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Welcome to Our Wave.

This is a space where survivors of trauma and abuse share their stories alongside supportive allies. These stories remind us that hope exists even in dark times. You are never alone in your experience. Healing is possible for everyone.

What feels like the right place to start today?
Story
From a survivor
🇺🇸

There aren't always answers

I had an entire story written out but don't know if I'm ready to tell it in detail yet. Basically as a young man in my early twenties I was lured to a house by an older man, drugged, raped, and then essentially sexually and psychologically tortured over a period of two weeks. All of this was an attempt to condition me to essentially believe I deserved it all, and to continue to participate in these acts where I was degraded, raped, humiliated, which I did. I pulled away a few times over the years but would always come back. Usually personal setbacks would trigger the shame for what had happened to me and what I had willingly done and I would go back. Finally I got married and moved to another state. But I never really cut contact with them. During the marriage I was in pyschiatric hospitals two times. I had been developing loss of sexual sensitivity issues for a long time and refused to get them treated, because I felt I didn't deserve my wife. 6 months before it ended I started engaging in self harm that increased this issue. I wanted to stop any chance I had of being with her in that way. Eventually she divorced me. I left for my home state and went straigh back to the group I was with before. I lived that lifestyle until two years when I stopped completely. There is more to tell but basically I don't understand the actions of most of my life. I was lured into this against my will, but willingly entered into it after some coercion. When I experienced my first rape my entire thinking and understanding of the world shifted. If that hadn't happened, would I have sought out some similar group of people and done similar stuff? I don't see myself as a victim. But if I do secretly want the life with the “group,” why do I keep leaving it. Why when I leave it am I able to live a somewhat normal life? But end up seeking destruction again? I'm writing this because within the last few weeks I have felt that despite the force and coercion, I chose to participate. And knowing that have had feelings that I'm essentially bad, and thus put myself back in harmful situations.

Community note

This story contains references to self-harm or suicidal thoughts. If you or someone you know is struggling, please reach out to a crisis helpline.

  • Report

  • “It’s always okay to reach out for help”

    Message of Hope
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    To choose a life and stick with it.

  • Report

  • Story
    From a survivor
    🇦🇷

    I Saved Myself

    I Saved Myself Every system that was supposed to protect me failed me. My family. The police. The courts. Children and Youth. I had to save myself. This is how. I met him in 2016. After my son was born. He came in like a knight in shining armour. The devil was hiding inside him. I moved in with him the day I met him. The control started right away. One summer day he went through my phone. He threw it and it shattered. He pushed me on the porch. I fell with my son in my arms. My body became his shield. The neighbors called the police. They arrested him. His mother showed up and asked me what did you do. Not what happened. Not are you okay. What did you do. Then she turned off the air conditioning and left my son and me to sweat in the summer heat. She was our landlord. I should have left then. I did not know how. One year after the porch I stood in Walmart with empty pockets and a hungry three year old. He had made sure there was no food in the house. Not because we were broke. Because he did not care. I stole an entire bag full of food. I did not make it past the door. Security stopped me. The police came. I broke. They put me on a 302 hold right then. And they took my son. Not to family. To foster care. The system does not ask why you stole. It just sees a crime and punishes you for surviving. A month later my mom got him. She fought through paperwork and background checks from out of state. She brought him home. I stayed behind. I did not know how to leave anymore. He decided we were moving. Hours from my mom. Hours from my son. Hours from anyone who could help. Then I was raped to have a baby. I tried to get an abortion. He refused. He abused me for trying. He drove me hours back home against my will instead of to the appointment. I told him I could not do this. He said we are keeping it. I said I do not think I can. He said you do not have a choice. Four words. Final. When my daughter was born they put her on my chest. I felt nothing. Not love. Not relief. Just emptiness. I thought I do not know how to love you. I do not even know how to love myself. A few days after we got her home he grabbed my weeks old daughter from her crib and threw her into her swing. He called her a fat fucking pig. He propped her bottle on a blanket so he would not have to hold her. I stood frozen. If I moved it would get worse. We moved to city, state. The house had holes in the floors. No heat. It was winter. We lived in one room with a space heater. Two days after we moved in I could not take it anymore. I left her in her swing. He was home. I walked to the nearby school and called an ambulance. I told them I slapped my daughter. I lied. It was the only way to get a 302 hold. The only way to be taken seriously. They kept me for weeks. I finally slept. Then Children and Youth knocked. The caseworker said his mother had temporary legal guardianship of my daughter. I believed them. I had no lawyer. I was drowning. So I complied. What I found out much later is that it was a lie. She never had guardianship. But by then I had acted like she did. And the system called that abandonment. We moved into a camper on his mothers front lawn. My daughter lived inside the house. We lived outside in the cold. They expected me to visit her. I could not walk through that door. His mother was in there. Watching. Judging. The woman who enabled everything. So I left. A few days later he texted that I could get my things. Everything I owned was destroyed. Clothes ripped. Photos torn. Deliberate. A message that said if I can not have you you get nothing. Everyone asked what are you going to do about your daughter. Not how are you healing. Not what do you need. I fought for custody because that is what mothers are supposed to do. Then the court gave me a choice. Sign over full custody or keep fighting and lose anyway. I signed. He texted me. If you want to see her you have to pay. He turned my daughter into a transaction. Years later I tried again. Every other weekend she came to my apartment and screamed for her dad for hours. He had told a four year old she was not allowed to like her mother. Then I found out I was pregnant. Not forced this time. Chosen. With someone safe. He started texting me constantly. Telling me I was worthless. Telling me to kill myself. Just off yourself. Everyone would be better off. Over and over. I was pregnant. I called Children and Youth. The same system that failed me before. They said there is not much we can do unless there is immediate danger. And just like that I was the problem again. Not him. Not the system. Me. So I made a choice. I stopped seeing my daughter. I stopped answering his texts. I stopped performing. I moved three hours away with my partner and had the baby I chose. The baby I wanted. I pay child support every month. On time. Because that is my legal obligation. But I do not call. I do not visit. And I do not feel guilty about it anymore. I am writing this from my living room. My baby is asleep in the next room. The baby I chose. For the first time in my life I understand what people mean when they say motherhood is beautiful. Because it can be. When it is chosen. When it is supported. When it is safe. People ask if I regret it. I regret that she exists in pain. But I do not regret leaving. I do not regret choosing myself. I do not regret finding peace. This is not a redemption story. Forced motherhood does not always end with healing. Sometimes it ends with walking away. And that is okay. Because my life matters too. My survival matters too. If you are reading this and you see yourself in my story. If you were forced into motherhood. If you are drowning and no one believes you. You are not alone. You are not broken. You are not a monster. You are surviving. If you need permission to choose yourself. If you need someone to tell you it is okay to walk away from something that is destroying you. I am giving it to you. You are allowed to survive. You are allowed to choose peace. Healing is not the ending. It is the direction. And I am still walking it.

  • Report

  • Message of Healing
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    Understanding myself

  • Report

  • You are surviving and that is enough.

    Story
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    Major Sexual Harassment

    It started as sexual harassment. And I let it happen. Do not let it happen to you! I was a college intern working on my supply-chain management major. In business school you know you don’t just get a degree and POOF! A job is magically waiting for you. Unless you already have connections. I was a single woman on financial aid and had squat for family connections. I needed to make some connections while still in school that I could use to climb the ladder. It is a very competitive world. A time when we don’t care so much where we work as long as it has prospects of advancement and making money. I was interning at the corporate offices for a rental car company. I got my first choice for a class in which we had to intern at a real company. My group of four was in their logistics offices and we had no clear job at the time but my school had sent students for a while so we had a contact person and some loose idea of a project that my group of four had to put together and execute for our grade. Well that was kind of of dud and I went along with the bad idea of planning more efficient distribution routes for their cars entering the fleet. It was naive because the company had real pros who designed the system. But, because of my feminine wiles, I got invited to come in and help in my free time by a top manager. Just me. I jumped at the opportunity and on my available days I showed up early in the morning and tried to be like part of the team. It was a very masculine environment. I tried to hang in spite of the pretenses for my special treatment. “You’re not one of those feminist types who go crying to HR if a man gives you a compliment or a pat on the backside, are you?” The man who first invited me had asked. We’ll call him XX. I assured him I was not, anticipating his expected answer. “Work hard, play hard,” was something I said in my denial of values he was obviously opposed to. So the couple times XX introduced me as his mistress I went along with the joke. Another stupid mistake. As an example of my environment, after a male Y in the department first showed me how to use part of a program that calculates stock outages, he had me sit and try it and gave me a massage I did not ask for early in the morning. Well XX came up and made a joke about Y getting his hands of his girl. They had some bro moment where the male Y asked him if he was serious, saying something about XX’s wife, to which XX backed down and said something like “It’s just a joke. I’d love to in my fantasies, but she’s company property, brother.” Company property??! I was sitting right there! I tensed up but tried to pretend I was so absorbed in the computer training as XX left and male Y went back to massaging me, but this time more boldly. He got down my lower back and upper buttock then went down the arms to my thighs, stopping me from doing any work as he blatantly brushed his forearms and hands against my chest. I felt so weak and almost paralyzed by the time I forced myself to stand up to go use the restroom, stopping it. I could have just done that at the beginning but did not. Later hat same day, XX had me go to lunch with him and have a beer at a bar and grill with a pool table. I was 20 but they did not ask for my ID because I was with XX. I hardly ever played pool and while we waited for our food he “showed” me how to play. He made fun of the cliché on movies and television where a man has a woman bend over the pool table to shoot just so he can push his crotch against her backside in a suggestive manger and lean over her with his arms on each side of her to show her how to slide the stick. But while he joked about it he actually did those things to me! That was a good day for my two main molesters and an awful day for me. XX hugged me as we stood up giggling and apparently his hands now had a license to molest my body whenever he wanted. I got numb to it in some ways, but emotionally more on edge. My butt was grabbed or spanked playfully in the department, even by male Y. A few other men were very flirtatious. My shoulders were rubbed, hugs on even minor greetings with XX and finally I was supposed to get used to little pecks on the lips too. I felt like I was in a constant state of mental anguish and defensiveness. My body could be attacked anytime. But I did not defend myself! I would say clearly to XX and some others that I wanted to be respected and considered one of the guys and have a job there when I graduated and they affirmed it. Both main abusers encouraged me, but still sexually harassed me. With my moronic blessing! The semester ended and I kept going in daily during summer break. It was my only lifeline to a possible job after I graduated in a year. I was so groomed that it was not a big leap at all when XX pressured me to give him head in his office. I refused with a smile and head shake and he came back with some rationalization about how I owed him and he really needed it just then. He would not take no for an answer. The first time I lowered myself to kneeling before his desk and took him in my mouth my hands were shaking and I teared up and had to sniffle snot back up. I was the one who was embarrassed! It was like an out of body experience and my mouth dried up to where I had to ask him to drink some of his energy drink. Internally there was a huge change immediately. I was gutted of all pride and self-worth. I was like a zombie. Hardly eating. Lots of coffee. Showing up and doing the reports that had become my responsibility and mechanically giving XX his daily BJ in the afternoon in his small stale office with a small window. I started to have migraines during that summer. I drove home for 4th of July and got so inebriated I ended up sleeping with my much older sister’s ex-husband in the back of his truck. That was a terrible wake up call. I knew I couldn’t pretend much longer without a breakdown so I put my two week in at the rental car place where I was working for free. To secure my future I made sure to keep it all friendly and “you know I’ll be back working here next year”. The idea of all the time and humiliation I had put in being lost to nothing was a major fear. I put myself through two last weeks of it. I had quickie sex with XX twice on and over his desk. I gave into extreme pressure and gave male Y a BJ too when he explicitly made it about a letter of recommendation. He knew about me doing it for XX. He did not even have his own office and we had to use the stairwell. During my final year of school I became aware that I was too traumatized to ever go back there anyway. The extent to which I had been used and abused became obvious to me, where before it had not. As if I had been living in a denial haze. It was a painful time. I was a bit reckless. I got a C in the high level economics elective I took. I said yes to several dates to avoid being alone and either slept with them or freaked out in anger at them. Seeing that I needed the car rental faux-internship on my resume I did email both abusers for letters of recommendation and got a good one from Male Y, but a very impersonal, generic one from XX. I was so dejected and angry. Finally, I told my sister, the one who confronted me about her ex-husband. I TOLD HER EVERYTHING AND THAT WAS MY FIRST STEP TO RECOVERY. To letting out the pain, screaming at myself in the mirror, punching the heavy bag at a boxing gym I joined, and to seeing my first psychologist and psychiatrist. The therapy helped more than the Celexa and antipsych. The support group helped even more. I met two friends for life who have my back in times of sorrow. I have to repeat that it is not my fault that I was abused, even though it kind of was. Don’t let it happen to you! They will take as much as they can from you. Plan your boundaries now and be assertive! Report harassment immediately. Doing so you are being a hero and protecting other women and yourself. If you have already been abused, GET OUT of the situation and talk to someone about it ASAP. There is nothing to be gained by letting the abuse continue! Talking to someone makes it real and lets you start the process of hating less and starting on the path to learning to love yourself again. You deserve real love.

  • Report

  • Welcome to Our Wave.

    This is a space where survivors of trauma and abuse share their stories alongside supportive allies. These stories remind us that hope exists even in dark times. You are never alone in your experience. Healing is possible for everyone.

    What feels like the right place to start today?
    Story
    From a survivor
    🇦🇷

    I Saved Myself

    I Saved Myself Every system that was supposed to protect me failed me. My family. The police. The courts. Children and Youth. I had to save myself. This is how. I met him in 2016. After my son was born. He came in like a knight in shining armour. The devil was hiding inside him. I moved in with him the day I met him. The control started right away. One summer day he went through my phone. He threw it and it shattered. He pushed me on the porch. I fell with my son in my arms. My body became his shield. The neighbors called the police. They arrested him. His mother showed up and asked me what did you do. Not what happened. Not are you okay. What did you do. Then she turned off the air conditioning and left my son and me to sweat in the summer heat. She was our landlord. I should have left then. I did not know how. One year after the porch I stood in Walmart with empty pockets and a hungry three year old. He had made sure there was no food in the house. Not because we were broke. Because he did not care. I stole an entire bag full of food. I did not make it past the door. Security stopped me. The police came. I broke. They put me on a 302 hold right then. And they took my son. Not to family. To foster care. The system does not ask why you stole. It just sees a crime and punishes you for surviving. A month later my mom got him. She fought through paperwork and background checks from out of state. She brought him home. I stayed behind. I did not know how to leave anymore. He decided we were moving. Hours from my mom. Hours from my son. Hours from anyone who could help. Then I was raped to have a baby. I tried to get an abortion. He refused. He abused me for trying. He drove me hours back home against my will instead of to the appointment. I told him I could not do this. He said we are keeping it. I said I do not think I can. He said you do not have a choice. Four words. Final. When my daughter was born they put her on my chest. I felt nothing. Not love. Not relief. Just emptiness. I thought I do not know how to love you. I do not even know how to love myself. A few days after we got her home he grabbed my weeks old daughter from her crib and threw her into her swing. He called her a fat fucking pig. He propped her bottle on a blanket so he would not have to hold her. I stood frozen. If I moved it would get worse. We moved to city, state. The house had holes in the floors. No heat. It was winter. We lived in one room with a space heater. Two days after we moved in I could not take it anymore. I left her in her swing. He was home. I walked to the nearby school and called an ambulance. I told them I slapped my daughter. I lied. It was the only way to get a 302 hold. The only way to be taken seriously. They kept me for weeks. I finally slept. Then Children and Youth knocked. The caseworker said his mother had temporary legal guardianship of my daughter. I believed them. I had no lawyer. I was drowning. So I complied. What I found out much later is that it was a lie. She never had guardianship. But by then I had acted like she did. And the system called that abandonment. We moved into a camper on his mothers front lawn. My daughter lived inside the house. We lived outside in the cold. They expected me to visit her. I could not walk through that door. His mother was in there. Watching. Judging. The woman who enabled everything. So I left. A few days later he texted that I could get my things. Everything I owned was destroyed. Clothes ripped. Photos torn. Deliberate. A message that said if I can not have you you get nothing. Everyone asked what are you going to do about your daughter. Not how are you healing. Not what do you need. I fought for custody because that is what mothers are supposed to do. Then the court gave me a choice. Sign over full custody or keep fighting and lose anyway. I signed. He texted me. If you want to see her you have to pay. He turned my daughter into a transaction. Years later I tried again. Every other weekend she came to my apartment and screamed for her dad for hours. He had told a four year old she was not allowed to like her mother. Then I found out I was pregnant. Not forced this time. Chosen. With someone safe. He started texting me constantly. Telling me I was worthless. Telling me to kill myself. Just off yourself. Everyone would be better off. Over and over. I was pregnant. I called Children and Youth. The same system that failed me before. They said there is not much we can do unless there is immediate danger. And just like that I was the problem again. Not him. Not the system. Me. So I made a choice. I stopped seeing my daughter. I stopped answering his texts. I stopped performing. I moved three hours away with my partner and had the baby I chose. The baby I wanted. I pay child support every month. On time. Because that is my legal obligation. But I do not call. I do not visit. And I do not feel guilty about it anymore. I am writing this from my living room. My baby is asleep in the next room. The baby I chose. For the first time in my life I understand what people mean when they say motherhood is beautiful. Because it can be. When it is chosen. When it is supported. When it is safe. People ask if I regret it. I regret that she exists in pain. But I do not regret leaving. I do not regret choosing myself. I do not regret finding peace. This is not a redemption story. Forced motherhood does not always end with healing. Sometimes it ends with walking away. And that is okay. Because my life matters too. My survival matters too. If you are reading this and you see yourself in my story. If you were forced into motherhood. If you are drowning and no one believes you. You are not alone. You are not broken. You are not a monster. You are surviving. If you need permission to choose yourself. If you need someone to tell you it is okay to walk away from something that is destroying you. I am giving it to you. You are allowed to survive. You are allowed to choose peace. Healing is not the ending. It is the direction. And I am still walking it.

  • Report

  • Story
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    There aren't always answers

    I had an entire story written out but don't know if I'm ready to tell it in detail yet. Basically as a young man in my early twenties I was lured to a house by an older man, drugged, raped, and then essentially sexually and psychologically tortured over a period of two weeks. All of this was an attempt to condition me to essentially believe I deserved it all, and to continue to participate in these acts where I was degraded, raped, humiliated, which I did. I pulled away a few times over the years but would always come back. Usually personal setbacks would trigger the shame for what had happened to me and what I had willingly done and I would go back. Finally I got married and moved to another state. But I never really cut contact with them. During the marriage I was in pyschiatric hospitals two times. I had been developing loss of sexual sensitivity issues for a long time and refused to get them treated, because I felt I didn't deserve my wife. 6 months before it ended I started engaging in self harm that increased this issue. I wanted to stop any chance I had of being with her in that way. Eventually she divorced me. I left for my home state and went straigh back to the group I was with before. I lived that lifestyle until two years when I stopped completely. There is more to tell but basically I don't understand the actions of most of my life. I was lured into this against my will, but willingly entered into it after some coercion. When I experienced my first rape my entire thinking and understanding of the world shifted. If that hadn't happened, would I have sought out some similar group of people and done similar stuff? I don't see myself as a victim. But if I do secretly want the life with the “group,” why do I keep leaving it. Why when I leave it am I able to live a somewhat normal life? But end up seeking destruction again? I'm writing this because within the last few weeks I have felt that despite the force and coercion, I chose to participate. And knowing that have had feelings that I'm essentially bad, and thus put myself back in harmful situations.

    Community note

    This story contains references to self-harm or suicidal thoughts. If you or someone you know is struggling, please reach out to a crisis helpline.

  • Report

  • “It’s always okay to reach out for help”

    Message of Healing
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    Understanding myself

  • Report

  • You are surviving and that is enough.

    Message of Hope
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    To choose a life and stick with it.

  • Report

  • Story
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    Major Sexual Harassment

    It started as sexual harassment. And I let it happen. Do not let it happen to you! I was a college intern working on my supply-chain management major. In business school you know you don’t just get a degree and POOF! A job is magically waiting for you. Unless you already have connections. I was a single woman on financial aid and had squat for family connections. I needed to make some connections while still in school that I could use to climb the ladder. It is a very competitive world. A time when we don’t care so much where we work as long as it has prospects of advancement and making money. I was interning at the corporate offices for a rental car company. I got my first choice for a class in which we had to intern at a real company. My group of four was in their logistics offices and we had no clear job at the time but my school had sent students for a while so we had a contact person and some loose idea of a project that my group of four had to put together and execute for our grade. Well that was kind of of dud and I went along with the bad idea of planning more efficient distribution routes for their cars entering the fleet. It was naive because the company had real pros who designed the system. But, because of my feminine wiles, I got invited to come in and help in my free time by a top manager. Just me. I jumped at the opportunity and on my available days I showed up early in the morning and tried to be like part of the team. It was a very masculine environment. I tried to hang in spite of the pretenses for my special treatment. “You’re not one of those feminist types who go crying to HR if a man gives you a compliment or a pat on the backside, are you?” The man who first invited me had asked. We’ll call him XX. I assured him I was not, anticipating his expected answer. “Work hard, play hard,” was something I said in my denial of values he was obviously opposed to. So the couple times XX introduced me as his mistress I went along with the joke. Another stupid mistake. As an example of my environment, after a male Y in the department first showed me how to use part of a program that calculates stock outages, he had me sit and try it and gave me a massage I did not ask for early in the morning. Well XX came up and made a joke about Y getting his hands of his girl. They had some bro moment where the male Y asked him if he was serious, saying something about XX’s wife, to which XX backed down and said something like “It’s just a joke. I’d love to in my fantasies, but she’s company property, brother.” Company property??! I was sitting right there! I tensed up but tried to pretend I was so absorbed in the computer training as XX left and male Y went back to massaging me, but this time more boldly. He got down my lower back and upper buttock then went down the arms to my thighs, stopping me from doing any work as he blatantly brushed his forearms and hands against my chest. I felt so weak and almost paralyzed by the time I forced myself to stand up to go use the restroom, stopping it. I could have just done that at the beginning but did not. Later hat same day, XX had me go to lunch with him and have a beer at a bar and grill with a pool table. I was 20 but they did not ask for my ID because I was with XX. I hardly ever played pool and while we waited for our food he “showed” me how to play. He made fun of the cliché on movies and television where a man has a woman bend over the pool table to shoot just so he can push his crotch against her backside in a suggestive manger and lean over her with his arms on each side of her to show her how to slide the stick. But while he joked about it he actually did those things to me! That was a good day for my two main molesters and an awful day for me. XX hugged me as we stood up giggling and apparently his hands now had a license to molest my body whenever he wanted. I got numb to it in some ways, but emotionally more on edge. My butt was grabbed or spanked playfully in the department, even by male Y. A few other men were very flirtatious. My shoulders were rubbed, hugs on even minor greetings with XX and finally I was supposed to get used to little pecks on the lips too. I felt like I was in a constant state of mental anguish and defensiveness. My body could be attacked anytime. But I did not defend myself! I would say clearly to XX and some others that I wanted to be respected and considered one of the guys and have a job there when I graduated and they affirmed it. Both main abusers encouraged me, but still sexually harassed me. With my moronic blessing! The semester ended and I kept going in daily during summer break. It was my only lifeline to a possible job after I graduated in a year. I was so groomed that it was not a big leap at all when XX pressured me to give him head in his office. I refused with a smile and head shake and he came back with some rationalization about how I owed him and he really needed it just then. He would not take no for an answer. The first time I lowered myself to kneeling before his desk and took him in my mouth my hands were shaking and I teared up and had to sniffle snot back up. I was the one who was embarrassed! It was like an out of body experience and my mouth dried up to where I had to ask him to drink some of his energy drink. Internally there was a huge change immediately. I was gutted of all pride and self-worth. I was like a zombie. Hardly eating. Lots of coffee. Showing up and doing the reports that had become my responsibility and mechanically giving XX his daily BJ in the afternoon in his small stale office with a small window. I started to have migraines during that summer. I drove home for 4th of July and got so inebriated I ended up sleeping with my much older sister’s ex-husband in the back of his truck. That was a terrible wake up call. I knew I couldn’t pretend much longer without a breakdown so I put my two week in at the rental car place where I was working for free. To secure my future I made sure to keep it all friendly and “you know I’ll be back working here next year”. The idea of all the time and humiliation I had put in being lost to nothing was a major fear. I put myself through two last weeks of it. I had quickie sex with XX twice on and over his desk. I gave into extreme pressure and gave male Y a BJ too when he explicitly made it about a letter of recommendation. He knew about me doing it for XX. He did not even have his own office and we had to use the stairwell. During my final year of school I became aware that I was too traumatized to ever go back there anyway. The extent to which I had been used and abused became obvious to me, where before it had not. As if I had been living in a denial haze. It was a painful time. I was a bit reckless. I got a C in the high level economics elective I took. I said yes to several dates to avoid being alone and either slept with them or freaked out in anger at them. Seeing that I needed the car rental faux-internship on my resume I did email both abusers for letters of recommendation and got a good one from Male Y, but a very impersonal, generic one from XX. I was so dejected and angry. Finally, I told my sister, the one who confronted me about her ex-husband. I TOLD HER EVERYTHING AND THAT WAS MY FIRST STEP TO RECOVERY. To letting out the pain, screaming at myself in the mirror, punching the heavy bag at a boxing gym I joined, and to seeing my first psychologist and psychiatrist. The therapy helped more than the Celexa and antipsych. The support group helped even more. I met two friends for life who have my back in times of sorrow. I have to repeat that it is not my fault that I was abused, even though it kind of was. Don’t let it happen to you! They will take as much as they can from you. Plan your boundaries now and be assertive! Report harassment immediately. Doing so you are being a hero and protecting other women and yourself. If you have already been abused, GET OUT of the situation and talk to someone about it ASAP. There is nothing to be gained by letting the abuse continue! Talking to someone makes it real and lets you start the process of hating less and starting on the path to learning to love yourself again. You deserve real love.

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    Grounding activity

    Find a comfortable place to sit. Gently close your eyes and take a couple of deep breaths - in through your nose (count to 3), out through your mouth (count of 3). Now open your eyes and look around you. Name the following out loud:

    5 – things you can see (you can look within the room and out of the window)

    4 – things you can feel (what is in front of you that you can touch?)

    3 – things you can hear

    2 – things you can smell

    1 – thing you like about yourself.

    Take a deep breath to end.

    From where you are sitting, look around for things that have a texture or are nice or interesting to look at.

    Hold an object in your hand and bring your full focus to it. Look at where shadows fall on parts of it or maybe where there are shapes that form within the object. Feel how heavy or light it is in your hand and what the surface texture feels like under your fingers (This can also be done with a pet if you have one).

    Take a deep breath to end.

    Ask yourself the following questions and answer them out loud:

    1. Where am I?

    2. What day of the week is today?

    3. What is today’s date?

    4. What is the current month?

    5. What is the current year?

    6. How old am I?

    7. What season is it?

    Take a deep breath to end.

    Put your right hand palm down on your left shoulder. Put your left hand palm down on your right shoulder. Choose a sentence that will strengthen you. For example: “I am powerful.” Say the sentence out loud first and pat your right hand on your left shoulder, then your left hand on your right shoulder.

    Alternate the patting. Do ten pats altogether, five on each side, each time repeating your sentences aloud.

    Take a deep breath to end.

    Cross your arms in front of you and draw them towards your chest. With your right hand, hold your left upper arm. With your left hand, hold your right upper arm. Squeeze gently, and pull your arms inwards. Hold the squeeze for a little while, finding the right amount of squeeze for you in this moment. Hold the tension and release. Then squeeze for a little while again and release. Stay like that for a moment.

    Take a deep breath to end.