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The day I ran from my abuser, I felt an intense urge to turn the car around. My sister’s voice kept replaying through my head. “Catherine, keep your eyes on the road. Don’t look at your phone. Don’t stop.” For five years, I had been raped, beaten, brainwashed, stripped of my identity and isolated from my family and friends. I knew if I turned that car around, I wouldn’t survive. At first, I couldn’t do anything for myself. My sister had to remind me to brush my teeth, bathe and eat. My abuser had controlled everything, and I mean everything. From what and how much I ate to what I wore, how I spoke, and who I spoke to. I didn’t know how to live outside of him and his needs. For years, I had been operating in survival mode. Everything had centered around him, what he expected from me and what would set him off. I was constantly walking on eggshells. The day I escaped, he told me I was pregnant. The only birth control allowed was the pull-out method. Rape is a hard word for me, because I think of it as being physically held down. But he had psychological control over me. I had no agency or choice. I was to abide by his rules or there would be repercussions. Although pregnancy may have been physically impossible because my weight was around 90 pounds, I was still terrified. I was in the South. If I were pregnant, there would be little to no abortion access. Luckily, I was able to get the Plan B pill within 72 hours. In my mid-20s, I was diagnosed with HPV. My abuser had prohibited me from getting health insurance and health care. The domestic violence hotline gave me resources for health care in my sister’s area, a small town in Georgia. None of these resources would take me because I didn’t have health insurance. The only one who agreed to see me was the health department; they only tested for certain STDs and did not perform gynecological exams. Like many women who have been in my situation, I felt lost. I knew I would be going back home to New Orleans for the holidays. Fortunately, I was able to schedule an exam with Planned Parenthood. They were sensitive to my situation and provided me with information and options. Most importantly, the staff treated me like a person. Since I left, my life has gotten much better, but I’m still on edge. Daily, I have traumatic flashbacks and second-guess and dissect most things.. With holistic therapeutic modalities, I’m healing. The only time the police were called was for me to escape. I had told my abuser I was leaving. He held me hostage in a hotel room for a couple of hours to keep me from leaving. I was able to get out once the police arrived. A year and half after my escape, I called to look into pressing charges. The police had never written a report. There was only documentation of the phone call and the time they arrived and left. They told me to file my own report, which at the time of the incident I didn't know about. So, I filed my report. When I spoke to an investigator, he questioned me on why I was looking at filing charges over a year later. I told him that I had dealt with intense trauma where I couldn't even eat and bathe without being told to do so. He said that it was too late, I. didn't have enough evidence, and it would go no where. And when I called back to at least get the report I filed, the woman was dismissive. And they had NO REPORT. Why would I go through a system that enables, ridicules, and disempowers victims? I am still healing and getting back on my feet, and because of this treatment from the very department that is suppose to have my back, I have decided to put it to bed. For now, my focus is on speaking up and helping other survivors.

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

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

The first sexual assault I went through was when I was 12 years old and my first ever boyfriend I had at the time Raped me he was 14 years old at the time I told him I didn’t want to have sex with him he ended up pushing me on his bed and he ended up raping me I couldn’t even get him off cause he was very heavy & hurting me. I got sexually assaulted when I was 16 years old old and the guy who did it was 22 years old and it was a painful experience when he grabbed my boobs. The third and fourth times I was sexually assaulted from my then boyfriend he was also physically abusive towards me as well he used to always punch me in my stomach and he would hit me on my neck & shoulder I was eventually able to get out of the relationship I am a survivor of rape I am a survivor of sexual assaults I am a survivor of domestic violence as well

In 2007, my ex-husband drove over my foot. He did it out of rage. What followed was something I’ll never forget: ➤ I called the police. ➤ They issued a temporary restraining order. ➤ I went to court, determined to protect myself and my toddler. ➤ He stood before the judge, pleaded, and promised he’d never do it again. ➤ The court believed him. They let him go. The restraining order wasn’t extended. And just like that, I was left to pick up the pieces on my own. I’ve shared parts of my story about surviving domestic violence before. But this part? I’ve kept it to myself. For years, I was ashamed of this story. Not because of what happened to me—but because the world taught me to be ashamed. To be quiet. To “move on” as though resilience meant silence. But here’s the truth: Resilience doesn’t come from silence. 𝐈𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩. This experience, as painful as it was, taught me lessons I couldn’t learn any other way: ➤ I learned how to find my voice, even when no one wanted to hear it. ➤ I learned how to advocate for myself, even when the system failed me. ➤ I learned that survival isn’t the end goal—thriving is. But let’s be clear—this isn’t just about my story. It’s about a culture that protects abusers, excuses toxic behavior, and leaves survivors to fend for themselves. The same culture that let him walk away is the one that: ➤ Enables toxic leadership in workplaces. ➤ Silences survivors of sexual assault and domestic violence. ➤ Ignores the mental health toll of these experiences. 𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 “𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡.” Leadership isn’t just about titles or decisions—it’s about creating a world where: ➤ Survivors feel safe to speak up. ➤ Toxicity is called out, not tolerated. ➤ Resilience is celebrated, not silence. Some stories stay with you until you’re ready—today, I’m ready. Let it end with us. NO MORE Week 2025 hashtag#nomoreweek2025 hashtag#SayNoMore, hashtag#EndTheSilence hashtag#nomoreweek from LinkedIn post: link

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

**Excerpt from my book, Book Title** DEAR RELATIVE: YOU WERE THE REASON You lived among us. My intimate, small, family unit was just what you were looking for to infiltrate. To murder hopes and dreams. All you had to do was look up, and all your dreams and aspirations would come true. All you had to do was to stand in any room below and look up towards the heavens and your dream come true was there sleeping. You looked up and right above your head slept an innocent child that you knew could fulfill your lusts and no one would ever say a word; because no one would believe her. You knew the type of mother I had and how I was being treated. You knew that I was devoid of love and you used that to make me do things to and with you and you did things that should have never been done to me or anyone aged seven and eight. You lived among us. You sought out and retrieved the purity and innocence of an impressionable child, a child who loved unconditionally and dreamed of becoming her world’s savior and patron saint. You see when love was as unconditional as mine, my multifaceted dreams of invincibility and the shiny nightingale syndrome were all doable realities, untouched by human peers with their inordinate, insensitive and mindless babble. Until you! You were a part of my family, living and breathing and growing fifteen steps away from my humble abode. Yes, there were fifteen stairs that separated my home from yours. You came to live with your family. You were welcomed into our home and you truly made yourself at home by siphoning this child’s pure spirit, innocence, and child-like, simplistic, and unconditional nature, which you replaced with hurtful, ugly, filthy, vile, demonic, unnatural impurities of epic proportions. You took advantage of my unfortunate lack of parental love and betrayed me. Did you pray that my mom would send me to that dark place so you could have me? Did you? Don’t lie. It’s way past time to own up to what you did so many years ago. It is way past time for the truth to be told. You STOLE my childhood. You STOLE from me what I should have been able to freely give to my husband, the man given to me by God. You KILLED my womb. You are the reason why I lost a child. You are the reason why I was gang raped. You are the reason why a police officer and a teacher were able to sexually abuse me. You were the reason why men thought they could mistreat me because that was all I knew. You groomed me to be a sex slave and an addict to hurt. You were the reason why love came and never stayed. It wasn’t love. I was a servant to those who lied to me and shamed me into submission. And when they tired of me, they threw me away. You were the reason why I couldn’t care for my children. You were the reason why I couldn’t care for myself. You were the reason why I wanted to die and the reason why I tried. *************************** We continue to harm ourselves by remaining silent. Our silence allows for our lives to remain stagnant and stifled. Your silence prohibits you from living your destiny. We who are abused not only suffer, but our families suffer as well. Even if no one knows what has happened, we do not act the same. We are not the same. Abused men and women may have attitude changes. Sometimes our actions are totally out of character. The people closest to us may receive foul words or we may act irrationally without anyone knowing or understanding why. We know something is wrong, but we have no idea what it could be. Hurt people, hurt people. We wonder why we accept mistreatment from others and we pass off the disrespect from them as something we deserve. Some who are abused gravitate towards their abusers, creating toxic bonds that seem unbreakable and loving but can be debilitating and at times deadly. I did. Those on the receiving end of our hurt don’t deserve the disrespect and or mistreatment either, but it won’t stop if we feel our actions are justified. We use our past as a crutch. Admittedly, just because they won’t do what we tell them doesn’t mean they should be hit on or cussed at unmercifully. Here’s the thing: if you have an issue and a problem and until you see it, and understand it, you won’t get help for it. You are such a wonderful person. That is the way God made you. Those things that may have happened to you were hurtful and degrading and were meant to kill your spirit and your soul. But you proved you are stronger than that. You have beaten the odds and although you may not be completely healed, you are on the right road towards your desired outcome in life, Restoration. Remember, you are not alone. There is no one standing in the way of you achieving your goals except yourself. We can be our own worst enemy. We are truly our own worst critic. Sometimes we even second guess ourselves because someone may have told us a lie that we wholeheartedly believed. They may compare your problems to what they may have experienced in their life in an attempt to belittle your own experience. Do not let anyone keep you from your promise. Not even yourself. You may have been through all of this and possibly more and you may feel like there is no hope for you or that you can’t take it anymore. Yet, you are still here! We are here. Perhaps you can relate to everything you just read because you’ve been through it, or you know someone who has shared their secret with you. Encourage them to speak up and tell someone. Search out those resources, together. Pray. God will send help to you. They will be there for you no matter what. You may have to scream and cry and they’ll have a shoulder and an ear for you. You may need prayer and they’ll pray for and with you. You may not know what you need, and they’ll be there to help you figure it out. Remember, help is on the way. Restoration is on the way. Hope, love, and peace are on the way. Talk to a person who won’t criticize you or try to make you feel like you are the blame for what happened to you. It’s not your fault. Do it for yourself. Do it for your children. Do it for the rest of your life. Keeping silent is like having a closed fist- nothing in and nothing out. You’re locked into your feelings and there’s no one there to help you get out or at least help you to resolve some of the issues and emotions that you may be feeling. Seek professional help. Be open to understanding that there’s hope and that you are not alone. I have faith that is unshakable. I have a love that’s unconditional. I believe that a relationship with Jesus will help you get through those things that are trying to keep you from your journey and from being the person you’re destined to be. He’s available to you. I’m learning that He truly is enough! This is NOT how my story ends; it’s only just begun. We will no longer co-sign the silence.

As I was saying I am happy where I am now I don't know where my abuser is Initial as I called him The abuse was horrible I really didn't know where to turn who I could tell bc if I call the pd he threatened to hit himself to make it look like I was the abuser That meant if he went to jail so did I I was afraid of his friends especially the female friends they hated me I didn't drink or do drugs so I was boring I was even more afraid of his brothers they were more aggressive than Initial was ...my kids (not his ) hated him the feeling was mutual...I just hated his guts I was trapped in a relationship I didn't want to be in He stole from me and when I went on unemployment he took that too I was his slave at everything when I didn't want to be intimate he'd accuse me of cheating I went to women's shelter and he found me I was followed by the time I was ready to leave I found myself wanting him to just end my life he threatened to every day and I would challenge him but he didn't do it bc he was a pussy

I married someone who was safer than my home life, but not safe overall. It wasn’t until some maturing kicked in until I realize I was with another abuser. I married a habitual boundary crosser, then I had a baby with my rapist, then I stayed after rape 2, then I stayed after bruise 1. These are all the same person. I wish I made myself safe before seeking safety in someone else. I wish I waited for my brain to set at 25-ish. I wish I didn’t let him convince me that rape 1 was a misunderstanding. I wish I wasn’t financially trapped. I wish the world payed woman to raise their own children versus paying women a different job to pay someone else to do so. I wish men would take the time to get to know and love women, the way we deserve to be loved, instead they trick, abuse, and mock us. I wish I could put in jail, but I cannot be responsible for putting my sons father in jail. He doesn’t deserve to be that kid because I was too ignorant. But most of all, I wish he was the person he convinced me he was, because I’d be happy, my cup would be filled, I wouldn’t be drained, I would be content, I wouldn’t be in survival mode, we’d get to stay a family. As for now, all I have is playing house until my exist plan is ready. Thank you for reading.

That unbearable and stubborn silence all started as early as age fifteen. It was a silence so reluctant to be heard that I thought it was worth the suffering until the age eighteen. I am now twenty-two years old and I am here to say to you that YOU ARE HEARD. I BELIEVE YOU and THAT BREAK THROUGH IS RIGHT AROUNG THE CORNER. My partner was fifteen as well when the abuse started. Many find that unbelievable but sickness and evil doesn't have an age. Sickness lies within the person that has endured it themselves or for God knows why...There is not one valid excuse for emotional, physical or mental abuse. The abuse didn't start abruptly, it didn't start off with broken bones, bruises and cuts... The abuse started mentally and emotionally. Something as small as him telling me what I could and could not wear. The jealousy of another guy looking at me or myself looking at another guy. His comments and remarks that I was secretly proud of because I felt as if I was something he didn't want to lose, until later I found out I was something he wanted ownership over. Over these few years leading up until my high school graduation the abuse escalated from verbal to physical swiftly. However, there were many times I made excuses for him because I "loved" him and he "loved" me . For every hit. For every slap. For every punch. I forgave him and I believed his "I won't do it again." Not to sound like a broken record but if you didn't know; they always do it again. There were many occasions where I'd hide my black eyes with piled of foundation and powder. One thing I learned is; it's hard to hide a busted lip. I'd cry my eyes out to sleep until my eyes felt like sandpaper. Physical , mental and emotional abuse eventually put me into a state I couldn't describe until the age I am now. The word I associated my trauma with is disassociation . A physical feeling of being in the present but my mind was elsewhere. I suffered this for so long and never spoke up. My fear of being caught dead because I spoke up for help buried all of these emotions of anger, resentment, betrayal etc. I ended up losing my virginity to this boy. Not purposely but out of fear. That has been my biggest regret ever because virginity was something so precious to me... More than often I'd be forced to have sex with him every time or the threat of being punched in my face and beat. This went on months until I couldn't hide the fact that I was literally breaking not just emotional but physical. At the young age of fifteen, he punched me one time and broke my jaw. After the fact he threatened me with a gun. Where does a fifteen year old even get a gun from? Undergoing surgery was definitely something I couldn't hide from anyone. The fear of speaking up overcame me so much until there was no more hiding or lying could do. When I woke up after that surgery the feeling I had in the pit of my stomach is indescribable. I was more than broken. My mouth was wired shut for 30 days. No solid foods. No birthday cake. I spent my seventeenth birthday with my entire mouth wired shut with brackets and rubber bands. Fast forward, I continued to stay because of the threats of exposing secrete naked pictures he'd taken of me while I wasn't looking and threats of killing me. Hell, he threatened me with a gun; was I supposed to think he was lying about actually killing me? I can count the times he's broken into my parent's home woke me out of my sleep. I can count the times he's punched me while driving my car. The abuse got worse and the more I stayed the harder it was to hide once again. At the age of seventeen after he beat me, he raped me. This time I completely lost myself. I didn't want to eat. I didn't want to get out of bed. I didn't want to breathe. I thought I had it bad then until I found out I was pregnant... I absolutely was numb during that entire time he forced himself inside of me. I couldn't feel a thing until the doctor walked in and told me those results. I was mortified... I ended up not keeping the baby after a deep talk with my mom and asking God for forgiveness. Now that I look back it was the best thing I could do for myself at the time. I couldn't stand being with him and the fact that I'd carry half of him for nine months would have destroyed me... I shouldn't have shared the news with him but I did. I couldn't believe the fact that I was pregnant because I have endometriosis. A medical condition that makes it difficult to even become pregnant. Of course the threats came that he would expose that I had an abortion if I didn't respond to his text and NO CALLER ID calls... But would leave the part out that his penis actually got hard after beating me , so he raped me. But guess what I did? I stayed. The police didn't believe the threats, there was no way to trace it from the no caller identification. So I continued to stay involved with him for about a year and a half. After I completely dropped him, the threats got worse. The days I feared the most were happening. The following me and chasing me in public places were insane! Eventually he began to create a paper trail for himself. I ended up getting restraining orders placed against him since the age of fifteen but do you think that stopped him? There would be calls all day and all night, that I was literally on the edge of losing my insanity. There were many times I begged God take me out of this world...I didn't want to be alive anymore. The harassment had me on edge 24/7... the PTSD was so real. BUT by the grace of God I am here today to say it gets better. I am now twenty-two still trying to figure out how to work through some of these emotions I feel. There are a great amount of good days, but then there are days I question God about my situation at such a young age. I just want you to know that everything is working out for your good. I want you to know you are not ignorant to stay in an abusive relationship due to the fear of losing your life over it. I want you to know that things get worse before they get better and most importantly you are not the person they treated you to be. This is your story and you have the pen and white-out to make it over. I love you- Name & Email

I am now 74 years old and still suffer PTSD related to my abuse over 50 years ago. I was married for 7 years and 5 of them were spent trying to find resources so I could leave. Unfortunately, there were none. The police officers would tell me, “You need to figure this out.” I had four children. My second son passed at 6 weeks. Which was a god send because my husband had another girl pregnant. She ended up getting an illegal abortion inCity. My third child, a girl, is still with me. My fourth child I gave up for adoption because I was planning on leaving and didn’t know what my future held. I was rescued by my father on a very chaotic night. I packed two suitcases and my 20 year old sister drove me to their house while my father stayed behind to confront my husband. Of course he completely denied any abuse but my dad had proof that he couldn’t argue with. I believe my dad threatened his life. Within two weeks I was in counseling that was charging what my income was. Nothing. So my counseling sessions were $1.50 a week. I had a hysterectomy that my husband refused to let me have, and signed up for nursing school. I lived with my parents for a little over a year until I graduated. I bought a beater car and became a single mother of 2. I am not an easy person to know because of my suspicions about peoples motives. Trauma is something that fades with time. I married again after five years and have been married 42 years. My message is to never give up. Thankfully, there are many resources for women now. Push and push hard to be seen and heard. I finally found my voice, you can too.

For years, I thought I had escaped the horrors of my childhood. My father’s overt abuse was a storm—loud, angry, impossible to ignore. So when I met him—the man who seemed so different—I thought I had finally found safety. He wasn’t my father. He didn’t yell or scream or raise a hand every other day. At first, he was kind, charming even. I thought everything was great. But over time, the cracks started to show. The cold, distant days where I felt like an inconvenience. The subtle digs and underhanded comments that weren’t enough to call mistreatment but were just enough to make me doubt myself. I’d lie awake at night, crying, unable to understand why I felt so anxious and stressed. I told myself it wasn’t that bad. After all, he wasn’t my father. Yet, deep down, I knew. I knew he could hurt me if I ever pushed too far, and that fear controlled me. As the years passed, the emotional manipulation evolved into something far darker. What started as control turned into sexual abuse. At first, I didn’t see it for what it was—maybe I didn’t want to see it. I clung to the idea that things would get better, that I could fix it, that it wasn’t as bad as it felt. But the progression was undeniable. I couldn’t look away anymore. By the time it ended, I found myself at a police station, hoping for justice, for someone to finally stand up for me. But nothing was done. Nothing. I left that station with no real resolution, but I did leave. That was the day I decided to start over. Healing wasn’t immediate. It’s still day by day. But now I get to choose what my days look like. I am no longer silent. I am no longer hiding. The mask I wore for years is gone, and I speak openly about what I endured, not because it’s easy, but because someone needs to hear it. Someone out there needs to know that they’re not alone, that their perfect-looking marriage may not be so perfect, and that they deserve better. I poured my story into a book, Book Title. It’s not just a story about abuse; it’s a call to recognize the subtle signs, to question the system that so often fails victims, and to challenge the way society dismisses our pain. I know how hard it is to rise, but I also know it’s possible. If you’re in that darkness, know this: you can rise too. Healing isn’t easy, but it’s worth it. And every day, you have the power to choose a better life. Because still, I rise. And so can you.

Women CANNOT physically harm men to anywhere NEAR the same severity tht men can women. Full stop. Before I experienced abuse, I nvr used to be afraid of men. I used to think I could reasonably defend myself against all but the biggest, most muscular guys, tht I'd be able to put up a good fight if ever necessary. Turns out, I had no fucking idea what I was talking about. YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW EASILY HE CAN KILL YOU, SIS. Or cause a traumatic brain injury or rupture ur spleen or break out ur teeth or... You cannot imagine how quickly & effortlessly he can permanently. change. your. life. Do NOT fuck around, sis. RUN. Get. Out. NOW. .... countless women before you miscalculated their risk & many paid with their lives. Please PLEASE act with the urgency tht your LIFE deserves. I love you.

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

I was 16 the first time I was raped. Ten days following my 16th birthday to be exact. My rapist was the first boy that paid attention to me and groomed me with such sophistication for someone of only 18. I was an awkward, shy, overweight young lady who was bullied in school and repeatedly told by boys that I was ugly. I was the weird girl that was ugly, fat and liked pro-wrestling. My rapist latched onto that vulnerability he saw in me and made me feel like someone finally noticed me and that I was worthy of love from someone other than my Mom. On the day the rape happened, he wanted me to come back to his house, knowing that we would be alone because his parents were out of town. After resisting his insistence to have sex, I half-heartedly "consented." This "consent" in no way modeled the consent we understand now, which is enthusiastic and ongoing. After telling him apparently one too many times that I wanted him to stop because it hurt when he reached my hymen, he grabbed the top of my head by my hair and slammed the back of my head into his headboard. The last thing I remember before passing out was that all my fingers and toes were going numb and the sharpest piercing pain I have ever felt in my pelvis. I awoke to find him gone from the room, with me on the bed covered in blood from the waist down and in terrible pain, and with dried blood attached to my hair where my scalp met the headboard. Once I got up from the bed and managed to clean myself up, I found him in the kitchen standing at the refrigerator and he said "hey babe, you hungry?" Like nothing happened. I was so confused and I talked myself into believing that what he just did wasn't rape because how could it be if he wasn't upset and his first reaction was to ask if I was hungry? I didn't understand all of this and the way predators operate until I was an adult, and that everything I was feeling was actually normal. I didn't see him at all after that, until the following year and a half when I found he was employed at the same store I got a job at, not knowing that he worked there before applying. What followed was a typical pattern of grooming me all over again and six more months of abuse, coercion, and daily sexual assaults and/or rape. The abuse was so severe that I began disassociating. I also developed a drug and alcohol addiction that lasted until I was 28 years old. My subsequent relationship and marriage to the first boy that paid attention to me imploded and ended in divorce. My drug and alcohol addiction was out of control because I didn't want to feel anything, much less the emotional pain and scarring this did to me, and in June of 2006 I intentionally overdosed. I was told by the EMS and ER staff that I was deceased for a little over two minutes. Not long after this, however, a genuine miracle happened. I met my husband, who at the time was a behavioral therapist working with teenage sex offenders and understood the complicated nature of behaviors that develop after someone is sexually abused or assaulted. He not only helped me get clean and sober, which I have been for 15 years now, but encouraged me to go back to school and earn my two degrees in Criminal Justice and Criminology. He has also supported me in starting my own advocacy organization, Organization Name, in our state of State, and works with the community along side me to educate communities about the prevalence of domestic and sexual violence. I am still in therapy today, even at 43, and even with all my years of positive support because the process of healing is ongoing. I want all those who read this to know that life really can be beautiful, even after such awful darkness. You did not "deserve" anything that happened to you, even if you've been conditioned to believe that by your abuser. You, as the survivor, have absolutely no shame in what happened. Believe me when I tell you, the shame is misplaced and that shame belongs to your abuser, not you. You matter. You have a voice and you deserve to have it heard. For those on the beginning of their healing journey, please stay strong and keep going, even when it hurts to do so. If you do not have the support system that is crucial to your healing, let this space be your support. You will smile again. You will laugh again. You will live again.

My memory is no longer present. Attempted molestation as a child by a cousin, luckily my grandmother told me how to get out of these situations. Once he began to undress I made up a story and ran out of the room to let her know what had happened. I still had to see him at family events throughout the years because his dad supported him and did not believe me. My grandmother always believed me. At 16, my first time (if you can even call it that) was a sexual assault in my own home. My boyfriend at the time assaulted me, his cousin saw and I locked eyes for help but he just walked away. I had to hold this secret from my mother, afraid she would blame herself. I ended in a relationship with my perpetrator out of fear until I was strong enough to break away with support from friends. A few months later I was assaulted again by a college student on campus. My friend at the time had walked outside and he threw me down. Once she came back in, she was yelling for us and I threw a pen into the next room, which hit something to make a bang, as she came closer, he finally stopped. So much coercion I couldn't even tell you, sometimes it's hard to remember what was real. Now I try to be the person I needed. I support survivors with whatever decision they want to make, but let them know they are never alone. Thank goodness for our local sexual violence resource center to be there to provide healing. I wish I had known about this service when I needed it.

For any survivor reading this, you are not alone. I come from a quite large family where abuse and neglect happened on a daily base, the abuse happened starting from 2 to around 13, I was very isolated and had a lot to learn when I was saved. I wasn't aware of all the dangers and knew nothing about healthy boundaries. I learned to be invisible and submissive. I quickly learned that my past caused me to be revictimized, I felt no self worth and thought the only way I was loved was by giving away my body to strangers, strangers who took advantage of this. When I was 16 I met this boy online, I trusted him and told him about my abuse history, he was very understanding and supportive. But the moment I turned 18 he wanted to meet me and he raped me for 3 days straight. I was naive and thought this was love and this continued for 6 months. I'm trying to heal and learn that I have worth outside of what happened to me and that it doesn't have to define me. Although my healing journey is nowhere near done I won't give up, because I am worthy of love and care that doesn't involve hurting me. I deserve to be treated with respect and so do you. Please don't give up on yourself, you will heal and you will get through this. We can do this together ❤️

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.

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."