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I was young and naive. I didn't even know what rape was. I sought help from my friends only to be met with all of the "why didn't you...this?" or "why didn't you...that?" From that point on I blamed myself and never spoke about the rape. In my early adulthood, I had a coworker that recognized something in me and she asked me if I had been raped. She offered me support and resources. I still hadn't ever heard of any advocacy programs. At age 25, I applied for a new job working with child abuse victims. Little did I know, but they also worked with victims of domestic violence and sexual assault. I found my healing there and I continue to work there 31 years later. I found my healing and strength through educating the public and advocating for others. As I get older, I get bolder. I no longer fear sharing my story.

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.

My husband and I met online in 2004. He was an actor and we began chatting on one of his movie's IMDb boards. In 2006, he flew to Tennessee from California to meet me in my hometown, and after a year together, we moved to Los Angeles. He'd grown up here; I'd never been west of the Rockies. Once settled in LA, we had a tumultuous relationship, caused partly by having very little money (an understandable conflict in a partnership). But the main cause of trouble for us were his family and friends, and he rarely defended me to or protected me from them - an unforgiveable conflict in a partnership. Most of them decided right away that they didn't like me for reasons like my anaphylactic peanut allergy preventing him and me from attending the family Thanksgiving because they insisted on deep-frying the turkey in peanut oil. His mother and siblings didn't like me because I wouldn't answer the door if they dropped by unannounced, and because I asked them not to call either of us past 10pm. A lot of his friends didn't like me because I would come home from working all day and get upset that my unemployed boyfriend and his friends were sprawled out on the couch playing video games, and I eventually put a stop to those visits. A very vocal and cruel critic of mine was one of his ex-girlfriends, who had sent naked pictures of herself to him as a "Christmas present" the first year he and I were together. After I innocently found them (we shared passwords/accounts), I questioned why he needed to keep her as a friend, as "friendship" didn't appear to be what she wanted from him. She blasted me as insecure, possessive, controlling, and immature, and for the duration of our entire relationship, she would badmouth me and try to convince him to break up with me - even after we were married. Those are only a few examples of my setting boundaries and the people in my husband's life trampling all over them and then making me seem like I unreasonable, unstable, and undeserving of being with him. We married in 2016. The aforementioned ex-girlfriend begged him not to marry me, one of his siblings refused to attend the wedding because he didn't like me, and five days before my wedding - which was on my parents' 50th wedding anniversary - his mother sent my mother a long letter detailing all the things she didn't like about me. Despite the attempted interferences, we had a beautiful wedding and about two happy years of marriage. The awful treatment of me continued, but I felt I had won: he married me, and I deserved the happiness I was enjoying. In March 2018, during an argument about how sick I was of how his family and friends treated me, he headbutted me. It truly came out of nowhere. He had never been violent in any way before, and whilst we were exchanging angry words - not even yelling - he simply walked over, grabbed my shoulders, and headbutted me, twice. I immediately developed two black eyes and a bump on my forehead. I was devastated, but I didn't tell anyone. We didn't speak about the incident after that night. In August 2018, we were having a heated conversation whilst eating dinner. I don't even remember what we were talking about. But he stood up, walked around the table, grabbed my shoulders, and headbutted me again. This time I had black eyes, a bump, and a gash above my nose. After this incident, I started seeing a therapist, but I didn't want to tell him about the violent incidents because I was concerned that he'd have to report it, and my husband might get arrested. Instead, I unloaded all the frustration about the horrible treatment I received from his family and friends. I also nurtured two of my own friendships I'd had for awhile, with a woman and a man (who didn't know each other). I told them, separately, about the violent incidents. The woman immediately told me about an act of violence (shoving) she experienced with her fiancé, and offered no additional support. The man encouraged me to leave my husband. I also told my parents about the violence, and they did not believe me. In August 2019, my husband slapped and strangled me. I went to urgent care to be treated for the strangulation, and the nurses called the police. My husband wasn't arrested, but he was sent to court due to the police report the urgent care initiated. I decided that I was afraid to live with him, and asked him to move out. My male friend helped me with rent money so I could afford to live on my own. My husband told his friends and family that I'd been having an affair for months, possibly years, which was not true. They believed him, and they believed that they'd been right about me all along - that I was unreasonable, unstable, and undeserving of being with him. His mouthy ex-girlfriend is a psychologist, and she convinced my husband that I have narcissistic personality disorder and that he is the victim. I went to court on his behalf to prevent him from going to jail, though he did need to complete anger courses and pay fines. His family is trying to help him get his record expunged, because they don't think he deserves to have this follow him for the rest of his life. I, however, have to carry the memories of harassment, cruelty, violence, and devastation for the rest of MY life. My therapists in the years since have not diagnosed me with a personality disorder. Rather, I have been diagnosed with PTSD from what one of them called "a lifetime of abuse". I was abused for years by my husband's mother, siblings, ex-girlfriends, friends, and finally by my husband himself. They're right about one thing: I didn't deserve him. I deserved so much better.

I am Name years old single mom of two beautiful kids ages 10 and 12 years old. I was once a victim of abusement, harassment, assault, defamation, and rudeness of other people when I am just a simple, kind and silent person. Until now, they still look down on me and I don't know what have I done why they hate, angry and so rude to me. They are treating me like I am not an educated person when I am and they keep on look down on me because we are just simple and in a middle class person or family. And they think that they think better than me and I don't have any complain of it but they keep trying to argue with me that I am a better dumb person to them. And it's kind of abusing to think of that way that they think like that to me and that's insult me of my human being. I don't know what to do right now on how to express of this. My family I dont know if they doesn't know about this or they know about this or just hiding from me that they know everything but they really dont agree with me all the time or don't believe in me. What help should I seek for this matter of existence!?

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

I just wanted to share that after leaving a domestic violence relationship, there is hope for healing and a healthy relationship. I had to learn to love myself again and find my happiness. I truly wanted to give up multiple times through my journey as I could not see a happy end to it but I am forever grateful that I kept pushing forward. I hope my story can reach one person going through the same thing and let her or him know there is hope. My ex husband verbally abused me for years and when the verbal abuse stopped working it turned physical. Anytime he would physically abuse me he would take away all means for me to seek help (ie cell phone, car keys etc) and I would not be able to get away until the next day. Following the abuse he would deprive me of sleep that same night so I was always be physically and mentally drained the following day. I tried to go to the police department multiple times the day after these incidents happened and they would tell me there was nothing they could do unless if I made contact when it was happening. I was baffled with the lack of support. My daughter would witness some of his events but was too scared to call anyone because she was afraid of retribution from her dad. No child should ever have to witness a parent abusing the other. She has had to be in counseling after the divorce because she felt guilt over not calling the cops and PTSD from witnessing his attacks on me. I finally got the courage to leave when he started to threaten to kill me and himself. Law enforcement again said that there was nothing that they could do during this time. We went to court and I thought I would finally get my chance to be heard and I was very wrong. The courts hired a guardian ad litem (GAL) to represent my daughter. I explained the abuse to her and she stated that she no longer cared about the abuse on me because I have removed myself from the situation by moving out. She also told my 10 year old daughter at the time that she needed to forget about it as well and start over fresh. She also said to my daughter to not be listening to me which made my daughter felt like she did not have a voice. My ex husband charmed the GAL into thinking that I filled my daughter's head with all of the abuse and negative talk about him and the GAL threatened to send me in for a mental evaluation. She also threatened to take custody from me. This was all because I was fighting so hard for someone just to listen to me. I had even provided professional witnesses that the GAL refused to contact. I've never felt so down and so voiceless in my life. This is when I decided I was going to fight harder and not give up. I volunteered to go talk to whoever they wanted me to talk to as long as my soon to be ex husband had to have the same evaluation. The judge ordered us to family and individual counseling. Within the first month of counseling the counselor diagnosed him as a narcissistic psychopath and me as having PTSD from domestic violence. She also recommended extensive counseling for our daughter as she was depressed and had severe anxiety. It was freeing to feel validated but the fight was far from over. The second he was diagnosed by the counselor, my ex husband stopped cooperating in counseling even though it was court ordered. I had to file months of contempt court motions and was forced to find a new counselor because he claimed that one was biased. The second counselor diagnosed him with the same thing. I was recommended by the first counselor to bring all of my proof to the police department and try to file charges against him. I had 24 months from the last attack to file a police report. I met one officer that had the kindest soul and was married to a domestic abuse survivor. He stated that State law so infuriating. He informed me that the prosecutor most likely won't even take my case since I've moved out and away from the situation. He did sincerely apologize and he listened to me. He sat down with me and let me tell him my whole story. He told me that he went through all of this with his now wife and it is so frustrating. He also shook my boyfriend's now husband's hand that came up there with me for support. That was the one law enforcement officer that listened to me out of many interactions but he made the biggest impact on my life. I have now been married for 3 years. I still struggle with certain triggers but they are less often. My husband is aware of them and is so patient with me. I had to retrain my brain to not be in constant flight or fight constantly. Some days are harder than others but the hard days are less frequent. I've learned to slow down and appreciate the smaller things in life. I slowly took my voice back. I filed a report with the State of State for the GAL and she was investigated for misconduct. There are many days where I felt like a black cloud was following me. I promise there is green grass and blue skies on the other side of that hill so just keep pushing forward.

Seems like it was just yesterday and some days it still is as I struggle to not be pulled back into the never ending cycle of abuse post separation. When I first decided to leave my children’s father my son wasn’t even one years old and my daughter just shy of five years old. It took going to a domestic violence center with my step mom and having to explain everything that my ex had done to the advocate to see and understand that I was experiencing domestic violence. I wish I could say that my story ends there… but here I am 7-8 years later still experiencing post separation abuse. I’ve accomplished a lot since leaving like graduating nursing school, paying off my car and most important trying to provide a safe and loving home for my children. Healing is definitely an ongoing process… We all deserve more than abuse no matter what form.

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 in an abusive relationship for 3 years. I left several times but it wasn't until police intervention that I finally ended things, and even then it took an additional year to fully understand that I had been an victim of domestic abuse. It started small, I would make excuses for him and the love bombing and manipulation made me thing it was a small price to pay because what we had was so specials. As things escalated I could not admit to myself that I was a victim that I had let myself allow these things to happen. Someone like me with loving family and friends and seemingly prefect life couldn't be the victim of abuse. The shame and the silence isolated me and I am still in the process of understanding it wasn't my fault and anyone can become a victim of abuse. I worry that if I tell my family , friends and future partners what happened they will judge me, consider me weak and question why I stayed for so long. I continually have to convince myself that I am strong, that this wasn't my fault, and that I shouldn't have to be the one afraid to make others uncomfortable by sharing my story. A partner should never make you feel unsafe, you are not alone and anyone can become a victim. The only one that is weak and should be uncomfortable is the abuser. Sharing your story is one of the best tools to support others and help you on your own healing journey.

Remember those 80s rom-coms? The struggling, mysterious soul, charming yet obviously troubled? Tough guy exterior, Jud Nelson type with a soft heart. He is exciting, but he is also a big wall of red flags? Yeah that’s what I thought was love. The first time, we had just started seeing each-other and he was helping me shop for a cute outfit. I tried on a top that was cute but absolutely not too revealing. He said absolutely not, so I stood my ground ( his objections were baseless and I’d never been told this by anyone). We were seeing MY best friends and their boyfriends, people I had partied with and hung out with for YEARS before meeting him- I wasn’t meeting his parents. I wasn’t going to church. And I absolutely looked just fine. He stormed out and left me at the mall by myself. I walked home and finally he chased me down as I was almost home and dropped to his knees crying apologizing for what he did and said. We had great sex and argument was over. The cycle continued. I spoke to someone too long ( my friends nerdy cousin about my upbringing- nothing gross or inappropriate- he just thought it was cool and was talking to me with ny ex right there) my ex - now husband - refused to hold my hand and told me my touch made his skin crawl- why was I flirting with that guy? I am in shock thinking we’d had a great day in the city and made new friends. Then the emotional abuse and withdrawal from sex almost immediately followed after we got married. He wasn’t turned on by me, he’s dated more petite girls… I went on diets. He still withheld sex and affection and I started to become a shell of insecurities. Then the anger, we had a son who had to manage two people in constant conflict. My ex punched walls, broke iPads, remotes. He was never around and I was alone yet never enough to him, the home we made was a giant disappointment, we were a giant disappointment, and our son is seeing his father destroy his house in anger and u treated manic depression. No one knew this. He was loved at work, he was smart, funny; charming - I mean they all asked me - are you X wife? Heard so much a out you! We love him! Our dry cleaning lady who spike limited English, my coworkers and friends, my family. They saw who I fell in love with but not who I lived with. Who got to see the charm suddenly turn off- like a magnet, the instant we walked out of the restaurant or closed the doors to the car. The sun suddenly went dark and I was the emotional punching bag. This culminated at my sisters wedding in Spain. He almost didn’t go- but then went and my mother saw how he dragged my son to bed mid festivities when it was late and he had been watching my son like a hawk. He carried him like a sack of potatoes she said , dragging him off the floor and my mom asked me if I was ok with this. I wasn’t. It was my daily struggle. She finally saw my life, she finally saw my terror. I asked him to leave when we returned and I continue to coparent with him. I continue to redraw my boundaries. I get therapy and o rebuild myself bit by bit. It’s been 6 years and because of our child I will always be exposed to his cruelty. I have to teach my son to do better. I have to undo behavior he still sees. But now I am stronger and I have done what I need to to shield my son as much as I legally can. To balance the good parts of him and protect us from the bad. It continues to be a job but I am here. I am loved by someone new. I give my son a different ending and a different view of love.

For years, I lived through something no one should ever have to go through. It started when I was young, and the person who hurt me was someone I was supposed to trust, my stepfather. He was supposed to protect me, but instead, he took advantage of me in the worst way. Growing up, I thought my stepfather was someone I could trust. He was supposed to be part of my family, someone who would keep me safe. But instead, he became the person who hurt me the most. The abuse started when I was just a little girl, too young to understand what was happening. It began with small things, touches that felt wrong, words that made me uncomfortable. But over time, it became something much worse. It happened mostly at night, when everyone else was asleep. I’d wake up to the sound of the door creaking open, and my heart would start racing. I’d pretend to be asleep, hoping he would leave, but he never did. He would sit on the edge of my bed, and I could feel his weight pressing down on me. I would lie there, frozen, too scared to move or say anything. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to make it stop. I just wanted it to be over. Sometimes, he would wait until my mom was at work or when she traveled. Those were the worst times because I knew no one was coming to save me. I would hear his footsteps in the hallway, and my stomach would twist into knots. I would try to hide, to make myself small, but it didn’t matter. He always found me. He would come into my room, and I would feel so helpless, so alone. I wanted to scream, to run away, but I was too scared. I didn’t know what would happen if I tried to stop him. I hated myself for not being able to fight back. I hated myself for not being brave enough to tell someone. But I was just a kid. I didn’t know how to protect myself. I didn’t know how to make it stop. I felt like I was trapped in a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. The worst part was the silence. I couldn’t tell my mom. I was too scared of what would happen if I did. What if she didn’t believe me? What if she blamed me? What if it made things worse? I didn’t want to hurt her, and I didn’t want to tear our family apart. So I kept it all inside. I carried the weight of my secret every day, and it felt like I was drowning. The pain and shame were too much to carry. All I thought about was committing suicide just to end it all, so that I wouldn’t feel the weight of what was happening to me. I felt dirty, broken, and like I didn’t deserve to live. I thought if I was gone, the pain would stop, and maybe everyone else would be better off without me. But somehow, I kept going. I don’t know how, but I did. I found little things to hold onto—a friend, a book, a song, anything that made me feel even a tiny bit okay. It took years, but I finally told someone what happened. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it was also the first step toward healing. I’m still healing now. Some days are better than others. I still have nightmares, and I still struggle with trusting people. But I’m learning to be kind to myself, to remind myself that what happened wasn’t my fault. I didn’t deserve it, and I’m not defined by it. If you’ve been through something like this, please know you’re not alone. It’s not your fault, and you deserve to be heard and supported. Healing is possible, even when it feels like it’s not. You are stronger than you think, and your story isn’t over yet. You don’t have to carry this weight alone anymore. It’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to let someone in. You are not broken, and you are not defined by what happened to you. You are so much more than that.

i moved to wheeling this blonde haired handsome cop took an interest in me he was going to leave his girlfriend for me last year. His girlfriend stalked me when he came to see me she was not far behind he went back and forth between me and her. He chose her over me after telling her he loved me he was hardly ever around he would spy on me i left then he blamed me he would throw parties celebratating our engagement i asked him if was going to see someone else please do not rub it in but that is exactly what he did not to mention all the insults i got he never defended me. He then accuses me of cheating saying I hurt a good guy he sent a third party to tell me he was married to someone else then told me he was not married he was supposed to have been engaged but shes now single there was this woman who went on facebook saying he was a bad boy.

Hi there, To anyone still in an abusive or toxic relationship, or healing from one like I am — I want you to know that you are strong enough to break free and to heal. It’s important to remember that none of this is your fault. You don’t have to go through this alone. Speak up, ask for help, and believe in yourself again. I was in an abusive relationship for 8.5 years, and it’s been 9 years since, the time it took me to realize that this isn’t something you have to face by yourself. I wish I could go back and tell my younger self this! Please don’t keep it a secret. People will listen, and you will find your way out and begin to heal. Don’t let anyone, including yourself, tell you otherwise. You deserve to be safe, happy, and free. ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

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

It is important to clarify that in my case, this was not a romantic/sexual relationship – it was a teacher/student, mentor/mentee, falsified mother/daughter type of situation. She never had children and was trying to, in some ways, adopt me as her own. It is still considered domestic violence under the definition, though it is not the typical case. When I was a teenager in high school, I was in a very dark place mentally and contemplating suicide and needed to see someone. A trusted family member recommended a therapist to my mother. Although at the time I recalled not having good feelings about her – I felt distrustful vibes – I went to her for therapy for a few years. Primarily to please my mother and hopefully balance out my emotions in the process. The abuse, from a psychological standpoint, began when I saw her for therapy as a teenager, but I didn’t really become aware of that until I reconnected with her in my 30s – after the death of my brother. As a professional in the mental health field, she took advantage of my weakened mindset and spiritual views by manipulating me with her delusional state of being – she claimed to have strong spiritual power and a connection to God. Craving spiritual guidance and balance, she convinced me to live with her so she could become my true spiritual teacher. She gradually showed her true colors the longer we lived together in a mentor/mentee situation. She became more controlling of my every move and my time. She persuaded me to cut off from family and trusted friends – making me believe that she was the only one I could trust in the world. Truly isolating me from everyone who cared about me. The anger she displayed was terrifying. She became extremely unstable and even suicidal over time. Subjecting me to more mental, emotional, psychological, and spiritual abuse than I could ever write about. My gut, my instincts, told me this was an incredibly unhealthy situation after only a few months of living with her. Still, I had known her for almost two decades and she was a professional in the mental health field. Surely, she could be trusted to have my best interests in mind, right? She also had health issues and made sure I knew she needed me by using my genuine kindness and character against me to keep me attached. The tipping point was when I believed I truly saw her demonic side show itself visually. This person is claiming to be close to God. So witnessing her demonic behavior shook something in my mind. My inner voice said," She isn't who she says she is. Feel this in your heart. You need to get out!" The process was confusing and messy in my mind. I had been groomed to trust her since I was a teenager. Now in my 30s, I felt many conflicting feelings about leaving because of this. A friend of mine, who was also a medium, contacted me after performing an intercession and told me just how bad the situation was and that I needed to leave NOW. I felt this message deeply and acted on it right away. I called my one remaining friend to tell her I needed a place to go and fast. Luckily my friend accepted me with open arms. For so many years I felt guilty for leaving…like I was the one that messed everything up. Ha! The one friend that remained in my life was also who accepted me the day I needed out quickly. She was the most understanding and incredibly sympathetic person. I will always be grateful to her and her kindness! Unfortunately, my family was cut off early in my relationship, so they didn't know anything about my abuse for quite some time after I left. When I finally reached out to repair those familial relationships, they were understandably upset at her and comforting to me. I’m proud my family comforted me once I opened up to them. After almost everyone knew what had happened, they wholeheartedly supported me, and that was truly healing.

I grew up in a very violet household and later found myself in a terrifying situation after leaving my partner. I was stalked and maliciously attacked by him. I was unable to get much help as he was a military man and the city has more intentions of protecting him than me. It has made me one of the strongest people I know. I am a survivor and I use my voice and story to inspire others to get out and find a new way. It ends with all of us together.

For almost 20 years, I was in an emotionally abusive relationship. When we met, I had recently escaped from an abusive relationship. I was extremely vulnerable, and he took advantage of this with love bombing, grooming, and gaslighting. After severe (suicidal) postpartum depression and the birth of my son, I decided to file for divorce; I didn't want my son to believe that this toxic relationship was normal. When I filed for divorce, my then-husband became extremely violent to ‘change my mind’ and used me as a punching bag. I called the police, and now he has a record for his stupidity.

In the months following my assasult, I grew so angry. Poetry was my outlet, to not be quiet and be as angry as I wanted. 100 pages of poetry marred by tears, anger, betrayal, hope, and happiness. On the 100th page, it was dedicated to survivors, I hope that whoever reads this, will find some degree of comfort as I did when writing it. Dear Survivors, You are more than enough. You are worthy of all the stars and gold combined on this Earth. What happened does not define you, you are more than that. From one to another, it’s tough, it’s difficult. You’ll have your ups and downs, happy moments and miserably haunting ones. But, I’ll say this; Thrive. In all honesty, thriving will be tough. But it’s the best reward there ever will be. You deserve to thrive and live and have fun and experience life. What happened to you does not define you, but it is a part of you. What happened to you is not shameful, what happened to you is not your fault- it never will be. Do not let those around you shame you and beat down on you, quieting you and your story. You are the writer of your own story. You decide if you want to forgive. You decide if you don’t want to forgive. You decide if you want to be the bigger person or not. You get to decide. Don't let anyone else tell you any differently. C.P.

It's no laughing matter. I'm no laughing matter. I don't know which is worse, the abuse I endured at the hands of someone I knew for 10 years or the utter joke it became for the city that it happened in. The joke, the filth I became. My head has never been clear enough to get out exactly what I'm trying to because it's filled with so many unanswered questions and the knowing that I could of been saved from years of pain, suffering, had anyone including the authorities taken what was happening to me seriously. I was married 6 weeks when I discovered the guy I married was nothing like he said. In fact he had been spending his nights on the computer and to this day it haunts me at the content he was watching. The next year I was subjected to numerous beatings. Twice his own apartment complexes managers either refused to give me help or lied to the police on his account. I was abused in my sleep , I suffered a tbi, no one would help me. He was so sick that beating on me made him happy and would try and get me to do things to him. I didn't know what to do because like i said no one including the police took me seriously or to this day 10 years later as I try to file on him,they are more concerned with "why did you go there" or "you're the one who didn't get her way in a domestic violence incident. " If this wasn't enough I moved over 3000 miles away and was told by City law enforcement that I now am responsible for their lies to social security. I had just got a home after swelling on both sides of my brain and had been trying to work on what happened to me however I took it very personal and I tried to end my life and ended up losing my home. I feel like I paid to be raped, I feel dirty, I feel useless. Over the 10 years since I have contacted City law enforcement hundreds of times a year, no joke, hundreds and nothing. They are still refusing to do anything to him even though I sit in my house with documented facts on what he did to me but no one cares to see it. It's emotionally destroying me, it hinders ever aspect of my life. I've had rape crisis case managers try and get answers, I've filled out every paper the Mayor's office sent me. I will get my hopes up and see an email from them and then like always, nothing. No one should be abused is what I say but this feeling of I deserved it consumes me and I'm always trying to explain why I don't. I'm obviously not through the healing process but I want what happened to me out there. I was never aware of the true evils in this world. Never knowing that the police too can cause so much pain but literally laugh it off. I Pray I find the answers I'm looking for. All I can say is my Faith in God was the only thing that kept me able to go. I was robbed, walked until my feet bled so much trauma that I know one day there will be peace. I do know together WE can and I'm so grateful to my AA group and other places I go. Thank you for listening. Thank you for caring.

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