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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.

I was in an abusive relationship for 12 years. I met him when I was fourteen and we came together when I was fifteen. He was nice and lovely and I fell in love with him. I never thought that he could have a dark side. After a few month I began to realize, that there is something inside him. When we had our first fight, he screamed with me and I had so much fear. He apologized and I forgived him. But: It didn‘t stopped. He was verbal abusive. He said that I am a whore. He made me feeling small and like I am the worst person in the world. He said, that I am a psycho. He said I am a joke. He said I am nothing. He said, that he has to talk and scream with me like this, because I don‘t understand his points otherwise. He began to destroy things like my watch or a necklace. The walls had holes and he often grabbed me at my shoulders very hard when he got angry. When I cried, he became angrier at all. I locked myself in the toilet because I had so much fear of him. He also pushed me at the asphalt when he was drunk sometimes. I had bruises. One time he choked me. I never told anybody what happend, because I always forgived him and felt so fucking guilty. I tried to left him, but he always said, that he will kill himself, when I go. I went to therapy but even there I was so ashamed, that I didn‘t talk about the abuse. After two years of therapy I got stronger and stronger. I was ready to talk to somebody about the things that happend to me and that I want to leave him. Suddenly I felt free and was ready to go. He always said, that he loves me and that I am the love of his life. It never was love. I realized that I was in an abusive relationship. There were verbal, emotional and physical abuse. I didn't imagine any of it. I wasn't crazy. Whoever is reading this and is in a similar situation: You are strong! You are intelligent! You are beautiful! You are a good person! You can trust yourself! You can talk to someone! You can do this! You can leave him! You are a wonderful human being! I love you all out there and send you hugs. We have to share our stories and we are allowed to share them. Together we can change something.

Free. That word has such a different meaning after feeling trapped and caged in an abusive marriage. I am free. I am free from the fear of what the next day may bring. I am free from the hateful words that cut so deep into my soul. I am free from his hands that bruised me. I am free from the emotional torture. I am free of being blamed for his misfortune and failures. I am free to love myself. I fought to get back my freedom and I will never sacrifice MY freedom for a man again.

My story was 24 years(18-42) of abuse. I was controlled by my narcissist same sex Ex. She was super controlling. I wasn't allowed to have friends or to wear jeans or pants.. Everything was always my fault and I had to earn her forgiveness. All this time het older brother started by raping and sexually abusing me Then he started human trafficking me. First it was to get into BDSM gatherings and then when he lost his job it was for money for him. I wss kept in place by threats against my now Ex and her son who was 4 when it started. I got out December 2012.. I was taking taxis because my ex had hurt her leg and I wasn't allowed to drive or have a license.. I met my now husband that way. I don't know why but I felt a connection with him for some reason. The day that ended it all in my mind. Was I had to take s train to my then therapist. She mafe me take her brother with me and said I could only go to therapy if I did that. Ot was my taxi driver who picked us up and he loed to get senior rate and didn't tip. I went back out to settle the money and wound up talking to my now husband, Husband for like 45 minutes. Husband figured out who he was and didn't eant to leave me there. I wasn't ready yet. Eventually, I left amd left everything, but she had him there all the time and she wouldn't allow me to bring Husband. So my stuff wasn't worth it. I am out and safe now, but am still plaqued by flashbacks and memories. I have been without a therapist since right before Covid. My therapist went on a two month cruise and didn't set me up with anyone to see while she was gone. Thst is sll for now I don't want to say to much Survivor

I’m always scared to share what I’ve been through. After 9 years of being in a physical and emotional abusive relationship, hiding what was being done, I finally realized how much damage was done to me. I just feel damaged. After ending the relationship I thought it was over. But the worse was yet to come. This man attacked me when I was 5 months pregnant, with my 4 year old was in my arms. He punched me, strangled me, dragged me by the throat into his home twice and he pulled a weapon. Never in my life have I felt like in that moment, me and my children were going to be taken off this earth. We are a year and half out, and the trial is coming to an end next week. And I’m a mix of emotions. I’m just beyond thankful that me and both my children made it out alive. Just know I want to heal, and I’m lost on how to do it.

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.

Hello, thank you for taking the time to read and consider Name story. First, I don’t blame Police Departmentor the state of State Namefor anything that has happened, the responsibility for this belongs completely to the state of State Name She met Friend Name 7 years ago when they were both homeless and moved to Second State Name to live with him at his mother’s property. This property is in the middle of nowhere inSecond State Name, their closest neighbors were anywhere from 30 to 60 acres away. He did this to isolate her from her social support systems, which is something many abusers do to manipulate and gain control of their victims. She didn’t know the kind of person he was until she got pregnant, after which he continually tried to emotionally manipulate her into an abortion. He had not wanted children, though he made repeated promises of a life and family to gain her trust and lure her to the property. This is a large part of his cycle, he makes these promises and lures women (typically around the age of 22) to his mother’s property where he becomes possessive, controlling, and abusive. His family knows he does this and that he’s abusive, but they do nothing to stop him and instead enable him. He had done this with a woman before her, but she had realized his true nature before becoming pregnant and fled to safety. Additionally, he is currently attempting to manipulate another 22-year-old woman from Third State Name online and is making these same promises and luring her to the property. After the baby was born, he became increasingly verbally and emotionally abusive toward her and even committed these acts in front of the child at least every other day. She was living in a constant state of fear, and he manipulated this to further isolate her and take control of her life. Once she finally got the courage to leave him, he became highly combative and began using their daughter as a weapon against her. He then manipulated a judge into giving him primary residence with joint (called shared there) custody of their daughter, though she was the one who cared for the baby every day. His mother had gotten him an attorney whileName couldn’t afford one, which is another thing common to abusers using the legal system against their victims. Unfortunately, we have yet to create protections for women who are vulnerable to this form of attack. She got her own apartment, and the child lived there over 95% of the time. He did not adhere to his responsibilities, and if she said anything about it, he would take the child and hide her fromName for a week or two as “punishment”. He would not provide for his child or look after her in any way, and this made it hard for name to complete her college coursework or make money at her job as a Grub Hub delivery driver. He would have a family that had their children taken and then given back by DHS (Third State Name's version of DCS) watch her the few times he did take her, even though they are again under DHS investigation and about to lose their children permanently. The amount of abuse and neglect it took for DHS to become involved with this family is staggering, and their four children will deal with the emotional trauma they’ve suffered for the rest of their lives. This eventually caused her to lose the apartment and made her move back in with him on his mother’s property, which was obviously the goal of his behavior because her only other choice would have been to abandon her daughter with the abuser. His aggressive behavior and demands that she cooperate with his plans got so severe that he began to rape her in her sleep if she refused his advances, and she found out later that he was put in a boarding school when he was 12 after being caught molesting a prepubescent boy. The abuse they suffered eventually caused their child to begin trying to shield her mother from it and she developed severe psychological trauma, to the point where this four-year-old would say things like “I hope my dad kills you” to her mother. She finally gained the courage to seek justice for his abuse and filed an emergency restraining order, and the judge told her that the County Sheriff and DHS would investigate the issue. However, both the Sheriff of County and DHS failed to investigate anything, despite the Sheriff being informed that there are hours of recorded abuse. So, she grabbed everything she could and came to State Name where she had a support system, and then placed a new order of protection against him. Five days later Third State Name had her violently arrested in front of the child for a fugitive Criminal Restraint by a Parent (like State Name's Custodial Interference) warrant, and according to the attorney I got in Third State Namethey are refusing to accept the Order of Protection from State Name I recently reached out to the County Sheriff’s office in response to a request for information I received from the Second County Sheriff’s office as the Order of Protection has not been served in over 30 days and was told by them that they did not need help finding Abuser's Name This refusal to follow State Nameorder is against Title 18 or the United States Code and the Interstate Compact, but they will not directly admit that this is what they are doing. I have proof of all of this, including the recordings of the abuse, the restraining order in Third State Name, and the Order of Protection in State Name and am willing to discuss this with you further. Apparently, Third State Namethinks it’s okay to punish victims and protect abusers, probably to keep their abuse case numbers down. This is a grotesque miscarriage of justice, and I am reaching out to anyone I can to bring awareness to these disgusting actions.

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.

I was 6 the first time I was raped. It went on for nearly a decade. The worst thing about incest Is there access that the perpetrator has to you. You can’t escape and so you are always living in terror. When I was 7, I was gang raped by a group of teenage boys. It was incredibly violent and terrifying. I remember sitting outside after I finally got myself untied. I was afraid to go home because I didn’t want my abuser to find out that his “property” has been used by someone else, but I couldn’t think of a single person to go to, so I didn’t tell anyone for another 30 years. At 8, I was molested by a neighbor. During these outside abuses, I was still being raped at home. That ended when I was 13. The next 3 years were some of my happiest years. I was finally not being abused! During that time, the PTSD caused me to develop a heart condition and an eating disorder but I felt free! That all changed when I was 16 and met my first boyfriend. He began sexually abusing me a few months into our relationship. He left on an LDS mission and spent the mission stalking me from a distance. I started dating another boy who was emotionally abusive. The next boyfriend would slap me and tell me how stupid I was. I just couldn’t get it right. Then I met my husband. I married him when I was 19 years old. He is kind and gentle with me and I felt like I had finally found safety… Then his brother started sexual harassing me. This happened for years. Eventually, he sexually assaulted me. I told my husband everyone it would happen. He never did anything to help me. I had been seeing my therapist for 13 years when he started acting flirtatious. He was getting a divorce from his wife who I later found out was a patient of his. I got out of that situation quick. I was in my 30s, attending graduate school to become a therapist when the next sexual assault happened. It was a family friend in his 60s. He told me one day that he was very sick and wanted me to stop by. I went to his house to check in and he locked me in his room and sexually assaulted me. Afterward, he threatened me with a lawsuit and threatened my husband’s career, as he knew my husband’s boss. I was so scared and felt like I needed a week of school to pull myself back together. I explained to my professors what had happened. One of them forwarded my email to the administration of the college who then tried to force me out. They told me: “since you got assaulted, we can no longer support you in our program.” Just a reminder, this was a graduate program to become a therapist! It was disguising that they would try to through me out, blaming me for the assault! When I tried to push back on their actions, they threatened me with layers from the university. In the end, I won and became a therapist. At this pointing in my life, I had experienced so much abuse, rape, violence, and trauma but I had held it together, becoming a mom, earning 3 college degrees, working many jobs and helping my husband run a business were started in the side. I didn’t realize that everything I had been through was going to hit me like a freight train. I was worrying at a hospital as a therapist, co-facilitating an IOP group when one of my clients decided they were going to kill me, the other clients in the group and themselves by committing a mass shooting. This client told someone of their plans and we were warned the morning it was to happen. I was forced by hospital administrators and police to stay in the office where the person would be coming for 2 hours. The person was located by SWAT a few blocks from the hospital with a stock pile of weapons. I kind of snapped after that. My body started giving out. My mental health issues got a lot worse. I could no longer function. I started seeing another therapist. She was so kind and loving toward me. I adored her and felt like I was starting to heal some of the wounds that had been festering for decades. She was the one to initiate physical contact. I’ve been afraid of being touched most of my life so when she started touching me, it was scary. It was very innocent, hugs or a pat on the arm. It started to feel reassuring and comforting. Then she started getting angry at me. I would mention texting a friend she didn’t want me talking to or talk about wanting to change my hairstyle. She would berate me for the rest of the session, making me feel like I was bad for saying the wrong thing. Then she would lovebomb me sitting the next session. It was intoxicating. This went on for years. It got to the point where she was always touching me. She would touch me even when I didn’t want her to touch me. It was incredibly inappropriate! When she would get mad at me, which was often, she would demand that I apologize profusely. She owned me. She broke me down to nothing. She isolated me from friends and family. I was so depressed and anxious and confused. I believed her, that I was trash. Last year, I became very sick and when I told her I would be going to a clinic to get help, she lost it. Filled with jealous rage, she lashed out at me. Something in me found the strength to walk away. It was one year ago this month that I saw her last. I feel as I am nothing. I currently am mostly bed bound, unable to leave the safety of my room, unable to interact with other humans, completely terrified to live a meaningful life. I am so scared. I wish I could say that I found my way and am healing but the truth is, I’ve experienced too much. I don’t know that I’m ever find myself again. Some wounds are too deep to heal. My body is falling apart. My mind is obliterated. I don’t know if there is hope. Thank you for reading my story. It means more to me than I can ever express.

I was 7 the first time I was ever SA. I still remember every single thing about that day. I was so young that I didn’t know what was happening to me was wrong. But the family member who did it to me, he knew. I told my mom and she didn’t believe me. No one did. In fact, she started abusing me afterwards because I “lied to her”. I’m now 20, and have finally escaped from the awful life I lived, and now know what real love is supposed to feel like. Everyone has a voice, and if no one else has ever believed you, I DO, and i’m always here to listen to anyone. My instagram is instagram account is any of you guys ever need to talk or just need a safe space, because I know I did and I never had one.

I met my ex at a time in my life when I was incredibly vulnerable. I was processing a lot emotionally and I had uprooted my life and moved home. I wasn't making much money, living with my parents and really trying to figure out my next steps but faltering. Reeling from a significant romantic rejection, I was dating in a desperate way. I just wanted to find my person, have companionship, enjoy all the benefits of having a partner. And so when I met my ex, I projected all my desires for stability on to our relationship extremely quickly. We were talking about getting engaged (in a year) after only knowing each other one month. We moved in together after six months of dating. In a normal healthy relationship this wouldn't necessarily be an issue. But I had ignored a lot of red flags up to that point. He baselessly accused me of cheating on him, once when I was sexually assaulted in a bar he asked me what I did to make the person touch me, he made derogatory comments about what I wore, he ingratiated himself with my family. I had told him on our first date that I didn't want children, something that I do out of respect for people's desires and time. Months into our relationship he brought up (while drunk and angrily) that he wanted children but was giving that up to be with me. Shortly after we moved in together I had a slew of weddings for family and friends, all of which he attended. At the first I was the maid of honor. He got overly drunk at the rehearsal dinner and picked a fight with me after. He stormed out of a room full of people because I had walked away from him (to avoid standing near the door and blocking traffic) and it set him off. He yelled at me for thirty minutes about how inconsiderate I am and all the other reasons we weren't compatible. The next weekend was my sister's wedding. I couldn't go with him to pick up a suit before the rehearsal dinner and this set him off again. He drank too much and berated me later. This time for not having been as physically affectionate in the week between the weddings. I told him it was because I was scared of him, which he then yelled at me about further. I cuddled with him to fall asleep so he would calm down, it felt like diffusing a bomb. The final wedding was the worst. Same formula. Something small set him off, he drank too much and then broke up with me and tried to leave the wedding but couldn't get an Uber. When I tried to hold him accountable the next day he said we were both drunk so it wasn't anyone's fault. For the months that followed I dealt with endless scrutiny. I went into an office for work and he worked remotely. He would smell my clothes when I came home, ask why I was wearing lipgloss, or backhandedly tell me I looked nice. He was heavy handed about money. Times when I would ask him not to pay for something or say that I had it covered he would intervene behind my back. He spent hundreds of dollars on a birthday gift for my dad that my whole family had wanted to purchase even after I asked him not to. Money was a source of control and self-worth for him and even when I could contribute it wasn't enough or if I said I planned to buy something (our meals for my parents anniversary dinner) he would find a way to try and undermine me and pay for it himself. I was both somehow financially insufficient and then in the rare times I could pay for something for us, too financially independent for his liking. We got a dog only a few months into living together. He had put his dog down the previous year and was itching for another one. She is a sweetheart and I enjoyed raising her for the few months I did. The first time we trimmed her nails we accidentally cut one too short and she started bleeding so she was understandably hesitant of nail trimmings going forward. One night we decided to get her nails trimmed. I held her and my ex was trimming her nails and cut one too short. She started wriggling as he attempted to trim the rest but couldn't because she was so impatient. He became irate and threw the nail trimmer across the room. He stood up and while I was still holding her on the ground, wound up and hit her. I was completely frozen. I used to think that I should've moved in his way so that he hit me instead. I thought it would make him realize how bad his temper was but I know now I probably would've just sped up his timeline. A couple of weeks before we broke up we were having another bout of a recurring fight which centered around him finding it laborious and monotonous to be physically intimate with me. As I tried to express to him that it was hurtful for him to tell that it would start "getting old" to be intimate with me, he just became more angry. He had also drank a decent amount that night. He packed a bag and said he needed to stay at his parents' for the night. His exact words were "When I'm angry I do things I regret and I don't want to do something I'll regret". It took me a while to accept that from the throwing of things, the time I came home to a whole in the wall, the slamming of doors so hard that pictures came off the wall, and hitting the dog that when he said this he meant hitting me. Even for the first little bit after we broke up I maintained that he never would have hurt me and I was just a victim of emotional abuse. With more time and therapy I now know that I got out with very little time left to spare. My emotional and psychological safety were long gone and my physical safety was hanging by a thread. I'm now over a year out from our break-up. The first therapy session I had after our breakup I said to my therapist that I didn't want to put myself in a situation like that ever again. My therapist responded "you didn't put yourself in that situation, he did all of that to you and you survived it". I think because I wasn't showing up well at that point in my life it makes me feel like if I was stronger--emotionally, financially, personally--I wouldn't have been susceptible to this. I hold a lot of guilt and shame for being in such a vulnerable place in life that all of that happened to me. If I hadn't moved home, if I'd been making more money, if I hadn't moved in with him at six months, if I had left the million different times he showed a red flag maybe I wouldn't have the mental scars and trauma. And though that thought process is hard to shake I know at the end of the day, I didn't deserve any of the abuse I dealt with. What makes me the most angry about all of it is the innocence I lost. I never would have considered in my mid-late twenties I'd consider myself innocent. But the unburdened and carefree way I was able to think about dating before this is something I miss. There's a level of optimism I'll never get back. I used to think the worst thing that could happen to me while dating was someone being apathetic or incompatible, not intentionally violent. With a lot of therapy and time I am starting to regain my light and open heart. But the vivid memories will always be there, though hopefully they will fade. Although I'm indelibly changed, I won't let this rob me of my ability to see the good in people. I'm still deserving and capable of finding love, I have hope for that.

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 won't protect him anymore. I won't hide what he did. I won't suffer in silence because the atrocities of what happened makes the bystanders uncomfortable when I tell my story. Sit with it. Feel the discomfort. Feel a crumb of the fear I felt every day I came home from school. Feel the shame of not believing me when I said I was afraid for my life, and you denied me shelter. Sent me back to the place where I was supposed to feel safety, but instead feared for my life by my father. He tells me "a parents' job is to be better than their parents were to them." Well the bar was set pretty damn low. Just because your dad was abusive too, doesn't give you an excuse to abuse me. How is my heart opened and more compassionate after how you've broken it, but yours only wants to break others? I didn't choose to be born. You brought me into this world, and you made it very clear that you could take me out of it, if you so desired. I loved you. I still love you. The hardest part of all of this was fighting the childlike, optimistic image I had of you. I still fight it. Everything in my soul wants to love you. Wants to have more of your "good days." But the other side of me hates that you stole my childhood. For haunting my dreams. For the everyday fear - even though I've moved thousands of miles away. Bystanders - don't tell me "one day things will be okay, and you will talk to your father again." He can't change.

My story has a good ending but it took a rocky road to get there. The reason that I wanted to share it is to emphasize the importance to victims of reporting every time to the police, even if one of those times might not go the way you wanted it to go or even if you got embarrassed after you did it. And I don't mean just every time you are hit but every time you think there is a threat of being hit. I am 100% convinced this is what ultimately stopped the abuse that I endured. I got married after I became pregnant when I was 24. The first time I was abused was New Year's Day when I was 25. My husband had gone to a friend's house to watch a football game with other friends and left me home with our baby and the number where he was. When I called the number, a woman answered the phone and got him. I was mad because he said he was going to be with a bunch of guy friends. He told me it was the wife of his friend but when he came home, he took out his embarrassment and anger that I called him there on me and pulled me down by my hair while I was holding our baby. The second instance of abuse happened after we took our baby to The Lion King in the theater and witnessed Scar slap Sarabi. My husband slapped me in the same way on our way home when we fought about him being able to enjoy the movie while I had to be the one to attend to the baby. It was at this point that I sought out a counselor who enlightened me that I was experiencing abuse and referred us to Family Advocacy, a military program for families experiencing abuse. The final instance of abuse in the apartment we were living in happened right before we moved to a new state by the military and was bad enough to leave bruises on my face. A few days before this incident, we had heard a woman screaming in the apartment below ours and called the police to help her. So when I was being abused, I screamed also when my husband was choking me and I think that that neighbor returned the favor by calling the police for me. The police arrived and it was the one and only time that I felt that the police questioned me more than him because I had been drinking. We were living in city, state and I will always remember the police there for being uncaring about what he did to me but they also stopped the abuse by showing up at our apartment. My husband moved before I did and I faced a really daunting decision at that time whether to move with him. I think if my mom had supported me staying back with her, I would have done that but she wanted me to move with him so I did. After we moved, the military forced my husband to take anger management classes and offered supportive counseling for me. My husband had a harder time keeping me isolated because I am an outgoing person and loved meeting and becoming friends with the other wives. I planned a path of escape from him by going back to school to get my teaching certificate so I could work and have the same schedule as my baby as she grew older. I also told him he needed to move out of our apartment because we weren't getting along and he moved in with one of the guys he worked with in the barracks. We had a 6 month lease on the apartment and when that was up, the military was ready to move us into military housing but I would not move there by myself with our little girl so he moved back and then we moved to military housing. The next instance of abuse happened when my husband came home drunk after a night with a friend. He fell right to sleep and I found a girl's name and number in his back pocket. I woke him up and demanded to know what happened and he punched me and gave me a bloody nose. I called the police and they made him leave and the military forbade him from coming to see me for 2 weeks. I really think this is what made him think twice about abusing me again, despite verbal threats. I did get my teaching certificate but as soon as I got my first job teaching, my husband became romantic and charming and enticed me to stay with him. I ended up getting pregnant with our second child and after a couple years, we moved back to our hometown city. We have lived in our hometown city for 24 years now and there have been a few instances when I felt threatened by my husband and immediately called the police who came over, gave me resources to call, and put my husband in his place. He is a rule follower type so it embarrassed him enough that he has altogether stopped. I sometimes think I must be really stupid to have stayed with him all these years but since the abuse has stopped and we had 2 more kids, there is really no reason to leave. Especially since I have circles of very close friends who I can go out with and travel with. He has never been financially abusive and has always been a good provider so that helps. And he has never tried to prevent me from going out with my friends or traveling with them. I have always believed that boys in our country, maybe even our world, are very much influenced by what they are exposed to on screens. My husband was always into very violent movies and TV shows and there are so many instances of abuse against women on the screen, even in video games, even in Lion King. So although it is not an excuse, I am cognizant that he has been very influenced by them.

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

My life should have been a life of happiness and peace, but oooh how the tables turned. I was an easy going, fun loving, creative, individual who has talents beyond my time. For the most part my life was lived as a typical middle class, every day average Jane. Who had dreams that were all reachable. It started at the age 25, where I met a handsome man that in my eyes was every woman's dream. But ooh my, my I didn't know this was the beginning of a very harsh reality check and the beginning of major changes in my life. We had a quick and fast romance story, fell in love, out of love an in love again. He was my rock and I was his motivating force, until he changed totally on me and became a habitual cheater. His cheating lasted for many years and he eventually met a faith that he too thought, he was untouchable. But being who he was and how care-free he was in his cheating activities, this faith wouldn't have passed him. The sudden faith that landed him to contact a std, to which no one ever wants. But I on the other hand was living my dream of having a husband and kids, with taking care of all their needs an leaving myself undone. Yes you may have an idea so far where this story is going, but I didn't know I would become a victim to my husband. He had the most perfect plan with the cruelest intention. Lets go back a little, yes I was acting like a wife but I was just living in a common- law situation. To which his plans was perfectly executed, he knew, I had little knowledge about his "outside activities " and my greatest desire at the time was to be his wife. And that was his perfect plan to get me, he would avoid being in d same home, or country with me. Often repeatedly saying he's coming on our wedding day, in which I would smile and think nothing of it. I took us roughly 1 week to organize everything, too have a quick and fast wedding. Me not knowing that in my tries of joy there would be sadness on d corner. I got married..had a beautiful harmonious day, fun after fun. Till one day I began feel strange and had to be taken to the doctor, in which multiple test was done. Everything came out ok, but this one result hit me on my chest hard, as if I was out in the rain being hit on my chest repeatedly. I sat in that room alone to my right nothing or no one and to the left nothing or no one, the doctor that stood in front of me became invisible. But my husband was gone again, back to keep away from home and the country of which we stayed. Every little piece of his actions from the most biggest to the smallest came flooding in my head as one slide to the next and it all became clear. I ran out of the room in tears to hide and called him, as he heard me he began to cry and repeatedly say sorry, sorry, sorry. But this man wasn't totally sorry he told me he's going to book a flight an he would be on his way. He came, he hold me, I asked questions he answered, but my biggest shock was when I heard these words, "I didn't want to lose you". His logic for making me his victim was justified with not losing me, my life was weighted on not losing me. The deed was done and I became the walk over troll, I felt as a prisoner in head, life, body and to him. The cheating continued, I tried to protect others,but he would make me seem to be bitter and a liar. I had became a victim to multi forms of abuse, he made a baby outside of the marriage an my kids became as nothing to him as I was. I got verbally abused by his newly baby mother and often called a liar when I tried to warn her, but in all I served.

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