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As a young adult I was exposed to internet pornography. Curiosity drew me in more and more and eventually I became addicted to it. I spent the next 17 years struggling with it off and on, wanting to stop but not knowing how. When I started to learn how porn perpetuates sex trafficking, I became more motivated to find recovery. I also felt deeply convicted when I began to learn that a significant amount of internet pornography contained non-consensual content. I didn’t realize how consuming it created more and more demand. I’ve finally gotten free from that habit and have been for almost 6 years now. Now I’m at a place where I’ve found opportunities to help other men get free and raise awareness on the harm of porn and the abuse it perpetuates. I have so much passion and hope now. I KNOW consumers/abusers can change through self-disgust, remorse, and empathy. Hearing survivor stories encourages me so much and I look forward to efforts that elevate their voices. I hope my journey continues to bring healing, hope, and healthy dialogue to others and their journeys.

Last year, a very close friend realized they were in an abusive relationship -- something I had known for a long time. While it was mostly verbal and psychological abuse, it did get physical at the end. That was the catalyst my friend needed -- especially because they were holding their young child at the time (the abuser is not the child's biological parent). Having been in and around this space for a long time, I can tell you firsthand, it is very difficult to stand by and watch someone get hurt time after time. It is also difficult to let them make their own decisions once they get out of the relationship -- decisions which may be counter to what YOU want them to do. But this last piece is really important. It is critical to allow someone who has spent in this case several years without agency, to take it back and make their own decisions.

I am a cis-gender, woman. For as long as I can remember, I have identified as bisexual. I was never "closeted", but I did grow up in the mid-Atlantic suburbs in the '70s, so having a girlfriend who was anything more than a "buddy" wasn't even available to me. In fact, it wasn't until 1973 that homosexuality was removed from the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM). So I didn't grow up thinking that I could ever act on my feelings for women. As I matured, I dabbled a little bit, but not anything fulfilling. My longing for sexual intimacy with a woman increased in intensity once I hit peri-menopause. At a certain stage in my adult life, I found myself obsessing 24/7 about having a sexual relationship with a woman. That day came when I ran into someone from my past - someone whom I knew was gay - someone to whom I had a strong, physical attraction that was so unbearable, it nearly drove me mad. Seriously. I still question whether I was in my right mind when we were together because in hindsight, I tolerated behavior from her that was incredibly abusive and abnormal, just so I could get laid. Because in the beginning, the sex was great. The first time we kissed, my head almost exploded. And when we finally had sex, I felt as if the whole world came to a stop, and I realized that THIS IS WHAT HAD BEEN MISSING FROM MY LIFE! But, just as adolescents confuse chemical changes associated with sex with love, so did I. When she gazed into my eyes and told me that she had always loved me, I believed her. It felt magical. I was enchanted. And, I thought that I was in love with her too. The abuse started a few months after we began "dating". I put that word in quotes, because she was so closeted that we didn't dare hold hands in public or get caught kissing. (By the way, her reaction to getting "caught" was SO extreme, that she violently pushed me away with both hands, the day her landlord caught me hugging her goodbye, as he took out the garbage.) We were in the car, driving home from a day of hanging out in the city. Much of her abuse happened in the car because there, I was a captive audience who couldn't escape her ranting, raving, screaming, punching the door, the windshield, throwing things … We'd both had too much to drink that day, she had flirted with someone else (as she always did, I realize now in hindsight), words were exchanged between us about the incident, and she flew into a rage. She punched the car's rearview mirror so hard that it snapped off and flew across the car, missing my face by inches. I sat mutely in shock, frightened because we were in a moving vehicle on a major highway. It was then that I should have ended it. It was then that I should have seen her for who she really was, rather than who I was dreaming she could be. It was then that I realized that something didn't feel good about 'this" anymore. I stayed with her for 5 more years, during which time she trapped me in the car with abusive tantrums regularly. That night was just a preview! During the on again / off again time that we were together, she made grand, romantic promises to me about a life together; living in a nice house, all the money she was going to make, blah, blah, blah. In her next breath, she would berate ME for not making enough money, for not having more important or more interesting friends. She taunted me for not being - as she put it - "a spectacular fuck". And - more than once - she put me down for having had sex with men before we met. Or as she put it, "All the dick you sucked before we met". This, despite the fact that she had undergone two abortions (after having unprotected, reckless sex with men of course) and that she constantly flirted with them when we were out. She also bragged to me about her former lovers (all of whom had either died or cut her out their lives completely). She was homophobic. She said that she hated being gay, and that she hated me for being gay. She would insist that I wasn't gay at all. "You're just a straight chick who gets off on fucking women", she said to me. A laughable statement, because THIS is what turned HER on! I was not the first woman that she believed she had "turned", despite my protests that I am and always have been, bisexual. She delusionally thought that she had some kind of special power to turn straight women gay. She would have melt-downs any time that I wanted us to be a visible couple, insisted that I could not "come out" - even though we traveled to places that were gay friendly, had gay friends and that we WERE gay. The emotional abuse increased in frequency, but took place in secrecy, so I had nowhere to turn. I began to live with a knot in my stomach and depression started to take over my life to the point where I not only lost my identity, but I lost my desire to live. The secrecy that she forced me into kept her abuse of me a secret too, even from our mutual friends. Each time that I tried to break up with her, those big, fat, alligator tears would start. For me, that's really hard to take from a woman. I've seen men cry, but HER tears sucked me back in every time. Sucked. That's a good word for it, on many levels. She was sucking the life out of me and I was the sucker who fell for her lies, every time I tried to break it off. She reeled me back in each time, like a fish on a hook. One day, as she stood in my kitchen berating me once again, immediately after I had taken her on another miserable vacation where all she did was put me down, I finally snapped. "Get the fuck out" I said. My calm tone must have really frightened her, because she left. Finally. I'd had enough mental and emotional abuse. There was nothing wrong with me and yet, she berated me and criticized me constantly. I had gained weight, I had lost friends, my own family didn't recognize me anymore. "Your attention span is so short, maybe fingerpaints would be good for you!" She actually SAID this to me! This is how she treated me. Constantly. But I stayed with her, for the promise of what I thought we might have. Promises that she filled my head with, in bed when we had sex. Sex, that she slowly began to use as a weapon of control and manipulation over me. She withheld physical affection, flirted with other women, and treated me like shit. Then, in the very next breath, she would suggest that we open a joint bank account, "For our future", she said with a warm smile and a sparkle in her eye. Thankfully, I never fell for that lie. I've always worked hard for my money, and I wasn't going to share it with someone who turned out to be a fucking monster, a liar, and an imposter. I already suffered from PTSD, and she preyed upon it. It increased in intensity while we were together. When I met her, I was a very pretty, self-confident woman in great physical shape. My years with my abuser turned me into an overweight, anxious, angry, depressed person who trusts no one, and drinks too much alcohol. Therapy and breathing techniques help, along with a prescription for Xanax that I take occasionally, but I still feel shame over having stayed in an abusive relationship for so long. I'm not a mental health professional, nor do I think it's appropriate for any layperson to "diagnose" someone (some of those "professionals" shouldn't either, by the way), but several personality disorders come to mind when I think of her such as ... Narcissistic … Histrionic … Borderline … even bipolar. In closing, I despise her and what she did to me. I'm glad that I finally rid my life of her, even though she tried several more times to weasle her way back in. I will always HATE her … but I'm beginning to love myself again.

I want to share my experiences, as I have many times but never in print or where I can leave it for other survivors to read. I want you to know that you ARE better than the abuse you might be receiving. You ARE amazing. You ARE resilient and can absolutely do whatever you set your mind to. I was in an abusive relationship for 8 years. Of course the abuse started slowly, so slowly I could write it off as my fault or an accident. I lived with a friend at 21 and met the man who would eventually become my children's father. I remember telling my friend that he had shoved me on the bed, directly on my cat so I might hurt her too. I remember that friend telling me "He reminds me of my ex-husband, the one who broke my jaw for catching him cheating on me" and of course I didn't listen. Slowly the abuse got worse physically, mentally, emotionally. Eventually I started to fight back, not physically but would try to talk him down or just defend myself and he would rape me, as a point to show me who was still in control. I had out of body experiences- got knocked out by force- to wake up locked away in a hotel room with my keys gone and phone taken so I couldn't call for help. I loved him and couldn't bear to call the police on him- by this time I knew he was here illegally. I knew most of his family were here illegally. They would sit around the living room hearing me getting my ass handed to me and in the beginning I wondered why they wouldn't interfere- I later learned that if anyone interfered then my beating got worse because "you're cheating on me with HIM" or something similar. A couple years go by and most of my friends have moved on or were disgusted that I stayed with him- I was pretty good at hiding what was really going on because he loved hitting me where most people wouldn't see a bruise. I truly believed that I could help him, or fix him, because his childhood was rough growing up in the mountainous countryside of location and his father was abusive. Plus I knew that for the most part their women are brought up submissive, so it was all acceptable for a long time. I made excuses for him and he would cry to me and say "I know it's wrong but I can't help it, I watched it my whole life- watched my mother die because of my father." Plus he crossed the border when he was about 16 and was traumatized from that also. He just knew how to manipulate me and my emotions and for years I had no idea. I was attending college while pregnant at 25 and my classmates knew and tried to help me but I wasn't ready yet. Not until he hit me and split my eyebrow open with his fist when I was 6 months pregnant. My mom dragged me to the police station and wouldn't let me leave until I pressed charges against him. That was when she learned about my years of abuse- my family suspected but I was good at hiding it. It took me having my little girl - my saving grace, my reason for waking up back then- to learn I was better than the abuse I was getting. I realized that I didn't want her growing up in that kind of environment, never wanted her to think that any sort of abuse is okay or even remotely acceptable. That was when I started thinking about leaving him. That's when God shows up glaringly obvious to me then- he gets arrested. Finally I have one foot out the door. Then 2. Then I lose that apartment we were living in because I had been on HUD and he wasn't supposed to be there. I go back to my parents house with my 1 year old daughter. A year later I get pregnant once more by him. By this time I am self-medicating for depression/anxiety/PTSD and trying to fill that void left behind by him. He had introduced me to drugs and snorting pills during our relationship. I was struggling with answering/not answering the phone when he called and jumping when he asked for things. By all rights, my 2nd child should have been born with withdrawals and once again God showed up for me and my child. A month prior to her birth I went to church and without even knowing me that pastor spoke to my soul and him and his congregation healed my unborn child. Today my girls are age 1 &age 2years old and thriving. My little savior and miracle child. Their father was deported a few years ago and he stopped calling/checking in on our girls. They know what kind of person he was and how he treated me and they don't really want anything to do with him though they have attempted to reach him via FB because they want answers. They want to know why he doesn't try to call them anymore, why he hurt me. I have never wanted to be that parent who keeps their kids from the other parent. My mom struggles with that concept but honors it for them. I want my kids to decide whether they want him in their life or not though he seems to have made that choice for them. He has always been selfish. 18 years later I still struggle with my self worth, have struggled to stay clean. I am strong, I am resilient, I am a great mom. I love myself Most days. Most days I know my worth, though I have been in a relationship with someone I thought was perfect for me but now I struggle with whether or not this relationship is healthy.

I was interviewing for a position at Target in 2009 and my ex-partner is the employee who first greeted me that day – he had a really inviting smile. After working together for a couple of months, I fell for his charming personality, and we started dating in January of 2010. He was funny and made me laugh. He also made me feel special and beautiful. The abuse began a few months after we started dating. He pitted me against his ex-girlfriend – who was also not over him – through, what I now know as, manipulation tactics. The emotional and verbal abuse started about a year into the relationship. So much name-calling, gaslighting, and flipping things around so it appeared as though I was always overreacting. Even with all of that, there were good times and nothing physical at this point. We ended up getting married in 2012 and within two weeks of living together the physical abuse started, followed quickly by sexual abuse. Unfortunately, the emotional, verbal, and psychological abuse were much worse during this time as well. I knew I had to leave when one day I was walking out the door and he hit me from behind, while threatening to snap my neck if I screamed. His actions and threat terrified me, so as soon as I could, I snuck out of my home to a friend’s house and called the military police. Thankfully they believed me, and he received an Article 15* and was punished for his actions and threats. *An Article 15 is where the commander (who is normally not a lawyer) hears the evidence, makes a determination of guilt or innocence, and imposes punishment as they see fit. I was unable to leave for a couple more months after this terrifying incident, but that day was my wakeup call – if I stayed, he was going to kill me. I left in July 2013! The process was extremely confusing and hard. It is truly a miracle I was able to leave, and I really can’t tell you how it was possible. On top of the process itself being confusing, difficult, and scary, I lived in Guam at the time – halfway around the world from everyone I knew and any support system. I was terrified…but I left anyway. I don’t know how I would have left and divorced him without the support system I had. My friends (not mutual – those who were just mine) and family were extremely supportive and encouraged me to leave him. My dad handled everything so well. He never doubted me. He never judged me. This is the support that is needed when you’re trying to be free. My grandparents took me to the lawyer to divorce him. Standing strong alongside me. My journey started with reading countless self-help books because I learned that working on yourself is as essential as taking care of yourself. Both new concepts to a survivor of domestic violence. After being diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) two years after I left, I finally started therapy. I was extremely lucky in that I did not have to work for an entire year and could focus my time on healing and therapy. And while I had that year of dedicated time, healing from domestic violence is a lifelong endeavor – I’m still in therapy now and on doctor prescribed medications. It truly is a journey and with a good therapist and a variety of treatments (such as Internal Family Systems (IFS) therapy and Eye Movement Desensitization and Processing (EMDR)), you will continue to heal.

I grew up in violence- my neighborhood, my school, my home. I grew up with constant insults and indignities because of poverty and a violent brother. So when I met Jack when I was 22 and he was a bully, dismissive, insulting and emotionally difficult for me, it all felt normal. But, as I got older I knew I had to get away from him. He limited my relationships and always found ways to subvert my work while belittling me for not keeping jobs. I tried to leave many time but he bulleyed, frightened, pleaded, coerced, apologized, threatened until I took him back. Then when I was 68 and he was 69 he left to have a “selfish bucket list fling” with a former girlfriend. He expected to come back after 2 months. He didn’t believe me that I was divorcing him and signed the papers without reading them. It has been 2 1/2 years and I am still fighting the battle in court to actually get the court ordered alimony that is coming to me. I am not homeless. In fact I live in the home we bought and remodeled. I have a very good life. He had me convinced that I would be back in poverty if it were not for him. I feel more well off than I ever did with him. Plus, his negativity, meanness, and general bad behavior are out of my life at last. I wish I had had the courage and strength to leave years ago and save myself and my children from his abuse. But I am happy to heal my relationships with the people I love who he kept away from me for all those years.

I had a couple friends tell me about this guy that he was cool and i should talk to him. So we talked for about 3 weeks. on (Date)my life changed. The guy i met again wasn't the same guy i met weeks before. But i trusted him and just wanted to talk. He told me his mom wanted to meet me so i decided to go. his mom acted weird also. i said hi to her and she didnt say much back. this guy told me hey i want to show you where i sleep downstairs. i followed him down stairs and alot happened. he tried strangling me by pinning me up the door way by my neck and then he assaulted me. I walked home and i should have called 911 but sadly i didnt intill the next day i am so scared and lost now i cant trust anyone. I feel alone and not wanted by anyone. I have self harm but there was thoughts of it. I am calling today to talk to someone to get the help i need. never trust anyone from the internet they are up to no good.

I was 21 years old when I was swept off my feet by a boy at my college. I was young and so impressionable. I had gotten out of a safe long term high school relationship and had been single for about a year. When I met college boy he gave me everything that my previous relationship had not. He was exciting and popular. He had a lot of party friends and he made me feel like I was his soulmate and that we were meant to be together in such a short amount of time. He played off of all my insecurities and knew exactly what to say to me. I fell in love fast. I was enamored by him. He definitely came with his red flags. He did not have a job, a license (DUI), and he loved drinking and partaking in party drugs. I was newly 21 and in the sorority/ fraternity scene at my college. Life seemed to be full of partying. It all seemed so normal and "cool". I did my first drugs with him and I was hooked off all of these highs he was giving me. I was so hooked that I didn't even notice the first time he was verbally abusive. I told him I needed to run to the store (I had to poop and was scared because he lived with a house full of boys). He said he would go with me. When we got into the car and he realized that was the only reason I needed to "run to the store" he started to get irrationally angry and screamed at me. I was scared but also angry... I yelled back and was put in my place immediately. I knew it was wrong but life with him was so great and we were so in love and that was the first time my boundary was pushed and I chose to ignore it. The next time was when he found out I was taking medication for my anxiety. He shamed me and told me that those pills will make me crazy. That he didn't know I was taking SSRI's or he would have not been okay with it. He punched a hole in the wall by my head and flipped a table trying to hit me. I had my friend pick me up and the next day I was back at his house. He had said he was drinking too much, he apologized, but he also made me believe that I should get off the medication... So I did... Cold turkey. This was the second time my boundary was pushed even further than the last incident and I ignored it. There were many little events that continued to occur in the next few months. I let him know of a serious family trauma that had happened to my family and he told me "my dad was a pussy for the way he handled it". He continued talking shit about my dad and making me feel like this trauma that had happened to us was our fault. I ended up packing up my stuff and walking outside. He came out and apologized (again it was the drinking) and I apologized for "escalating" things as well. I always thought our fights were a two way street and that I was also at fault for what had occurred. Another time he was out extremely late and I kept asking when he would be home. He came home extremely angry, packed up all of my things and told me to get the fuck out and that we were done. I had cried to everyone that he had broken up with me. I told everyone it was my fault for being too needy and pushing him too far. He called me later that night and told me he would forgive me and told me to come home. He started to talk badly about my friends and people in my life and so I slowly started to drift away from them and who I was. I started to lose sight of my moral compass as each boundary was pushed further during every incident that occurred. Then at around 6 months of dating the big event occurred. We were out drinking with friends. We took an Uber home and he brought up his dog that had been wrongfully taken from him (AKA he gave it to someone else and was mad they moved away). I told him to shut up about the dog and he lost it. He got extremely physical with me. I was pushed, choked multiple times and thrown to the ground multiple times. I threw a pot of water boiling that was on the stove to create space between us after he put his hands on me. The look in his eyes after this occurred was one of the scariest moments of my life. He chased me with a knife outside into the street, threw me on the ground, and then ran back inside grabbed a wine bottle and chucked it out into the street at my head. I started to scream yelling "HELP ME HELP ME I AM GOING TO DIE" he went back inside and grabbed all of my things and started cutting them with the knife and throwing them at me. He shattered my phone as well and then he locked me out of the house while I was in the street screaming for help. The police finally came... they took my statement and immediately arrested him. The thoughts I had this entire time were that I regretted escalating anything. I just wanted to go back inside and be with him and go to bed. I screamed for them not to arrest him and the police officer sat me down and explained to me that I was in a domestic violence relationship. I couldn't believe what he was telling me. I did not have a phone so I told him my childhood best friend's phone number and she came and picked me up. The events that followed were horrific. I was not given resources or taken care of. All charges were dropped due to insufficient evidence. This was because the police had to come the next day to take pictures of my marks and it was not added into the police report. I went to the doctors and found out I had severe whiplash from the event. It only took 3 weeks for me to get back together with him. After that was one of the best honeymoon phases I had ever experienced. I was convinced he just had an alcohol problem and that I was just as much to blame as he was for the fight. Even though he did not get into any legal trouble the college had found out about what happened because before we got back together I had tried to switch out of the class we shared. They alerted the Title 9 office and there was an investigation. He and his lawyer manipulated me into lying about what happened and telling them that I didn't think he should have any punishment. I did this... he ended up getting suspended for a semester and having to attend a few AA classes. I ended up staying with this man for 4.5 more years. We moved into together, I completely distanced myself from family and friends. No physical abuse was as horrid as that night but the emotional and verbal abuse continued. It also turned into withholding sex because of the way I looked, distancing me from friends and family, breaking my personal items in front of me, punching holes in our walls, lying to me constantly, yelling at me that I am worthless while I am crying on the floor, and just so much more. We even got a dog together and I now realize how abusive he was to our poor pet as well. There were many other bigger traumatic events that also occurred from his drinking during this time too. It was the prolonged exposure to all of this abuse that really had the biggest effect on me. Here I am 3 and half years out of this relationship now. I just accepted that I was truly in an abusive relationship because the gaslighting started to become something my brain naturally did to myself. I did not trust myself nor my feelings. I have had to rely on other people to validate everything for me because I do not know what feelings are deserved and what aren't. I have learned that all feelings are deserved to be felt. I am married now and in an extremely healthy relationship after having to move back to my hometown after the break up. I have found myself again and connected to my inner child. I have been in therapy for the entire time post-breakup and this has helped a lot. I was diagnosed with Complex PTSD and this diagnosis has helped me with my healing as well. It has also helped me with truly validating myself and what I repeatedly went through. I am realizing that some of these things will now be engrained in me forever and that I have to accept myself for who I am and what I have been through. I have to know I am a stronger and more empathetic human that is able to deeply appreciate life and healthy relationships that I have now. Everything is more colorful and beautiful because of all the dark things I have been through. I continue to work on myself and I have now reached a point where I feel I am ready to help others. I hope this story is a start. It does not include everything but it does include a basis of that 5 year relationship that changed me forever. YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

I joined the army getting it drilled in my head and cursed at and belittled for months about INTEGRITY ARMY VALUES RESPECT all to just live with trauma and disappointment by leadership who failed me and soldiers who took advantage. From serving with two separate units, both were gut wrenching anytime I had to be present and oh did they make sure that I was. Joining the Army is my biggest disappointment and hardest anger from healing to overcome. Please pray for me.

I just filed a protection order in January. I have held on because I saw the hurt child within my partner and so it was easy to rationalize why he had negative behaviors. The last straw was when he apparently didn’t want me in the garage so he kicked over tools that were stored in totes and picked up an Axe and shattered a mirror. He looked at me while holding the Axe and I just retreated and created space because I didn’t want to create a reason for his anger to escalate any further. I am filing for divorce and am hoping to get sole custody as I want our son to have a safe and healthy childhood and my soon to be ex husband cannot provide that at this time. I pray he can heal but I cannot save an Adult as I cannot cause someone else to choose healing. Last I heard he is running around town looking to get high. I think he might just be reckless in his actions and emotions at this time. I have anxiety but I lock my doors and when he did violate the protection order he did go to jail so I hope that is motivation for him to not break it again but I’m not sure if it is or not. I was going through my google account and saw videos that he was putting cameras in our closet or bedroom which he did not notify me off. I also had to cut so much outside friends or people in general because he assumed the worst as others may be seeking inappropriate relationships with me, but that was never the case. I know he is most likely playing the victim but the patched holes in the wall the broken door frame and the shattered mirror tell a different story. If he wants to blame me that’s fine. My peace, safety and happiness is more important and my children deserve safe home.

My husband is abuse emotionally, physically and financially. He threatens to kill me if I leave him. I have tried to engage his family but they keep defending him. Everyday is a blessing that I am still alive.

Growing up the idea of a husband (or a partner of any kind) being forceful with their partner was romanticized everywhere. Luke and Laura on General Hospital were portrayed as this grand romance, all the while knowing there was a rape in their history. So when my now ex-husband started forcing me to have sex when I wasn’t in the mood and was physically in pain right after I had had a miscarriage, and continued afterwards, I had this misguided belief that it was acceptable and just part of a relationship. It wasn’t until I finally reached out for help due to depression and anxiety, after years living as an alcoholic to try to self medicate other abuse trauma, that she helped me grasp I had been repeatedly raped and sexually assaulted on top of being physically and emotionally abused. Coming to terms with this finally helped me understand there was a root to my unhealthy relationship with sex. Grasping that no, it wasn’t OK and just something that happened to be forced. The change in the way these things have been seen and portrayed has also helped me find a better balance within. I’ve survived that trauma, and lived to see marital rape removed from the rape penal code exemption. Taking back my power over my life afterwards has been difficult, but I’m still here. I can still help others. No More!

I was sexually abused by my father when I was 8 years old. Once I got a bit older I realized the damage that it was bringing to my life. At 15 I finally told my mom what my own father did to me. In my early 30s I began going to church faithfully and that’s when I finally forgave him. Fast forward to when I turned 35 I received a phone call that my dad had been arrested for something similar. And currently at the moment I am fighting for justice once more. Hoping that finally this can be put in the past.

I Say No More because there are too many of us living and struggle with our everyday lives because we are ashamed about what another person has done to us. Me for an example; my abuse was on and off throughout my childhood. The longest lasted 4 years. By me staying silent for so long, to I have PTSD, Emotional Disorder and Depression. I had to learn how to gain control of my life that I didn't know for the longest that I could. I'm taking it one step at a time. See those people may have took away my childhood but they couldn't take away my LOVE, JOY and now my PEACE away.

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.

I haven’t talked to anyone about the abuse that happened to me. It was 5 years the guy I once fell so hard for became a monster, a sadistic, evil predator. I need to share this story so I can finally say it and maybe let it go. It was just another day about year and 1/2 into relationship. The abuse started slowly at 6 months it did become a 4 to 5 day a week occurrence. I started to be able to see the signs when he was going to start a fight and they would last all night sometimes days and he would always take away any access for me calling for help. That’s how I knew it was starting this time he started asking stupid questions like picking a fight. I was doing my best to act like I didn’t know what was going on and win him over play whatever role he needed so he would stop before it got to the point I was fighting for my life. However, he then grabbed my phone and threw it out the window accusing me of talking to some guy. It was right then I knew what I needed to get help quick. We were staying at a hotel and it was 2 levels. Where I was standing gave me enough distance to bolt up the steps before he could grab me and run into bathroom. I remembered there was a phone on the wall in bathroom. He was standing by the phone in living room when he tossed my phone this was his evil way of letting me know I had no way of calling for help. So quick split decision I bolted up the steps before I got to top I fell down as he grabbed my foot. I turned quickly and hit him in the face with my other foot which his grip then released enough for me to make it in the bathroom and lock the door. I then grabbed the phone and pressed zero for front desk. My heart was pounding.. I couldn’t believe I did it.. I was going to be ok this time he didn’t win.. I waited and heard nothing so I hanged the receiver up picked it up again put it my ear and pressed zero. I didn’t even hear a dial tone. I thought to myself what is going on that’s when I heard his evil laugh outside the bathroom door and I realized he had taken the cord from the phone already. He started taunting me saying.. Why would I do this to him he loves me and if I don’t come out right now it’s only going to be worse the longer I make him wait. Screaming wouldn’t have helped as there were no other guests near our room and no one would hear through the soundproof walls anyways. He always made sure to get a hotel with soundproof walls to prevent people from heating me scream for help. I sat there feeling like I was in a movie this is not happening to me.. I felt so defeated and absolute despair and fear and a knowing that I might just die right now if I don’t walk out to that monster and face the horrible torture and pain he is about to inflict on me. My head was down cradled in my palms and I can’t put into words what I was feeling at that moment I opened the door knowing he was right there waiting. He kicked me in knee caps grabbed me by hair and drug me 1/2 way down the stairs then banged my head against the steps several times while professing how much he loves me. Then he begun choking that was his favorite thing to do to me. This time though he held on for longer pressing down on windpipe so hard I swear he broke it. It was always bruised for years. Wait the world is closing in I feel like I’m falling down a tunnel and everything is getting darker smaller and smaller from a big circle until black… now I’m awake he is crying and laying next to me holding my head and body kissing me oh my god I love you, I’m so sorry I love you so much. That felt so good to be held right then and now it was over that wasn’t to bad well I’m still alive at least.

Trigger warning. I was sexually abused at the age of 5. My mom’s boyfriend’s uncle took me on a tractor ride with my brother. My mom’s boyfriend’s uncle pulled down my pants and touched me. He dropped me off by the side of the road and took my brother with him. I ran after the tracker, calling my brother’s name. After he picked us both up, he dropped us off back at the house. I told my grandma what happened, and she wanted to call the cops. My mom said she would take care of it. She didn't do anything. The next time I was abused, I was 6. My mom was with someone else. He was my stepdad. He was drunk and got in bed with me naked. I don't remember what happened now, but my mom told me that I told her he raped me, and she said that I was bleeding. When I was 7, my step-sister wouldn't play Barbies with me unless I kissed and massaged her. She was 9. I should have just said no. I don't know what's wrong with me. When I was 14, my mom was dating someone else, and he would always touch me. I told him to stop, but he wouldn't listen. He said I was hot; he touched me everywhere, every day for four years. He chased me around the house, trying to get me to sit on his lap. He stood in my room watching me. I was afraid to go to sleep. I was also scared to change into PJs. I didn't want him coming in on me. I stayed up until midnight because that's what time he got up. When I fell asleep, I dreamed of him raping me. When I woke up, my pants were unbuttoned, and the zipper was down. I don't know if he did anything or not in my sleep. I told my mother what happened, but I don't think she wanted to believe it even though she saw him chase me around the house. At age 19, my boyfriend at the time raped me. I didn't want to do anything with him with his son in the room. He didn't take no for an answer, and he tossed me around like a rag doll. He took my phone and wouldn't let me call anyone. He called his two guy friends to take me home. I shouldn't have gone with them, but they didn't touch me. The guy I was dating gave me my phone back when I got in the car, and I called my grandma. After I went to the cops, they didn't do anything. At the age of 22, I was sexually abused again. I don't feel comfortable saying who. He did apologize, though. Watching Law & Order SVU gave me a sense of justice, watching the rapists go to jail. Mariska Hargitay is my hero.

HOW I STARTED MY HEALING JOURNEY by Name My healing journey began after I spent five years in a narcissistically abusive relationship. It was a constant cycle of hot and cold, back and forth, until I finally got sick of the bullshit and chose to walk away for good. In the beginning, I simply sat with my feelings. I reflected on everything I’d endured and allowed my emotions to flow naturally. It’s easily one of the hardest parts of the process, but you have to let those feelings out for the healing to begin. I then moved on to one of the scariest tasks: breaking down my past. When we look at our trauma as one giant mountain, it just feels like a jumbled mess of chaos. By identifying each experience as its own separate event, it becomes much easier to process. To get these thoughts out of my head, I put them on paper. If you’re starting this journey, get a notebook and write down everything as it comes up. Use it as your primary tool. I began with my most recent experience of narcissistic abuse. I dove into podcasts and articles, desperate to understand what had happened to me and how it was affecting my mental health. Once I understood the 'what,' I started researching the 'how'—as in, how do I heal from this? That’s when I discovered the connection to childhood trauma. It’s a major key to the puzzle because we carry those early experiences into our adult lives. There is so much information available; you just have to find the pieces that fit your life. Healing is deeply individual, and you get to choose the path that works best for you."

I dated someone for 4 years and they were very abusive I forever wish I would’ve reported the abuse that went on but instead I kept quiet. I am forever thankful that I was able to wake up mentally one day and realize it was not fair to keep being with someone who was physically violent with me and that person did not love me. I am still recovering even years later from this but every day is a new journey and you have to take each day by day because it will get better.

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