a counselor individually at that time (in addition to our couples counseling). He offered the idea I could tell her I was filing for divorce during a couples counseling session. For some reason that hadn’t occurred to me, but it was really helpful guidance. Considering her past violence, I was relieved to have the opportunity to break the news to her in a safe environment like a counseling session. (I informed the counselor in advance that I would be doing so.) The people closest to me were supportive of me taking our relationship problems very seriously, but they were also quite cautious about fully endorsing the idea of divorcing – even with knowing about the repeated violence. Reflecting back on this, I attribute their cautiousness about me divorcing both to gender-based double standards and to their Christian beliefs, which I shared. I don’t fault them for trying to help me make very, very, very sure that divorce was the right choice. However, considering that we didn’t have children, and considering how troubling her patterns of behavior were and her half-hearted demonstrations of taking responsibility for her actions, divorce was very obviously the right choice. I think that a personality disorder played a role in what I was experiencing from my ex, but at the time neither I nor the people closest to me offering advice recognized that. Speaking specifically about male DV victims, given that we can perceive men experiencing violence from their female partners as less serious than the other way around, I would say that men should be counseled to take even a single incidence of violence from their partner very, very seriously. Once an adult demonstrates they’re capable of totally losing their cool to the extent of physically lashing out, that is a bad sign about their capability of being a partner to you in a healthy relationship.An exception might apply if the person quickly takes responsibility (and remains consistent that their violence was wrong and not someone else’s fault), and then diligently implements measures to ensure they never do it again. The victim of violence should be educated that if there is any backsliding – with their partner shifting blame or not sticking to their treatment – they should end the relationship for good.

If you are reading this please know you are not alone. When I was 15 years old and had just gotten back from eating disorder treatment, I was lonely, lost, and vulnerable. I had zero sexual experience, in fact I had never had my first kiss yet. One night I went to a small party, and drank a lot without knowing my limits because I had never drank before. Long story short, I blacked out and only remember bits and pieces of the night. Unfortunately I have a few memories that I can never forget. A completely sober boy came to the party and ended up taking advantage of me. I remember waking up the next day in pain and I found blood all over my shorts. I convinced myself I asked for that to happen and it was my fault. As much as it disgust me to say, I even felt somewhat special that anybody would even find me attractive enough to have sex with. I was confused and didn’t understand. A lot happened after that night and I ultimately felt like a used piece of trash that had already been thrown out. It took me awhile to understand what had really happened to me. I’ve been working on my healing journey for years since that night, but still find myself struggling constantly. I still sometimes question if maybe I’m just being dramatic and im the only one to blame for what happened. I know deep down that’s not true, but it’a a difficult thing to process. Honestly, I am angry. I’m angry that this boy has never and will never take accountability and that he gets to live a life without the trauma and pain I feel everyday. I feel heartbroken for myself and all other victims who have experienced SA. My ultimate goal in sharing my story is that at least one person can relate and feel less lonely. I want them to realize that what happened to them is not their fault and I believe them. I hope you all know how important you are.

Where to start when it is a life-long journey. A few moments of his pleasure has been a lifetime of recovery and healing for me. It has taken a lot of work, a lot of working through to live a life where I can more freely give and receive love.

When I was 16, I was attacked by a mutual friend. Duct taped and tied to the bed, I've never felt so scared. I just froze and I hated myself for a long time because I always thought it was my fault and I should've protected myself. I later learned that freezing is a natural trauma response. He raped me, I didn't ask for that, no one does. I couldn't speak about it to anyone because no one would listen, everyone just thought I was making it up. It took a long time and lots of therapy to be where I am today. 8 years later, I found my people and am thriving. If it weren't for the other survivors around me, I wouldn't be here today.