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At a young age, I started therapy. I found through therapy I grew up with narcissistic parents, and my sister developed narcissistic traits. I was the scapegoat in the family. My parents taught my siblings and I that family comes first. My family took advantage of my sensitivity. They expected me to do everything for them. If I did anything for myself, I was told I am selfish. After years of therapy, I learned that explained a lot as to why the relationships I had felt similar to what I had with my family. I never knew my childhood trauma linked to my relationships. My daughter's father abused us emotionally, mentally, and physically. Hitting, slapping, belittling, name calling and more. A lot like how my family treated me, but minus the physical abuse. Eventually he left. Before he left, he pinned me to the wall and threatened to hit me. He left. I got a restraining order. He broke it by coming to my house. No one was home at the time, but he was there because he left a note on the gate of my house. That happened two more times. After awhile, it stopped. A few years later, I attempted another relationship. I ended the relationship last year. I had to. He was a combination of my dad and my daughter's father when it came to narcissistic abuse and domestic violence. After finding my current therapist, my therapist said she she is proud of me. She said I was able to break the generational chain of abuse. It was scary to break up with my now ex, but I wasn't happy. The healing is scary, emotional, but necessary. Both my Down Syndrome daughter, and I are blessed to have each other.

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.

I thought he was the most perfect guy in the world. He was romantic, smart, funny, loving, kind, everything I had ever wanted in a guy. When things started to shift, I deeply believed it was my responsibility as his girlfriend to comfort him, take care of him, fix him. But as the breakdowns became more consistent, as he became more violent, as the words grew heavier and more hurtful, I was left feeling drained. My belief that I was supposed to stick by his side no matter what, that love was forgiving and forgetting, destroyed me. He was broken, and it was selfish to leave him. He didn’t mean it, he apologized eventually, he comforted me when he hurt me, so it was okay. But if I could go back in time, I’d scream “leave now, save yourself.” Because these excuses I was making were just that. Excuses. It was not normal. It was not okay. No excuses could be made to make his behavior normal. I just want everyone out there to know that it is not your fault. You are not weak. You are not stupid for not seeing it sooner. You were in love with someone who only showed you a small aspect of themselves, and then revealed the rest when you were already in too deep. One time is enough. It wasn’t an accident the first time, and it won’t be an accident the next. The recovery process is hard. But it’s so worth it. And you are worth so much more than what he declares over you. Please know that you are not alone. I’m rooting for you and I know others are too.

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.

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"

I didn't realise until over a year after the separation that the relationship I had been in for almost a decade was abusive. I was confused, I was lost, I doubted every thought and memory I had because that's what I'd been conditioned to do. He used to tell me I had a bad memory, that I remembered the incident wrongly; he would start an argument in the car on the way to what was supposed to be a pleasant gathering with friends; he would criticise me all the time and when I finally snapped and shouted at him to stop criticising, he said I was crazy. He didn't let me sleep a full night for 4 years after our baby was born, I was exhausted, I was extremely anxious about everything. I was in fight or flight mode all the time. The last straw was him shouting at our child all the time because he made a noise, because he made a mess, because of something. I know all this now, but I didn't understand what was happening at the time. I will still second guess myself if anyone vaguely questions my choice or my decision. I was strong before and I lost my voice. I'm fighting hard to get it back but post separation abuse is real and it's difficult when someone is constantly trying to invalidate you and dismiss your concerns. No more. We have to talk about it, join together and eradicate a permissiveness that allows victims to be suppressed and perpetrators to continue unchecked.

I had only been a freshman at my undergrad for 5 days when I was sexually harassed and eventually assaulted, by someone who I thought was a friend. We were walking campus with a large group and the two of us lived in the same building, we were headed back up for the night. He didn’t get off the elevator on his floor, instead he waited and got off on mine. I thought he was being kind and so we walked do the hall, I wished him a good night and turned to unlock my door. All of a sudden he was trying to push open my door. He started kissing and touching me. I finally got him of of me and screamed. It was enough to get him to leave in the moment. After this, he was texting me nonstop. Threatening his life if I wasn’t with him sexually, threatening me, and saying terrible things to and about me. Eventually I told my Resident Assistant and asked for help blocking him. He told his boss and they called me in for a meeting. I shared everything that had happened and she told me that she thought I had a drinking problem and sent me to AA instead of addressing the assault. She blamed me. Sometimes even I still blame me.

I was sexually assaulted by two teenagers when I was 17 and extremely intoxicated. One of the rapists was my high school best friend's brother. This story is 35 years old but needs to be told in order for me to start healing. A repressed memory came flooding back 5 years ago, after finding a photo of a trip I took with her family, the place where this assault happened. I've silently tried to process it alone, but I can't keep quiet any longer. I hope sharing my story will help others come forward and start their healing process. It's never too late! I'm finding more and more friends who have similar stories and only by sharing my story had allowed them to share theirs. I feel like it's paying it forward a little.

I'm 71 years old and allowed myself to be abuised for over 20years out of a 36 year marriage. I lost my daughters and grandchildren because of my actions. I've got no one I'm totally alone. I found out that my husband was a drug addict to prescriptions and was a thief and a liar who manipulated everyone around him he was a good guy. I was to busy working raising a family and continued to let this man use me because I loved him. I just realized love shouldn't hurt. He's left our home for years at a time, I've never gone with any one else. I've been raped strangled beaten bruised bloodied ,used money and antiques stolen etc. . I allowed myself to be used over and over why I don't know still don't I thought I loved him because we had a special bond . I was kidding myself and it hurts more than you know. I tried to end my life to get rid of the pain of abuise and failed years ago. Couldn't live with the pain of losing my family. . I'm so alone sitting in a house wasting away waiting to die someday someone will notice by my mail or my dog. What a shame I was a beautiful strong loving wife and mother grandmother to be left this way to die alone and broken because I was abuised I blame , my children for not protecting me,, the courts most of all I blame myself for loving a man and not loving myself more. I need help and I still do.

You hear it all over the news. You see it in films and tv shows. As women, we are often warned, and we hear comments about ‘safety in numbers’ when you go to the toilet. ‘Watch your drinks’ when out and about. ‘Don’t show that much skin, cover up’. ‘You can’t wear that.’ ‘Get a taxi home, it’s not safe to walk’… unfortunately words can not protect you from the intentions of others. I went on a night out with friends, a reunion that started off so well. I remember the dancing, the constant flow of drinks…pints, gin, vodka, sambuca to name a few. Yes, it is not ideal to mix however, when you are reminiscing, and your group had a booth with a table full of drinks; you would probably do the same! Anyway, the lights flashed, the music bounced off the walls and suddenly a trip to the loo mixed with alcohol on a busy autumn international night in Location…makes you forget what floor you left your friends on. Fast forward to the smoking area alone on the phone, where I swayed and debated leaving. “A taxi home would be safer than walking in the rain”. Before I was allowed in, I had to pay by card, he insisted on no cash. I entered the taxi behind the passenger seat in the back and it began. The looks through the rear-view mirror were instant…my memory of the journey is absent until we reach my corner. My directions at this point were now ignored but I trusted him. He parked, away from my house. He locked the car with me still inside. He looked back. “Kiss me”. He had hold of my wrists and climbed through to the back where he began to sexually assault me. I am unsure for how long this lasted but he later broke away and asked to use my toilet. This enabled me to get out of the car so…I said yes. Why I ever thought I could get into my house first in a pair of heels whilst heavily intoxicated I do not know, but even so, I looked back to see how ahead I was…even now I can see him running down that pavement to reach me at my door. In my own home, he was in control. He stole my breath, he stole my voice, he stole my body. He raped me. No one ever prepares you for an event like that, or even how to tell your parents. I went to SARC, I did the forensics and repetitive questions, and I was told it would take years of my life away if I were to take it further. So, I went back to work the following Monday as I had a responsibility to fulfil. It weighed on my shoulders. I knew there was an expectation. Many google searches informed me of my next steps…I made an anonymous complaint to the Police, and everything began to move. Everything became intense…I was living out what felt like a BBC drama. Months later he denied it in court, so we went to trial. The support I received was minimal. I was still working, taking unpaid time off. My close family and friends were those who got me through the days in court, the days in-between and the days I live now. I took away the screen during my time on the stand, I answered every insulting question and remark. I looked him in the eyes, he held eye contact for only a few seconds before breaking into a smirk; as I broke down in the stand. I was torn to pieces in front of a judge, jury and courtroom. In front of him, who proceeded to spin his web of lies which were the complete opposite to the ones he had said in his initial statement. “To be a good liar, one needs a good memory” …He was found guilty. It took 2 weeks for me to be seen as a victim and believed. Fast forward to the sentencing hearing where my main pillars of support accompanied me…I read out my victim impact statement… He got 11 years…a minimum of 8 ½. I got a lifetime sentence, anxiety, depression, dissociation, insomnia, scars and PTSD. February 2024, 2 months after the 1st anniversary; I made my 3rd attempt. A phone call from a friend pulled me back to reality, who later pulled me off the bridge. A mixture of anger, tears and confusion filled the next couple of days, and I knew I needed to take back control of my mind and body. Which is hard when his monstrous hands are imprinted, his poisonous breath echoing in and flooding my ears and the pain weighing heavy on my body. This time I had to do something different. I could not bring myself to hurt anyone else further, so I searched online. I came across The Survivors Trust and after a quick scan through what they had to offer, I instantly thought ‘why wasn’t I told about this sooner?’. Talking can feel repetitive especially when you cannot explain how exactly you are feeling…which is ok in this sense because of their ‘Survivor Resources’. They echo that everyone has a different healing journey and they have sets of resources that have been put together with the survivor in mind…whilst also having a section for those who are looking for help on how to support a survivor they love in their lives. The Survivors Trust then became an outlet for me because even though I am very much at the beginning of my healing journey, I felt responsible and motivated to raise awareness for this charity. No one should ever have to face a traumatic event like this but sadly, the actions of others are something we cannot control. Therefore, I created a Facebook page called ‘Name’ and started promoting my quiz night followed by live music and started a Just Giving Page. I never anticipated a big response; I had a goal of £1000. A goal of raising awareness for the charity, fellow victims and survivors. A goal to inform. The CSEW estimated that 1.1 million adults aged 16 years and over experienced sexual assault in the year ending March 2022 (798,000 women and 275,000 men). 15% of girls and 5% of boys have experienced sexual violence by the time they are sixteen. Every five minutes in the UK someone experiences rape, attempted rape, or sexual assault by penetration. ‘On the face of it, something has to change’ (Prima Facie, 2022). Date he was sentenced. Date 2 I raised a total of Specific amount from site.. People have different opinions on the length of time to which I will be ‘fixed’. “Sometimes, it takes a few days”. A few days, a few weeks; a few months to fully grasp what happened, to trust myself? Living in and out of my own body, not knowing when it is truly me or what is now left. The sleepless nights, the nights that repeat every detail. Every once in a while, my ears go out, ringing as I simply stare into thin air, dissociating and remembering each and every detail without speaking a word. Sometimes it only takes a smell, a name, a piece of clothing, a sound to take me back to these moments. It does not take much to remind the brain of the agony. It’s hard. I float throughout each day, each night, as each aspect of the memory replays every time, I take a second to think…no matter where or who I am with. It is currently day 630…I have finally started EMDR therapy, I am still at times in denial of the events, and I am very much at the beginning of my journey. I am beginning to understand there is no timeframe on healing and with the support of this charity, my close family and name, taking time to self-care and keeping up with my medication is all I can do for now. Everyone is different. Therefore, it is totally natural to heal and deal with trauma in different ways. I work and like to keep busy…some say to avoid/escape the flashbacks but unfortunately, they do not escape me. However, although I have tried many times not to be…I am alive, and I am going to do everything in my power to make sure things change. No one should live in the fear of not being believed. No one should be put into situations where they experience a type of sexual assault. No one should have to go through something they could not control and feel guilty for the rest of their lives. No one should feel alone. Don’t get me wrong, I still feel shame, guilt, embarrassment, regret and the list goes on but I will get there. I am alive today because of the resources and support presented on The Survivors Trust site. My journey is very much at the beginning, and I so wish I knew about this charity sooner. Therefore, this is me giving back as well as letting others know about the charity, not only the victims either…Survivors Trust helps everyone impacted. Raising Amountp is just the start of the work I will be doing for the charity. It is okay to talk, there are people who will believe, who will support in any way they can. Together we are stronger…you do not have to face this battle alone. I have recently continued to share my story and been a listening ear to others on my page Name on Instagram and Facebook. I don't want anyone to ever feel alone in their trauma, in their healing, in their journey. I am far beyond cured. My EMDR therapy has been completed but its like a bomb has gone off...I've accepted what has happened, happened. But it'll forever be part of who I am no matter how many steps forward I take. He gets out in 5 years and is then under watch for 3 years as he is eased back into society - that support has been planned for him. However, if I didn't attempt to take my life 5 times...I would never have been put forward for MH screening by my gp who then referred me for EMDR. I wasn't given any support from SARC or Victim Support - and it's honestly made me feel so defeated yet again by him. Yes, he was found guilty and went to prison in 2023 but I am the one serving the life sentence.

Last year, I was Lilly. The first time he shoved me down on the couch, the second time he threw me across the room into our daughters bouncer, the third time he broke his entire knuckle on my face causing two black eyes and my forehead to be three times its size. It only continued from there. I spent so many nights begging him to not kill me, he would me hold on the bed and try to suffocate me. He dragged me into the woods once, and grabbed me by my throat and threw me. After he broke his knuckle on my face, he took me to the store to get the make up to cover up my black eyes and we laughed about it. After every incident he would cry to me and tell me he didn’t want to be like this. I finally got out, you can too❤️

It took 10 years of emotional, physical and financial abuse from a narcissistic man to realize that I stayed because it felt normal. My childhood wasn’t a healthy environment. So when I met my ex his avoidant and violent nature felt right. The gaslighting and love bombing were so common in my childhood home, I didn’t see the red flags when they popped up. Today I’m still struggling with imposter syndrome. How much of it was real affection? How much was more manipulation and lies? I wanted to share this, because sometimes I need to be validated that it all did happen, it wasn’t a fever dream. So I hope this helps someone out there. You’re not alone. What you’re feeling is valid. It’s scary and confusing at first, but it gets so much better. One day at a time. One small healthy decision at a time. It’s not gonna get better overnight, it will take a while. It’s been 1 year since we split, 2 months since the divorce. I’m taking my time to reset my nervous system and figure out who I am, without his narrative over me. You are loved.

as a child I went through abuse physical and sexual, the same for my mom. It didn’t even with her, me and my brothers saw the pain and trauma she endured as well as us until she left. When I was a child I promised I’d never fall for a man like my father and ex step father until I did, I ended up not keep that promise and stayed I finally realized why my mom never left his empty promises felt like home, he was what I thought I needed..but I did leave, and now I have two beautiful babies who will never experience that generational trauma or pain because “it ended with me”

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.

Was it really that bad? Healing after getting out can be a rollercoaster of emotions and self doubt. You're not alone, sharing your story helps others to stop being silenced out of shame. Sometimes the healing process is hard because we remember more, or feel what we tried not to feel. You don't have to worry about being believable, focus on your own healing journey because you lived it, and need to trust the process. Your story, and what you lived, is testimony enough.

Many times I've wondered how to begin narrating my story, whether I should start from the beginning or when "love had arrived." I could start by saying that I fell in love with the person I thought was my best friend. Wow, it’s supposed that when there’s a friendship of that magnitude, love should be great. Time passed, and years later, that friendship turned into a relationship, which, for my heart, was one of the most beautiful things that had ever happened to me. I flew 1,295 miles from my country to the United States for him, believing that finally, my true love story would become a reality. I knew he had a strong character and was a bit egocentric, something that bothered me, but I always tried to ignore those thoughts with the "sweet gestures" he could have with me. In the third year of our relationship, after discovering an online affair (they were only chatting because they were in different countries), he proposed to me. Shortly after we got married, we bought our first house together. Wow, if we weighed it all out, there were many wonderful moments that turned into sad endings because, according to him, I didn’t do something right, and many times I would repeat to myself, “I need to be better for myself and for him,” but for him, I was never good enough. Little by little, I started to fade. His words and actions took me to the darkest places—depression and anxiety. From there, it got even darker: a fight in the bathroom where he was the only one talking, and I had long ago decided to remain silent to avoid making the problem worse. I remember that night we were sitting on the bathroom floor arguing, and when it ended, we decided to leave the bathroom. I was walking behind him, continuing the argument, and that’s when he decided to push me, making me fall back several feet. I had never felt so vulnerable in my life. Among the physical pain I felt in my body, the pain in my soul was even stronger. He apologized and insisted that he thought I was coming after him to hit him. I insisted that I would be incapable of doing something like that, but once again, I was blamed. Shortly after, the problems in the relationship intensified, and there was more crying than laughing. I blamed the depression, but deep down, I knew it was everything that was happening there. I decided to seek professional help and started working with a psychiatrist. For more than a year, I was in therapy and on medication, and that’s when my awakening began. I’ll never forget the day my therapist said to me, "I want you to do an exercise that I know I shouldn’t ask of you." I forgot to mention that I earned my psychology degree in my home country. She continued, “We’re going to make a diagnosis, but it’s not for you. If I’m right, our therapy is going to change drastically because you’ll have only two options: divorce or couples therapy.” Although she didn’t say it, she was leaning more towards divorce. Her request was, "Let’s diagnose, based on observation, whether your husband is a narcissist. You’ve given me many examples that are raising red flags for me." She managed to get an interview with him, and in the end, we reached the diagnosis: I was married to a narcissist. I had been too ashamed to tell her that a week earlier, I was not only a victim of his physical aggression when he pushed me, but he had also pulled my hair. I had never felt so ashamed of myself until I had to talk about it with my therapist. Her only words were, “Run from there; there’s no turning back.” How grateful I am to her for those words. Today, almost a year after our legal divorce, although this path hasn’t been easy, I feel that I’ve become a much more resilient woman. No matter how difficult the situation is, no matter how much pain you may feel, love doesn’t have to be the excuse to push your limits. I knew for a long time that I needed to leave, and it’s not easy. Finding that strength is not easy, but today I can say that when your love for yourself grows every day, it’s that love that helps you move forward. Losing everything and losing myself to find myself has been the most beautiful experience life has given me. NO MORE. Only you have the power to break the cycle.

Hello, Name, and I am a domestic violence survivor reaching out in hopes of sharing my story to raise awareness and help protect other women and children. After enduring severe domestic violence, and my kids and I being kidnapped ..  I finally saw justice when the defendant in my case was found guilty and sentenced to 60 years in prison. While that conviction brought accountability, it did not end the impact of the abuse on my life or on my children’s lives. The violence we survived changed everything. My children witnessed trauma no child should ever experience, and we were forced to leave our home and everything familiar to start over in order to stay safe. The aftermath of abuse has affected our emotional well-being, stability, and ability to rebuild a sense of normalcy. I am sharing my story not for sympathy, but to bring awareness to the realities of domestic violence—especially how it affects children long after the court cases end. Survivors often escape with nothing, and rebuilding requires support, safety, and resources. Link If you are interested, I am willing to speak openly and honestly about what we endured, the legal process, and what life looks like after survival. My hope is that by telling our story, we can help save lives and bring awareness to the importance of protecting women and children. Thank you for your time and for the work you do in bringing important stories to light. Link Sincerely, NamecontactDomestic Violence Survivor

Feel guilty for being so affected by something that is no where near the horrible stories other people have shared. I wasn’t raped or beaten but my experience with a classmate that went to far, has shaped my life in a way I wish I could change, but don’t feel strong or courageous enough to do so. My story begins in 10th grade where my drama class (of 40 or 45 students and 3 teachers) was on our way to a trip from Location to Location 2by bus. My first mistake was to sit at the back of the bus because I thought it would be the quietest place on the bus, my second mistake was to take the window seat… At first most students in the back was high on red bull but when they crashed the whole bus got quiet and only 4/5 students was awake, one of them was the biggest and tallest guy at school, he sat down next to me and started talking about random stuff, I didn’t talk much cause I was afraid that some would wake up and be angry with me(I was never the popular kid at school, so I never wanted to step on anyone’s toes) I was extremely tired myself so I was just trying to stay awake to be polite and answered his questions. After a while he’s hand started to slowly move on to my lap, I pushed him off several times and asked him to stop because I really wanted to sleep, but he keep going and it just worsened for every time I pushed him off, he started be move his hands further up under my shirt and further down my pants. I was terrified to speak up because I knew no one would believe me if I said something. I was afraid that if the teachers found out about it, that they would blame me (of all the other girls on the buss why would he touch me?) . As I was trying to push I’m off, I got eye contact with a female classmate a few seats behind me on the other side of the buss, (she was one of hi’s really good friends) i tried to signal to her that I wasn’t comfortable with what he was doing, but she just lifted her hands and shoulders like she was saying ”what do you want me to do about it” And I just remember feeling like my whole body froze to ice after that. I don’t know for how long this whole episode lasted but it felt like an eternity, I couldn’t move, and couldn’t say anything, and that person who could have said something didn’t. I honestly don’t know what was worse, what he did or what she didn’t, I’ve never felt so violated or betrayed. That experience really affected me in a way that makes it really hard to trust other people, I have a hard time believing others, I have never had a boyfriend, I’m 29 now, but the fear of anyone getting to close to me gives me bad anxiety, because if I couldn’t stop a teenager from touching me in a buss wish 40 other students and 3 teachers, how could I ever stop an adult man if we are alone behind closed doors? I know not all men are like him, but i am just scared that if happens again that it won’t “just” be forceful touching but worse. And I think that, that’s what’s keeping me from the future that I otherwise would have loved to have. I wish I knew what it would fell like to get a kiss on the forehead, to hold someone hand or just the feeling of being safe with someone. I no longer use public transportation, but when I do have to get on a plane I always make sure to get the aisle seat, so that I can get away if someone gets too close. If you’ve read this far, I thank you for taking time to listening to my story, I’ve never talked about it before, I guess it’s much easier to tell complete strangers than some I know (for the fear of being judged) I want to heal that old wound but don’t quite know how to do so, I guess telling my story is the first step.