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Noone has the right to invade your personal space. Rape and Sexual Assault is wrong. Speak up. Report your incident. Get Mental Healthcare. Know that YOU matter and you are not alone. Help is available. Do not keep silent any more. Tell someone. Ask for help and accept it. You are loveable and capable.

We sat next to each other in class. We became friends immediately. But that’s typical your Freshman year of college. One day, these speakers came in to talk about sexual assault on campus. You had your headphones in and were watching a movie. I tapped on your arm and said it was important and you should pay attention. You told me you didn’t need to because it would never effect you. Would you still say that now? I hope it was a good movie. I hope it was so good that you couldn’t have possibly taken a second to learn about consent. I sometimes wonder if anything would have been different with your movie off and your attention on the speakers. Would I still have been raped? These are the the questions that I desperately try to push out of my brain because the answer truly doesn’t matter. What’s done is done and I pay the consequences of your actions. How was your fucking movie? Is it like the sad movie that replays in my brain every day? That movie that’s in black and white? You know the one where you assault me and it takes me months to really find out what you did to my incapacitated body? And I’ll still never truly know. That’s what you can live with because I don’t think I even want to know how far it went. I already saw the bruises on my inner thighs and arms. Did you know that in the ER they re-enacted how I may have gotten those bruises? That image doesn’t leave my head. I’m not sure where I’m going with this. Is it a poem? A letter? Or just somewhere in my notes to vent? Will anyone hear me? I feel like Hobo Johnson when I sit down and try to write about my pain, hurt, disgust, anger, and regret. Again, will anyone hear me? Regret that I ever became your friend. But how was a Freshman girl from a small town in the middle of nowhere suppose to know how to figure of who stranger danger is versus your friend. Because maybe there were some red flags that I missed, but maybe it’s really because I’m nothing like you. I don’t see people and think about the horrible things I can do to them. How could you hurt me like that when you knew how kind my soul was. I’m sure that just made it easier in your mind. Every part of me… the essence of me… made you do something disgusting to me. That’s still not my fault. It’s not my fault that I lost weight and became “more attractive”. It’s not my fault that I am a proud pansexual woman and that became a sick fantasy for you. It’s not my fault that I let you in and you chose to hurt me. It’s not my fault that you became obsessed and possessive. I just wish I never became your friend. When I said to you, “We can’t be friends anymore, I think you raped me”, did you think I’d get over it? Did you think it would all go away? I wish I could get over it and it could all go away. Every second of every day I wish that. If you haven’t figured it out yet, we will never be friends again. I may see you again one day… in a courtroom, but that is it. I hate you. I don’t hate myself anymore. I am healing. I am learning. I am growing. It’s like I never knew who I was until now. And I love who I am. But boy do I hate you. You took away my schooling during my Senior year. I was too afraid to go to my own damn classes because you needed to get off or something I guess. Those are years of my life that I’ll never get back. I could sit there and tell you my story step by step, but that will all come out in court. I’m also tired of repeating it. It’s written down in a journal already. But that’s THE story, not my story. My story started when I was born, but there was a new chapter that began the day I woke up and started to realize what had happened to me. I stood up and I fought like hell. I still fight like hell. I will have my day in court. I will make sure you need to think about this more. Title 9 wanted to protect the school. Not me or you. But I want to protect myself and every other woman you come or may come into contact with. To do that I need to keep talking and keep sharing my story… and THE story. I was 21. I was allowed to drink at that tailgate. You were not allowed to take advantage of my incapacitated body at your fraternity. Fraternity at University. Shame on you for taking advantage of your “best friend” in such a disgusting way. Shame on you for taking advantage of our friendship. Shame on you. Shame on you. Shame on you.

My Name is Author. I dated a very beautiful Lady when I graduated S.U.N.Y. E.S.F.. I was proud of the fact that I had also graduated from Syracuse University. The Lady that I dated was Name. As I got to know Her and it became serious; I learned that She had been raped before the age of 5 by an adult. I tried hard not to pull My Ford Ranger over to the side of the road and sob. When I met at Central Square with a "Christian to ask for advice on how to pray for Her protection - and for this to be ensured that never again would it be repeated; He gave me a disgusting reply. He said "You've been involved with an angel of satan". I hope that one very good day; "christians" have a different outlook on rape victims. That those who sexually exploit young ladies are put in prison. She was African American. I am "Caucasian". When I met Her in Price Chopper - She was carrying a frozen turkey for a Thanksgiving Meal. She reminded me of Robin Givens. I learned that She and Her family has a great history with the Black Panthers. I was so proud to know Her and Her loved ones. Thank God that We are in a great country that fought for racial equlaity and that President Joseph Biden has won; that the legacy of President Barack Obama survives. God Bless the Nation Of Islam for having a strong mandate that no Lady ever be defiled. We are in the Land of One Person, One Vote. I dated a Kikuyu Princess in Nairobi, Kenya and I will never forget making love to Her Our trip from Israel to Kenya. We dated throughout the great city of Nairobi; and by the time that We were ready to plan Our next date - I was almost out of spending money. All that I had to give Her from the Open Market was an indigo pair of Ear Rings. Had I been a Trillioneer, I would have built Her a castle in The United States and let Her live as the Queen that She is. God Bless Judy, The Lady Saint Judith. Please support civil rights, strong anti-rape Laws and severely strong Law enforcement for the protection of Females - and prevention of Sexual Exploitation. All of this account is True; and the Facts can be checked and proven True. I look forward to a day when the truth is not twisted into lies by gossip. When the death of precious people in Africa by great famine - is taken seriously. When the environment and wildlife are protected. Thank You to The Syracuse University and College of Environmental Science and Forestry for having emergency measures in place for Female students in danger. Author Class Of Year Environmental and Forest Biology. Helper of The Direct Deployment Team. Syracuse Police Department God Bless The New York State Troopers. God Bless Nelson Mandela God Bless the United Nations Thank You to Dr. Newman for Worlds Of Food And Famine God Bless B.B. KIng "There's Always One More Time" When I have been very down; I remember what Wesley Snipes said: "Always Bet On Black". Even though I hate and avoid gambling.

I didn’t realize that what happened to me was sexual assault until a few years after it happened. I had always felt weird about it, something was off. Until I was in a Facebook group with a bunch of girls, sharing stories about how we lost our virginity or something, and one of them privately messaged me telling me she was a survivor as well... at first I was kind of confused, it still didn’t register, then after talking it out with her, it hit me... I was raped. It was right before I turned 21. I didn’t drink, but was at a party with several friends who were all drinking. It was after a concert, he was in the band. I had known him for a few years, had always had a crush on him. He’s about 4 or 5 years older than me. He was always so nice and everybody loved him. The party was dying down and everyone left except the people staying there(it was about an hour away from where we lived). We started making out, I was into it of course. But I was a virgin, so when he started to try going further, I told him. He backed off a little, then started again. I thought, I’m 21, I trust him, I like him, maybe I might as well finally do it. So I let him. I got nervous and scared though and asked him to stop. I tried to gently push him back a little. He wouldn’t. He kept saying “just the tip, I’ll just put the tip in.” I still tried to push him back but he wouldn’t stop. So I gave in. Then he kept wanting to go further, longer. I started pushing back again, trying to back myself away. “Just a little more, just a little longer, it’s okay it’s okay.” I don’t remember what I did or what happened after. I felt so weird. I didn’t fully understand what happened. I told my two best friends about it, not all of the details or anything, but they knew I slept in the same room as them so I was just like yeah so I finally lost my virginity, and they were excited for me. Again, we all loved him. I never would have imagined he’d hurt me. The thought didn’t even cross my mind. Back then I thought it was only considered rape if it was a stranger attacking you in a dark alley or something. Not someone you’ve known, you trusted, you liked... but he did. He literally took my virginity from me.

I was a teenager and I invited a boy into my room late at night. He pressured me, for about an hour, to sleep with him. Within a 15 minute period I remember him asking 10 times. I thought he wouldn’t like me if I didn’t. So I stopped telling him no; he took that as a yes. That was my first time. Coercion is rape. Full stop.

Sharing my story in writing for the first time in my life- I am 61 years old now. I got pregnant when I was 21 years old. At the time I was in City - College- My boyfriend at the time and me decided to have an abortion. Abortion in City is illegal. But we found a " clinic" that said that they will be able to help me with the abortion. I remember that morning scare and so innocent. I meet the " doctor: who supposed to conduct the abortion. What this " doctor" ending doing was raping me while I was semi unconscious. I remember very clear all the things he did to me. I couldn't move. I remember waking up and telling my boyfriend, my sister but no one believe me and said that no way I could remember because I was under the anesthesia. I couldn't go to the authorities because what I have done was illegal and I thought that no one will be able to help. My sister stated that she believed me and went and tried to talk to the doctor (I do not remember that, but I do believe her). Honestly, this is the first time I am typing my story and no to many people knows about it. I am working now with survivor with DV and SA no because of what happened to me rather because I think is so important the support can provide to someone who has experiencing this horrific act of violence. Thank you for reading my story,

I was thirteen. He was my boyfriend. I never thought of it as a form of sexual assault because most of it was online, I blamed myself because I felt as though in the end I was the person in control and no one else could have been blamed. He would force me to touch myself, I was thirteen; I was not ready. It was ongoing for two years. It continuously got worse. I never understood how to deal with it. He had convinced me that he was the only person who cared about me, no one else would want me or even love me. It was a traumatic experience.

You feel like you will never heal,you will You will never forget but you will heal.. It took years for me to fine my confidence but I have it and will never lose it again...there are curtain things ....like the darkness ,I have nightlight in my house....walked thur hell and came out stronger... Hate roses to this day ,but love flowers... You will one day fine your courage to leave, It took me 17 years ,I did not do it alone had help Was hard ... its been 28 years. I could not save one,but I saved two..I watch my children and now my grandchildren grow and thank God they and I are here ...I am still healing ,but I am now living ... You will heal ...

I was in a relationship when I was 15. He was older than me. He pressured me to do things I didn’t want to. One day he pushed me against a wall after I told him I had to go home and he started to take of my pants and do things to me while I tried get out of there. Unfortunately he was much (physically) stronger than me. He would also hurt me physically. He choked me once (not in a sexual way, he actually wanted to hurt me)

Month Day, Year I was raped on my first day of college... then a few months later I was violently raped at my place of work. At the time of these attacks I was not intoxicated and the attacks did not happen at night. In addition I did not say no and I did not physically fight back. I thought for so long that these conditions invalidated my experiences, that I couldn’t have really been raped and that I must have someone brought these experiences on myself. Over the last five and half years, I have done so much to fill my trauma void... stay in toxic relationships, stay in toxic behaviors with food, and struggled finding the strength to continue living beyond college. In less than a month I will be graduating college and not only do I want to live beyond college, but I want to thrive and help others see their strength when they can’t. I wear my scars, whether physical or mental, like wings. While in the moment the trauma I went through was horrifying, now almost six years out these experiences have shaped me in ways that make me realize my strength and my unique ways I can help the world. Right now you may be sitting with fresh and festering wounds, but with time, community support, and vigorous self care and exploration your wounds will turn to scars, which will allow you to soar. Have grace for and faith in your journey and your strength. You are worthy of love and life. You are more than enough. You are needed and wanted in this world to share all of your beautiful gift. With Love, S

I was first raped when I was 14 years old, by a classmate. I didn’t know it was rape for almost 10 years. I was raped again when I was 20 years old, by a friend in my dorm on campus. I’m now 28 years old and work as an educator, counselor and advocate for interpersonal violence prevention. I have been searching for a place to share my story without having to share my identity (thank you endlessly EROC/It’s On Us for this space). I have so much to share but even more so I hope whoever is reading this knows they’re not alone.

When I was 18 I was raped and physically assaulted by a friend of mine at the time. He was 3 years older than me and it was his 21st birthday. It took me a year to accept what happened, and 4 years to get help through counseling. I used to feel a lot of guilt for not getting help sooner and the way my trauma affected other people in my life/people I was in relationships with. I also hated and still sometimes hate the way it affects me 6 years later, but I’m learning that things don’t always go away on their own and it’s okay to reach out for help, no matter what stage you’re in or how long has passed. You will find people who love and believe you, and you’re more than worthy of that. They say skin completely regenerates every 7 years, so by this time next year I’ll have a body you’ve never touched, and that’s comforting.

I was married and attending a wedding with my now ex husband. His friend came up to me shoved his knee between my legs, grinder on me and backed up and said, now who wants to smell my knee. I was humiliated and my ex and his friends dismissed me and said that's just how he is. I pushed thw issue and my ex verbally attacked me for telling a guy friend of mine who was taking up for me. I was beaten down emotionally and my ex pushed me to apologize to his friend. And I did. I have healed now, I am able to talk about what happened without fear of what could happen. And that had made me feel powerful.

Why did you have to be so good at manipulating me. You flirted with me in class, you complimented my outfits when I thought no one cared. You told me you wanted to treat me right, and I'm the fool for beliving you? You told me we should go to the bar, so we did. I felt alive, I felt happy and you just wanted me to keep drinking so I did. You took me back to your place and honestly I don't even remember anything. I woke up and, I've got to give you credit, you were smart to say we had sex right away. It blindsighted me, I liked you so much I didn't want to assume the worst. But of course my little paradise I had with you fell apart. A month later you ended things, said I wasn't right and you wanted to be alone. I felt so destroyed but that wasn't even the worst of it. The puzzle pieces were starting to come together. I'm not coherent when I'm blacked out, if anything I'm demonic. I scream, I vomit, I sieze, I am in no way able to have sex but that didn't matter to you right? Because I wasn't someone you actaully liked, I was just a trophy. I found out only weeks after you left me that you and your football friends had made a bet, a stupid bet to see if you could sleep with me because honestly you weren't that cute. So I hope you're happy, I hope you're proud of yourself for what you did. I hope you never forgot your conquest because you have cursed me to never forget you. -Name

I was only 6 years old when I was sexually assaulted. The first time I talked about it with anyone and said it out loud was this year. I'm now 22... that means it's been 16 years later. But I am so thankful to have the support system I do have - the support system who has been strong enough to give me the courage to finally speak up for myself ❤️

It was a cold snowy winter night just before the COVID shutdown spread across the country. I was attending the second-year graduate school class reception with a group of friends from the second-year graduate class. My "date" as my invitation to attend that class's event was really someone everyone knew was in a committed long-distance relationship and just using the extra ticket as a fun excuse to invite me as friend. It was a fun time to explore a historic mansion while having food and wine. An hour later, as it was about to conclude, one of the second-year's partners turns to me and tells me she would really like to meet me at a bar, and a group of people from that class are planning to go there. I turn to my "date" and we both agree to go. We drove to the vintage bar, one I never had been to before. I walk in through the snow and ice in my black high heels in a cocktail dress covered by my winter jacket, trying my best not to trip. A cocktail and a few conversations among classmates of my "date" later, I find myself in the corner chatting with the person who invited me to the bar from the reception. Something seemed off from the start of the conversation -- and it only got worse. The 30-something-appearing cis woman was a faculty member, yet seemed to serial date younger, new students at the same professional school -- a fact a classmate mentioned in passing with an eye-roll earlier. The one-to-one conversation with me appeared to go in circles, with her repeating the same stories over and over again without realizing that she was doing so. Awkward conversation, but it would just be a temporarily annoyance, my thought was. Yet it took an even more bizarre turn. She kept getting closer to closer to me as she was talking. At one point, she touched my shoulder, ostensibly to make a comment about how she liked my dress. She was mentioning her professional expertise and connections in the field I was, and still am, most interested in entering. She then started asking me awkward questions about how I was visibly trans, and then mentioned as a complete non-sequitur how she was the dominant "masculine" partner in her relationship. And then, to my horror, I noticed her abruptly lifting the bottom of my dress up and reaching underneath my dress to attempt to grope either my inner thigh...or worse. This wasn't just a slight motion; her hand was fully underneath my dress and moving fast upwards, from what I could clearly see from the brief glimpse I took. I immediately stepped backwards with a wide-eyed look on my face, in total disbelief of what just happened...and what did not happen that was mere seconds away from fully happening. She turned away in a hurry and walked back to her partner at the bar -- who was oblivious to what just happened -- grabbed him by the arm, and made an excuse to request to leave. This was not the first time I had experience attempted or completed sexual assault. Just like when I experienced rape the year of my college graduation, during a different cold winter night years earlier, I remember feeling puzzled, confused, and very much *not* wanting to put a label on what just happened to me. The events of each night leading up to the sexual assault always seem so random and not predictable as they are happening, but in retrospect, it is so easy to attempt to scrutinize every detail as a possible warning sign of what was to come. Yet I do not even want to think about the likely reality that the attempted sexual assault I experienced that night seemed to happen due to being visibly trans. When people think of post-traumatic stress disorder from an evolutionary perspective, it is typically thought of as an adaptive way to avoid situations of future danger. But when you're scared of social events and comments about personal identity, just think of how unpredictable the healing journey is.

I had my first kiss when I was 18, on a post high school graduation trip to Europe. While I was somewhat embarrassed it didn't happen earlier, I felt the experience of having my very first kiss in Paris outweighed the delay. Besides, I was mostly just relieved it happened before college. I didn't want to be *completely* inexperienced. 2 and a half months later, I went to a frat party with a group of friends. I was drunk, like I frequently was on weekends that first year, but not drunk enough to forget. I remember making out with a guy. It was my third kiss, the second one having occurred in a sweaty bar, the kind of place that accepts fake IDs from college freshmen. After that one, with a guy in a blue t-shirt, I wandered around the dance floor, looking for my roommate and friends amidst the hordes of 18 year olds. I felt strange, dirty, and alone. But back to kiss #3. Like I said, I was drunk, but not the drunkest I'd been in that inaugural month of college. I came to the party with my roommate and a group of friends - guys and girls. I remember slipping on the beer soaked frat house floor, and my friends pulling me back up to dance with them. And then I was making out with him. His name was Colin. He was 2 years my senior, a junior studying economics, I think. I can't remember what he looked like really - roughly my height and brown hair, but that seemed to describe every guy at our school. We were making out pushed up against the wall, in public, under the glaring lights. Of course, I watched similar debauchery at nearly every party I attended that semester. One of my friends mentioned she was going to the bathroom, and told our guy friends not to let me leave with him. But I wasn't their responsibility. Before she returned, I was gone. I remember stumbling from frat row back to his upperclassmen dorm, a tall, imposing building. I thought only well connected freshmen were invited in there. We were in his living room, making out on a crappy dorm provided couch. I remember my confusion at the lack of other people. "My roommates are out of town", I think he explained. Or maybe they were still at the party. He suggested we move to his bed. I don't remember walking there, but there I was. He was kissing me, and suddenly pulled my tank top up over my head. I whispered, or muttered, but most definitely said the words "nothing below the waist". My lack of experience seemed embarrassing and juvenile, and left me frozen to what came next. I was laying on my back, and he pulled my pants and underwear off. He went down on me, and fingered me, and I wish there was a way to word that to make it clear it didn't feel good. His fingers hurt, and I tried to pull them out. He retorted, "what, don't you like it?" and continued. Some time later, maybe just after, or maybe upon waking up later that night, I walked to his bathroom. The toilet paper came from between my legs stained with blood. My alarm went off early the next morning - a weekend, but I had to report to my work study job. I was wearing nothing but socks. I fumbled for my clothes, and pushed open the door into the claustrophobic cinderblock hallway. He followed me. "We should hang out again sometime!" he called down the hallway. I stepped into the elevator. In the lobby, I took note of the hickies that covered my neck, feeling dirty and mortified passing the security guard. Was this just what college hook ups were supposed to be like? I wondered. The temperature had dropped overnight, and I shivered in my tank top and shorts on the walk home. I arrived at work on time for my shift, barely, my neck's marks from the night before shrouded in a blue scarf I'd purchased in Europe that summer. I remember my supervisor complimented it.

Back on April 6th 2019 (yesterday was 2 years) i was dog/house sitting for a family member of mine when on of their family friend came over. He kept having me try a bunch of different alcoholic drinks until eventually I was drunk. Without going into too much detail he took advantage of me. The next morning I woke up feeling so numb and stuck. I eventually told my mom later that night when I was picked up and they kept trying to contact the guy. My mom hadn’t heard back until the next day when she told me he took his life. The wave of guilt and sadness that hit me in that moment felt so unbearable. For the next few weeks after I remember not leaving my bed unless it was to use the bathroom. Then (thankfully) my mom was able to get me put in therapy. Where I was put with the most amazing therapist. After a few months of one on one I was put into group therapy as well. Where i got to meet the most incredible and strong women. Therapy had taught me so much and helped me so much. It taught me (and this goes for everyone who has gone through something like this) that it was not my fault. It taught me that healing isn’t linear. That you’re gonna have bad days months and maybe even years after but that’s okay because that’s still healing. Therapy taught me that I’m strong, but its okay to not always be because we are human. To anyone who reads this I want you to know you are not alone and you’re doing amazing. I’m proud of you. You got this :)

I am proud of so many parts of college. Of work I have done and relationships I've built. I am proud of the many ways I have reshaped and reimagined the opportunities before me so that I could continue to reach further. But I am back, drawn back again and again to the floor lost in the horrors of what these four years have held. I am angry with professors who didn't know, who kept breaking me more and more each day by pushing me harder. I am angry with the people who surrounded me because I needed connection but the cold hard interactions I found let my fingers slip from the lip of the cliff. And I fell further. It got worse. and each time I catch a new edge I know it can crumble again someday too. I have asked for support sometimes. I have wanted to find love. But I've never felt seen. I grapple with the same things. Stay up all night, lost in memories of hell. I need to be seen. I need to be seen. But for some reason, from the first week of freshman year, all I have been is a body. They have seen me, men. they have taken my softness, my love my heart and left little. I have little to offer for the love I ask for.

Hello, my name is Name and this is my story... The abuse was rather physical, starting at a young age, as early as I can remember. EMDR has taken me back to memories around two-years-old where my dad was physical, large, and just scary. While he was a very abusive man physically, this is about what he did to me starting at 13. The sexual abuse started off simple when I was just a young woman, but it progressed to beyond a living nightmare. This man had not only asked me to marry him and be his wife over three times, he also didn't let me leave after the age of 18 when I tried to move out. The abuse was more than just inappropriate touches, he made me share a room with him after I turned 16, and I felt life was over then. When he started to make me sleep in his room, he then had full access to me and didn't have any boundaries - at all. Many days and nights I was stuck at the house for him because he would let others in the family go out and explore life, while I was grounded so he could keep an eye on me. I was not allowed to talk to boys my age, and if I did, it would make him jealous and angry. I had a constant phone check and had to prove where every text message went. I won't go into the detail of the things he did, but he did everything to me that a man should only do with his wife, not his daughter. I was very scared of this man as he spent every moment watching me and what I did. He even threatened to end both of our lives if I didn't comply, which is something all survivors feel or go through. When I turned 18, I left that night and walked from City, State, to the airport in City, State 2 in middle of the night. I was desperate to get out, and he wasn't going to let me go. When I arrived at the airport and started begging for money, shortly into the morning, I turned around, and there he was. Walking up to me, taking me back to the car. I was too scared to scream out. He was mad at me, and took me back to our home in Citywhere he locked me in his room for 2 weeks where I wasn't allowed to talk to family members, my phone was taken away, and food was served to me. At 19, I tried again. I begged my mom for help and she took me to the City Greyhound bus station and bought me a ticket. She told me to lay low and be careful and sent me off with a wifi capable phone. After 32 hours of travel on the bus, I got a call from my mom stating my dad found out and he was on his way. When the bus pulled into the City, State 3 station, he was there, again, to take me back. I tried to fight this time, after he broke a promise. He told me he wanted to make sure I was safe and promised to go take me to my grandparents. Tired, hungry and needing the ride, I believed him. Instead of going North, he started driving south. I started screaming and he turned up the music, eventually I passed out due to exhaustion and woke up back in NM. I finally escaped at 21 when we moved to TN and a friend, I met out there understood what I was going through. He helped sneak me out of that house one day, and I left with nothing. My father found out where I was again and came to kidnap me again. This time, cops were called, and I went in for protection. My father didn't let me take a single article of clothing at that time when he knew I was officially out of his hands. For the next few years, I didn't know how to navigate life or around my family. I held my story in, carrying shame and guilt for things that were out of my control. I wanted a family, so I tried to pretend things didn't happen and in 2015 I moved back to UT to be around my family again. When I did this, I couldn't shake the feeling of discomfort and ick. I eventually met a boy who let me move in (because I was broke and living with my family wasn't working) and started to help me out. We ended up dating and becoming a relationship and having a little boy. In this time frame, I started making boundaries with my family and telling them who my father was, no one believed me. In 2020 I woke up one day, it was national siblings' day, and I was feeling hurt. I was sad they all took his side and that my 5 brothers, mother, and little sister all believed him over me and called me really bad names. I posted on TikTok about my story, and it started to blow up as many others started to feel a similar way or went through similar things. This was the start of my healing journey. I said, I don't have to feel shame for my past, and I can take control of who I am today. The past doesn't have to define you, but who you are can be up to you. While it was and still is hard correcting bad or unwanted habits, I am grateful for who I am now because of the pain I've been through. Because of the suffering I endeared for the first 21 years of my life, it has made the 32-year-old woman bright and positive. I have spent years in therapy with EMDR, ART, Mindfulness, breathwork, and many other courses through the years have gotten me to the warrior I am today. I take pride in my story, and I own it. I can't change what I have been through, but I can make the changes to better my future and be a better mom for my son. After seeing my mother take the abuse from my father, I told myself I would never be like her. After 10 years of living with my child's father, I have become stronger and recognized the signs of domestic abuse that I too, was going through. After years of triggers, and realizing he is life my father, I gained the strength to go off like I needed. I am now a single mother who loves her son, works with a large corporation in their Behavioral Health division, and creating my own business pathways to help other survivors thrive. I know the healing journey is hard, and it can be hard to start, but you got this. We all do!