April 2nd, 2021

There are so many fears that stop us from sharing our stories. “What if people don’t believe me?” “What if people think I’m whining?” “What if someone who’s had it worse reads my story and thinks I’m weak?” The thing we tend to forget is that pain is relative. Think of a baby that cries when they’re hungry. To that baby, the pain of hunger is the worst pain they’ve ever experienced. A toddler trips and skins their knee, this is the worst pain they’ve ever known. As adults, many of us have felt that pain and we know how much worse it can be, but to those tiny humans, that pain is overwhelming.

Personal trauma is very similar, we all go through life on different paths, but that doesn’t make your pain any less valid. We need to stop comparing ourselves to others as a way to belittle our emotions. That first heartbreak hurts the most. That first trauma will change you the most. But comparing your situation to mine is unfair to us both. We all learned to handle pain differently. While I learned to shove it deep, you may have learned to release it, and your neighbor may have learned to drink it away. This isn’t to say that one way is right and the rest are wrong, they’re just different. The way we learn to cope also affects our level of pain. Those who are able to deal with it immediately tend to suffer with it less, while those who try to pretend it never happened will let the pain fester like an infection until it takes over.

Over my life, many people have suggested writing as a way to help me process my emotions. A blog was never an idea I had but I did keep a journal at times. I think just the act of typing this all out, getting it out of my head, has helped me to see the different truths I’ve been fighting. I’m the type of person who lays in bed at night overthinking everything I’ve ever done or said so the ability to release those thoughts helps to quiet my mind, which is why a good portion of my writing is done in the middle of the night. It also helps me to be able to look at it from an outside perspective. I’m able to see my needs that haven’t been met, understand my emotions, and realize how my actions have hurt those I love. I’m also able to see the dominoes that have fallen because of how I chose to respond to the things I couldn’t control.

To those of you who are reading this: I don’t know your story, I don’t know what you’ve been through up to this point, and I don’t know how your journey to healing has happened. Regardless, I want to encourage you to write it down. I encourage you to release it from your mind and your heart, what you do with it after that is up to you. Burn it in a campfire, shred it in your office, turn it into a paper airplane and throw it off the tallest building. If you want your story to help others, you can send it to us. Whatever you do, allow yourself to release it and any pain that comes with it. Allow yourself to heal.

**The decision to share your story is completely in your hands, but if you choose to share it with us I can promise you that we will never judge you. We will never hold your responses to pain against you. We will never post your story without your permission or link it to you in any way. **

April 3rd, 2021

There are dozens of grounding techniques. I have attached two commonly used ones and my grounding bag and its use. The grounding bag can be used with any other method or alone but is my go to for full trigger/dissociation. All of the methods can be done alone if you are anxious or panicking in a car, at night etc.. However, if this trigger happened mid-scene part of care should include grounding.

Breathing is a major part of grounding. I suggest holding an object or just sitting, start with breathing in from your stomach for a count of three and out from your nose. Feel the chair or the object in your hand and repeat the breathing three times. Then use a grounding technique.

This method uses facts that we should all know about ourselves and the world around us. I tend to compare this one to the questions asked during a concussion check. It works because the focus is on breathing and reminding ourselves what is here and now.

Cognitive Awareness Technique

Remember to start with breathing in from your abdomen and out through your nose. Any or all of these questions can be asked.

1. Where am I?
2. What is today?
3. What is the date?
4. What is the month?
5. What is the year?
6. How old am I?
7. What season is it?

I love using this one as I talk through breathing with a person and can use it just as easily on the phone as I can in person. It is easy to remember and use because it’s just taking something we have learned over and over and using it to ground us. It doesn’t really matter which sense you use for which number, however if you use taste for five things you might get stuck. 

The Five Senses Technique

As you ask these five questions you also want to work on having the person triggered focus on nothing but breathing. 

• First, say breathe with me and take a deep breath in and out slowly. 
• 
  
• Next, you ask these questions slowly and calmly. As the triggered person answers keep the breathing slow and measured.
• 
  

1. Name five things you can see
2. Name four things you can touch
3. Name three things you can hear
4. Name two things you can smell
5. Name one thing you can taste – if you have a small piece of chocolate or gum etc… place it in your mouth before answering

The grounding bag was taught to me, by my trauma therapist, for when I can’t think or breathe… it’s when the PTSD anxiety makes it so I’m not me and can’t communicate.  

The bag can be used by either a person being triggered or someone witnessing the trigger.  

It is great to have for any anxious moments and can be used as follows:

Grounding Bag

This is good for any panic attack or stressful time period to keep you grounded in the present

1. Peppermint oil or another overpowering oil
2. Quartz or another jagged rock(or ice)
3. Extreme Sour Candy
4. 
   

Using the Oil – be careful not to touch your eyes if you have oil on your fingers.

1. Put a drop or two in the triggered person’s hand
2. They rub it in then place their hands close to their mouth and nose, but not touching. 
3. They breathe deeply in, think from your toes.  
4. Do this a couple times it should cause almost a jolt.  
5. If you want to put it on your hands and have them breathe that’s fine.

Using the quartz/rock or ice

1. The quartz or another ragged, rough, rock is for squeezing tightly in their hands. 
2. Ice works just as well if not better in some cases.
3. It won’t feel good. It’s meant to make them feel… not bleed.  
4. This is good for a mid-scene trigger since they have someone to direct what comes next.  
5. As they do the talking and breathing exercises this will help them come back to the present and things are ok.

Using the sour candy

1. The extreme sour candy is another jolt to the system.
2. You shouldn’t like it! 

April 8th, 2021

Today I will be driving with a friend to go to a doctor’s appointment tomorrow over 400 miles from home. We will be there through Saturday. I have decided to edit a few posts from my previous writings as well as place Artemis’ journey to healing after multiple sexual assaults. Her story is hard to read and comes in multiple parts. It is full of fear and doubt, but she is one of the strongest people I know. Please know that it is written towards adults but some of the assaults like mine took place as a youth, so reader discretion is advised.

If you or I do nothing, nothing can be fixed. Stop looking at your neighbor, president, governor, or the teacher to do something. It’s my job to do what I can – not push it off on someone else. How can I help make things better? I can share my story, hear others’ stories, teach that everyone deserves to be loved and respected for who they are, and advocate for change

After hearing a person’s story I can either step in and do my part to help get them on the path they need, or guide them to the appropriate resources to step in and help. I specifically said hear others’ stories and not listen to others stories. This is a very important difference because listening just means you nod and let a person talk, or put your views on what the person should do. Hearing is different in that before you make judgement or offer advice you let the person tell their story and ask for what they need. I can’t and shouldn’t go around telling someone I can get them out of a dangerous situation because I could also be hurt. However, I can listen and then refer the person to the resources I have gathered to get the help they need. Or, if instead a person is having a panic attack or is being triggered, I know how to help. 

What can you do? 

The attached lyrics were something I was listening to last year writing this post. I’m aware it is a Christian song, if you have other beliefs please adjust for those… the point is that if – We, alone or as a community, do not stand up and do something nothing can change!

So, I shook my fist at Heaven

Said, “God, why don’t You do something?”

He said, “I did, yeah, I created you” (now listen)

If not us, then who

If not me and you

Right now, it’s time for us to do something, yeah

If not now, then when

Will we see an end

To all this pain

Oh, it’s not enough to do nothing

It’s time for us to do something

I’m so tired of talking about

How we are God’s hands and feet

But it’s easier to say than to be

Live like angels of apathy who tell ourselves

It’s alright, “somebody else will do something”

Well, I don’t know about you

But I’m sick and tired of life with no desire

I don’t want a flame, I want a fire and

I wanna be the one who stands up and says

“I’m gonna do something”

Partial Lyrics of “Do Something,” by Matthew West

April 9th, 2021

*** Trigger Warning : Statutory Rape and Domestic Assault ***

In the beginning I wanted this, or at least I thought I did. When he was in the pool he would come over to me and start massaging my shoulders and then gently sliding his hands down to my breasts. This was the first time I wanted a male touching me. The heat between our bodies steamed along with the pool water at that time of night. When I questioned my self worth he would tell me I was beautiful and deserved more. More attention, more love, and more protection – I told him that summer all about my history. He wanted me to talk and it made me feel safe. Whether in the pool or by the cars just walking by each other he made sure to touch my skin. The electricity it caused in my body was like lightning up and down and this was just simple brushing over my hand… in the pool I felt as though I would die if he let go. I kept urging him in my head to run his hands lower, my breasts were not enough, but for that summer, night after night he always stopped right there. He would pull me in close in his swimsuit and the back of my body would curve to his front but his hands would never touch anything but my shoulders and breasts. 

Wait – I’m stating that this is consensual right? How can that be if I’m claiming he sexually assaulted me? Remember, I was still 14 and he was 24… legally that is Statutory Rape if we have sex. As the summer continued I started babysitting the renters on the second floor of my house and pretty much spending all my time up there even when the kids’ mom was home. She and her husband were fully aware of the relationship that was developing with Whitey. They would let me sneak upstairs to see him or to sit on the stairs with him while I was at their apartment.

The first hint that Whitey had a temper that would ultimately hurt me was when I decided to tell him of my conversations with a teacher, during summer work study, required for all financial aid students for the Catholic school I attended. He flat out told me that when school started I was not allowed to wear my school skirt, and even worse that t-shirts were required under my button down shirt. I did as I was told because I trusted him and thought he was trying to protect me. 

As freshman year of school started, I turned 15. We got into a routine of tv and sleep, cuddles and kissing but no sexual intercourse yet. Somewhere between December and March things started to change, this is when sex started happening. In March, I got upset and threatened to tell my parents. He dropped me as soon as I got upset. He told me no one would believe me and I would lose him forever if I told my parents. To prove that I couldn’t live without him he stopped opening the door at night. And he made a point to leave for work early and come home late so we didn’t cross paths in the hallways most days.

I wrote this on March 30th, at 15 – 

He thinks he can just waltz in anytime he feels like it and I’ll jump.  

Well the jumping isn’t happening anymore, 

‘cause my love isn’t a bottomless pit that never ends.  

It is a give and take situation.  

I give, he takes, that’s not how love works either.

The writings start back up on May 9th of that same year, but those are more of my ‘I need him’ style. I had gotten over the point that we needed others to know. I was ok hiding because ‘as soon as I turned 18 he would tell my parents;’ that was until the end of Summer, and beginning of my sophomore year of highschool. 

In September, when my writings started back up again I wrote I’m afraid that I ruined his life, because my mother heard something. To this day I’m not exactly sure what she saw, heard, or was told but I remember vividly that he stood staring at her without a single glance at me and said “I would never touch her. She’s just a child with an infatuation.” He walked away and I was grounded for telling lies.

One of my writings dated September 30th, right after my 16th birthday –

His life changed forever because of a night of passion

Will he give up everything to show that he truly cares?

Or will he make her take on this awful task alone?

If he leaves her it will just show he never really cared.

But if he stays he will be giving up all his dreams

His only hope is that it is all a big mistake

So he doesn’t have to make this awful choice

But if it isn’t what will he do?

I’m not sure exactly whether I told him that throwing me across the room caused a miscarriage or just that I must have been wrong and was never pregnant to begin with. But I know that my mother thought I had lied the entire time and his career was never threatened.  

As I close my journal and writing for this evening – 

There is no clear positive to gain from telling this part of my story that I can see yet, mainly because I’m still trying to process the thoughts and feelings that I have from spelling it out. Even since yesterday I’ve realized that my timing is definitely off and sexual relations with Whitey started long before I had realized. So it will take a while for me to write the entire story and leave readers and fellow warriors hope for a happy future.

April 11th,2021

Today is April 11th, 2021, I am editing a post originally from 2019, which means it was pre-pandemic. How much life has changed since March 2020, I’m hoping that when we figure out our new normal post-pandemic ‘CONSENT’ is easier to understand. Many of us have gotten used to asking friends and family whether it is ok to take down our mask or hug each other. Depending on risk factors, personal opinions, and vaccines each answer is different and needs to be respected, this is a form of consent. 

Saturday, April 6th, was a birthday party for one of our friends… All day I was reminded of how much my generation struggles to teach our kids about consent. Throughout the party I constantly heard parents saying “Ask First,” “Did she say you could take that?,” and my favorite is, “May I hug you?” This type of consent is what we can teach our youngest kids and when we lead by example our children learn their voices matter.

In 2019, we were asked to make a meme explaining consent. The birthday girl’s mom and I are friends, which reminded me of something that happened around St. Patrick’s day – We workout together. That day I walked into the gym with a t-shirt on, that said “Kiss Me I’m Irish-ish.” She could have just given me a peck on the cheek or whatever, but instead she said “So I need to kiss you?” I was super confused because I had forgotten all about my funny choice in clothing that day. Except, I had implied consent right? I mean if she had kissed me I would have been confused for a minute, but I wouldn’t have been upset because she’s my friend. However, by asking she made sure that “implied consent” was true consent.  

Now step back and think about it in terms of sex. I dress up for a date. Plan to stay the night at the person’s place, even pack a toothbrush and clean clothes to get home the next day. Maybe we’ve been dating a while but haven’t slept together yet or maybe we have. The fact is, that night is a new night and before you rip my clothes off and throw me on a bed, ask again. Because maybe that night I just can’t handle it and you just made, what could be, the worst decision in your life. If I like you and just can’t that night, for whatever reason, don’t force me. The best outcome would be being done with any possible relationship, the worst case could be scarring me for life and you are facing criminal charges. It takes two seconds to ask for consent. It takes a lifetime to heal from an assault.

April 13th,2021

I am humbled by the fact that my friend, Artemis, has decided to share her story with me. She has entrusted me to edit it as I see fit to share it with the world. I can tell you that the events she is sharing of her childhood are horrific and hard to read. She is an amazing woman full of perseverance and light. I know she thinks she somehow doesn’t deserve to be happy but she definitely does. None of these incidents are her fault at all, just as being sexually assaulted is never the victim’s fault. We must do better at teaching consent and monitoring adults and older children around the most vulnerable, young children.  

Athena

On the outside my family looks like the normal church going family. My parents are still married. My brother and his wife have 3 beautiful children. I look like many other females you come across in your normal life. However, I struggle with the feeling that my life has been a total nightmare. How do I move past these feelings?

When Athena first asked for stories to be shared I struggled with whether or not I could do this. I had never written out my story before and I definitely didn’t want the world to know this was my life. However, Athena and Wayward encouraged us all just to write it, worst case I write it and print it then burn it in a fire and delete the file completely. So I wrote it.  

Here is how it begins – 

My kindergarten was held in the high school, for the most part we didn’t cross paths except for special occasions. The most exciting time of day was when the teacher would call on one of the students to bring the attendance folder upstairs to the main office. This office was where all the big kids were. Finally, it was my day to get that responsibility, I was so excited!

 

I skipped up to the front of the room wearing my favorite dress. It was black with lemons and little white blossoms all over it, and a white lace collar. Naturally, my mom insisted I wear white nylons that were supposedly comfortable and fashionable; but I have my doubts on the fashion and they definitely were not comfortable. On my feet were my fancy shoes; they were this shiny black with buckles.To top off my mom’s fashion sense for 90’s chic, my golden blond hair was pulled back with little pink and purple butterfly clips. 

I was so excited and full of exhilaration to travel to the unknown realm of the… upstairs! I ran out the door, hardly paying attention as the adrenalin flowed through my tiny, little, body. I raced up the stairs, then bounded across the corridor, and through the door to the office. The office smelled of stale coffee and copy paper. I nervously handed the folder to the nice secretary, At the time she looked to me to be old, looking back she was probably in her forties. The secretary gave me my prize for bringing the folder up, it was a small blue smiley sticker! With awe and excitement I ran out of the office, leapt across the corridor, and bounded down the stairs.

Suddenly, I was in the air, and there were arms around me. I had no idea what was going on then laughter erupted around me as two more high schoolers joined in. I was in one guys arms, pressed tightly against his body. A strange sound brought my attention to another of the males actions, he had ripped my nylons for access to my privates. I didn’t know what was going on, first everything was cold, then came the pain. I must have closed my eyes but I don’t really remember anything, just pain and darkness, sounds had ceased. The pain though, it was like I was being split in two.

I don’t remember any other events from the day other than going home. My mom was so upset because I had thrown away my brand new nylons. She knew nothing of why and I didn’t know to talk about it or even what to say. It wasn’t until many years later that I even understood what had happened myself. At the age of 6 all I knew was that I couldn’t take baths with my brothers anymore, because ‘boys and girls were different.’ My parents didn’t talk about how we were different just that we were.

I now know I was gang raped at the age of 6, by three high school boys.

April 14th,2021

A little delayed but still very relevant. Today is an edited post from April 2019, as this year’s theme is “We can build safe online spaces,” keeping my accounts safe for all is important. We received a comment regarding my use of a picture of me crying in the shower on our Facebook Page, as well as a new post from the same male.

The post was asking for others stories to share as part of Sexual Assault Awareness month. My first thought was to immediately take the comment down but I didn’t instead I replied. His comment was as follows – “So you post a picture of a woman in the shower,” it was followed with a Why emoji. I responded in two places just to make sure he couldn’t erase my comment. My response was this “Yes we chose to share a picture of me crying in the shower. There is nothing sexual about it, instead it is showing me at my lowest and able to get up and move on.”  

I chose to respond and specifically this response for a few reasons. One is I wanted to prove I wasn’t going to let one person push me around anymore. Another, is that I know many others would see the comment he made and any courage they had to share or maybe just even write out their story for themselves just got ripped away. Not a single person that has been sexually assaulted caused the assault. We deserve to have others stand next to us in support.  

My comment did not get a single outward action by this person that tried to rile me up. However, a supporter of our website responded back to him and had my back 1000%. She explained how so many people that have been sexually assaulted end up on the shower floor crying. Why? Because we feel dirty and like it is somehow our fault. We feel that if we could only wash away the smells, tastes, feeling, sounds, and sights of that night or those incidents we will somehow be ok. Two things about these feelings after an assault “It’s ok to not be ok;’ and no matter what it is not your fault. 

You can not wash away the fear and pain someone caused in your life, but you can take away their power over you by healing. How do we heal from these types of events? Talk to someone! Therapists to me are the best first step, but only if you are truthful with them. What do I mean by that? For years I saw therapists and knew what they wanted to hear and basically talked myself out of counseling. I told them yes I was sexually assaulted, he hurt me, and I’m ok. That doesn’t help anyone. You need to find a counselor, or atleast a friend, that you are comfortable enough with to share the hardstuff. You will know the right one, that person will get you to tell more about yourself in five minutes than you have with anyone else. You will feel somehow upset and relieved every time you leave a session if you are actually doing the work. This is only the first step in healing. For tonight, I don’t have the energy for anything more, so I will continue the steps in healing in another post.

April 15th,2021

Here is part 2 of Artemis’ story once again a hard one to read and edit. How are we not doing better? This is why Sexual Assault Awareness Month exists! I know one of my questions is how did her parents not know, but they didn’t so can not be held responsible. This is not even their fault their child was at school, a place that is supposed to be safe. It definitely was not a safe place for Artemis or the other girls this happened to. Please if you take nothing else from these writings – be an open door for children. By this I mean make sure those children and adolescents in your life know they have safe havens to tell anything without judgement! Please help make my kids generation know that no matter what they can talk!

Athena

My first introduction to sexual assault was as a kindergartener, you can find it here. My second was as a 5th grade middle school student. I know I’ve asked myself a million times as an adult how this can happen to a person, but also doubt my memory of these events. Why do I doubt my memories? Well, it’s because the few times I’ve talked about it people will blame me. I had my first real breakdown about it. I ended up with police officers in high school because I seemingly started crying randomly one day. The first thing they ask when they realize a student has been sexually assaulted is “Is it still happening?,” quickly followed up by “Is it someone in your household?” I’m very thankful that is not what happened to me, but what happened to me is still painful and raw.  

In my school district we start middle school in 5th grade. Many parents question whether that’s a good idea having 5th graders in the same building as 8th graders, but during school hours we are kept separate. I can tell you the other middle schoolers weren’t the problem when I was in school. Instead, the problem was lack of adults supervising other adults in the building.   

In 5th grade I became best friends with a girl named Ember. We were both incredibly shy and awkward. Her family was from Japan and they acted differently than the other families in my school district. Her family was also very strict and one day they just disappeared. I wrote letters to her all the time when she first left, but no one would tell me what happened. After many days of harassing the teacher for information, she let me know that Ember’s family had moved back to Japan. At the time I was confused as to why and mad that I couldn’t get my letters to her.

As the days passed through the year I got into my routine of trying to be the least noticeable as possible. I was definitely not one of the in crowd and my body shape wasn’t what you would call ideal. So I learned to wait till the rest of the girls changed back to street clothes after gym class. This usually worked well since I was a walker and didn’t have to race for the buses or even a car pickup. Instead, I would change and then run down the corridor from the gymnasium passing the cafeteria and out the doors to meet my older brother on the hill. 

I had no idea how badly this day would turn. I had seen the food delivery driver before on my way out but thought nothing of it. Until this day, as I hurried down the corridor he grabbed me by the neck with a hand on my mouth and pulled me into a room. How does a 5th grader fight off a grown man? Not well I’ll tell you, but I did everything I could think of to get out of his arms. I head butted him in the face, he grunted and punched me in the gut. Then to make sure I couldn’t get away he zip tied me to the desk in the room. He didn’t plan on just raping me, no he wanted to torture me while he did so. When I quieted hoping that it meant he would just rape me and get it over with he punched me again. He wanted me fighting and loud. He kept saying “scream…i want to hear you scream.” To make sure I kept screaming he ripped my head back by my hair and bit me so hard he took a chunk of skin with it. As he raped me, he dug his nails into my stomach. They left what still to this day looks like a belt right around me… 

I must have passed out because next thing I remember is him standing across the room smoking. He was staring at me so angrily like this was somehow my fault. I was determined looking at him in that moment to not give him the satisfaction of seeing me buckle in fear. He was so mad, he walked back up to me and pressed his cigarette into my right ankle. It seared but I focused on his bloody hands and how I thought they were gloves of blood. He was so angry, I honestly thought he was going to kill me right there, but he didn’t he cut the ties and left the room.

The second the door closed behind him I threw my clothes on and ran. I desperately tried to find my brother, but he had left not knowing what had happened to me. I was terrified to walk home alone, but almost more terrified to go back inside. So I walked to the front of the school and into the office to call home. My dad came and picked me up, but he was so angry that I didn’t just do as I was told. He yelled at me saying “WHERE WERE YOU?” I looked over at my brother who was shooting daggers at me from across the car. He had already gotten yelled at for not waiting for me. I couldn’t take any more pain at that moment. I just wanted to crawl in my bed and die, so I lied.

After that day, I could figure out why Ember and her family left. I hadn’t been the only one he had raped. The even worse part was that I couldn’t just pretend it never happened since 8 months later I gave birth to a little boy. My family didn’t have a clue cause I was just a kid. They had no reason to think their 12 year old had sex, so why would they question it? The night it happened I snuck out and got to the hospital, it wasn’t very far from my house. Once I got there I lied about who I was. As expected there were questions, since I was only thirteen. My baby was a preemie and didn’t survive. So as soon as he passed I snuck out of the hospital and back to my bed.  

In my head I know this wasn’t my fault but in my heart I can’t help but wish I had done something different. Maybe if I wasn’t so worried about fitting in and just changed with the rest of the class? Or maybe if I hadn’t been so scared of getting in more trouble with my dad they could have done something? Then the worst is this is the only pregnancy where I actually gave birth… Did I cause myself to be infertile? What did I do that was so wrong that put me in this position?  

April 16, 2021

Before you ask why Sexual Assault Awareness Month is so important you need to look at these statistics. Every 73 seconds another person is assaulted. One in four or five women have been sexually assaulted. Every 9 minutes child protective services can find evidence for claims of child sexual abuse. But all of these statistics are lacking huge portions of people. Do you understand that only a small part of sexual assaults are even reported? I am not alone in those that were not protected or believed. Out of 1000 sexual assaults only 230 are reported. Out of those only 5 perpetrators ever serve time for sexual assault.

April 17, 2021

This week has been a whirlwind of emotions… I finally was allowed to drive again which means I got to go see my grandmother. When I arrived she hadn’t gotten dressed yet, but wanted to hear how I was doing. I had brought a grounding bag for her to see. I’m not sure what I expected upon showing it to her, but it ended up being a long discussion about sexual assault. She needed to know why I made the grounding bags and then my history and writings. As we talked she never once questioned whether she believed me or not. Hearing what I had to say caused her pain, because she felt she failed me. She hadn’t.

I share my story and help others share theirs to take back my control and allow healing to start. I didn’t start sharing till 30 years after that very first assault, because like so many others that first person didn’t believe me. I tried to tell a friend right away, but that friend told me it couldn’t be true. She was 9 (to 11), just like me, so her experiences hopefully were non-existent. That short conversation in the church bathroom one afternoon stopped me from talking then and I didn’t repeat it for about five more years.  

At 15, or 16, I got into a yelling match with my mother and stepfather, which turned into them telling me I didn’t understand pain. Remember this was after I had had a ‘spontaneous’ abortion/miscarriage, I was angry and hurting. I didn’t care who I hurt at that moment so out of my mouth came, “Calvin raped me for years.” My mother responded with something along the lines of “You just want attention.” I wanted to scream at her “You’ve never believed me! Even when Whitey lied to your face about me just being an infatuated child, and I tried to tell you I was pregnant. But, No, you believed him!” That scream didn’t come. Nothing came out, it was the first time I recall screaming in my head but not able to make the words come out. So the two of them got out of the van and enjoyed the pig roast at their friend’s house, while I sat in the van and cried. I couldn’t speak up again till decades later.

It wasn’t my grandmother’s fault that I’d been hurt. She didn’t live with me. She didn’t know what was happening. Telling her now and hearing that she believed me no questions asked was that one thing I didn’t know I needed so badly!!!  

My grandmother was able to see it from a different perspective. She knew my mother had been struggling at that time, so even though she was mad at my mom, she helped me to see that my questions about why my mother didn’t stop it or protect me was because my mother was not herself. She helped me to process that step a little bit more… I knew my mom had been hurt at work. But I didn’t have the ability to see that she felt like a failure – she was single again with 2 kids. My brother and I were mad! Not only was our biological father no longer in our lives, he had signed away his rights. But now we were scared our dad would leave us too. My mother couldn’t give me what I needed cause she didn’t have it in her. She was stuck in her own hell and my grandmother was able to see that in a way I couldn’t as a child.  

My mom didn’t ignore me like I thought she did. She couldn’t see it or process it, because it just would have been another notch in her failings at the time. As an adult, I know I’ve made mistakes because of my own pain. I have to believe I wouldn’t make a mistake like my mom did, but for my own well being I need to accept that she missed the signs and screams because of her pain.

April 18, 2021

Today is April 18th, 2021 – Many people that have a history of abuse apologize for everything whether it’s their fault or not. I am very much this personified. When someone is hurting because they fell off a roof or had surgery, which is obviously not my fault, I apologize for their pain. I also apologize when someone else hurts me, because I feel I deserve to be hurt and need to apologize for my actions that caused that pain.

I wrote the following over a year ago but because most don’t know what a trigger looks like or feels like from someone who has Complex-PTSD and is able to relay what they are feeling I am reposting for Sexual Assault Awareness Month. In it I am specifically talking about emotional abuse, but it is true across the board of those that have any type of long-term abuse or trauma. Usually a one-time incident doesn’t create these types of responses. For one-time occurrences the person usually becomes afraid of a person or situation.

Tonight I had every intention of finishing my writing about polyamory but instead I am writing about how I was triggered today and how easily it happens when stressed. It can come completely out of the blue. So what happened? Quint broke a coffee mug in the kitchen. He said, “There goes your favorite mug.” Immediately, in my head I’m trying to figure out how to apologize properly for stacking the dishes. My response from the couch in the living room – “I’m sorry”. Should I go on Amazon and buy a new mug? Should I get up and clean it up? Is he going to come into the living room and yell at me for the dishes not being put away properly? Definitely don’t cry or yell or show any emotion because no matter what one I pick it’s going to be wrong. So I wait till he finishes picking it up and comes into the living room to sit down. Then I get up and figure out what we are eating. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t start unnecessary conversations. Just ask yes/no questions while getting food together.  

Does this seem completely overboard? Well yes it should, but if you or someone you love has ever been emotionally abused it’s what goes on in your head when you are fighting a trigger. Why did a simple mug breaking start me teetering on the edge? Nothing Quint did wrong at all. He’s stressed about finances and life and trying to just relax and enjoy the weekend with me. He definitely has not had the best of days – he worked on finishing clean up from my 4 kid wrecking ball that came through earlier in the week; broke a glass earlier in the day; and sees me not being myself. He wants to make me feel better.  

Quint thinks I’m upset with him, so after we eat he asks “why are you upset?” I’m also stressed… school vacation week. Nothing has gone as planned all week. I’m trying to get ready for April. I got news today that my trauma therapist gave her two weeks notice. I haven’t been as active as I want, so I’m more insecure again. Living with my dad and four kids is not ideal to say the least – yes it looks pretty good from the outside. (Nice house, always clean but always stressful). I’ve been struggling with my Gastroparesis lately and my autoimmune disorder is causing havoc with my body.

In that one question he was trying to understand what was going on in my head. However, for me the question of why are you upset, caused me to try to avoid answering and start panicking. He did what most people would do, he pushed the question again till I could no longer be quiet. I started breaking down… this is where everything goes a little hazy for me. I remember trying to curl up in a ball and just pray he would move on… nothing’s wrong just leave it alone. He didn’t, so up comes every mistake I’ve made and his responses, as well as what I perceived he felt about me then. At some point I’m pretty well triggered and he’s just sitting there trying to figure out how we got to this point. Luckily, the phone rings and I’m jolted by the loud but defined noise. He answers it and walks away for a minute or two.  

I’ve gotten very used to identifying what my body feels like when I’ve been triggered, so knowing I need to break the cycle I pick up my phone and scroll absentmindedly through my social media apps. At this time, all I’m doing is not thinking just scrolling, not even really seeing what’s there until suddenly staring back at me is this – 

Well thank you social media for your impeccable timing sometimes… Fuck!!! I just did that thing where I bled all over someone who never hurt me. A quote I really love from an unknown source – it specifically says “If you don’t heal what hurt you, you’ll bleed on people who didn’t cut you.” So yeah I can identify that I was triggered after the fact. Great… It doesn’t help my partner in the slightest. Is he not supposed to have shitty days and get frustrated? No, he’s allowed to hurt as well, but hopefully he understands at the end of the day if I am triggered it’s not his fault and I’m doing my best to overcome my past.  

Each time I can pinpoint when I’m triggered I get closer to healing. Quint, please accept this as my apology for overreacting and know it really isn’t you. It’s me. You are amazing and I’m so thankful to have you in my life.

April 19, 2021

When I started writing for my first Sexual Assault Awareness Month, I purposely painted my nails with 5 teal ribbons, which at the time was the amount of people that had sexually assaulted me. Sadly the number of attempts or consent violations has grown. Out of those five individuals only one was someone I had never met before, or what many might call a questionable date rape. I say questionable because I don’t know exactly what happened… I never drink and never did any drugs other than as prescribed; but I can’t remember the events of this specific night.

Here is my college story…

My freshman year of college was in New York. At a college I had been given a free ride to, before I had even applied to the school. This school would have never been on my radar because inner city all girls Catholic college was not what I wanted. However, I grew up struggling with money, so knowing they had my preferred major and I wouldn’t be paying back a loan for the rest of my life I took it.  

In typical, post high school relationships, my boyfriend and I were going to be the couple that defied the odds. This was in the first years of AOL, where landlines and payphones were the methods of conversation. So to make our relationship work from a few states a way one of us had to drive.

I mean even though I was a few states away it was only a three hour drive, at 5am or 11am, and I love driving. Before my first day of college I had purchased an old station wagon that had become my baby. It had over 100,000 miles on it, and had that hideous wood paneling on it. Not only would I drive home most weekends, I was also the designated driver for all of my friends. 

One Thursday I left school after my last class of the day and drove home to see my boyfriend, Pags. Unfortunately, this weekend we fought as soon as I got to his house, about what I have no clue. So I just turned around and drove straight back to New York. This fateful evening I should have just stayed in the dorm room and cried, but when I got back to campus my roomie had other ideas.  

She said “Let’s go hang out with these guys right over the line in New Jersey. I’m dating one of them and he lives with his buddies in a brownstone. They asked me to bring a few friends for the night.” Looking back I can see the red flags, but I didn’t understand them at the time. I didn’t even think to ask how old these guys were or how long she’d been ‘dating’ this guy.  

Well, I figured why stay in the dorm and cry, when you can go to a bachelor pad and laugh at the silliness that was sure to unfold with my roomies? I started driving and the traffic in the Lincoln Tunnel was horrific! My car started overheating, smoke billowing out the hood, and I’m thinking “Oh Shit, we are in The Stand!,” and when are the zombies coming to eat me? If you haven’t read or seen The Stand by Stephen King you should. One more red flag for the night, but nope, I make it to the gas station directly outside the tunnel, we pour coolant in and get back in the car to finish the drive.  

Upon arriving at the brownstone I find out she’s never met these guys before. They met in either a chat room on AOL, or he randomly called dorm numbers till he got someone to talk to him. The college’s dorm phone numbers all started with the same first four numbers out of a seven digit phone number.  

I remember these guys being hot, but I could be wrong because I had never smoked pot and had no clue what a fishbowl was at the time. It is highly likely my innocent self got stoned for the first time and never realized it. I was also an emotional mess, because Pags and I were “supposed to make it” and had just broken up in some grand form. From their place we went to a local bar that didn’t check identification, which is good since the three of us were 18 or 19. I may have had one drink but I definitely was not drunk. After a while we went back to the brownstone, everyone else wanted to get drunk and party. I just wanted to sleep. Somehow the hot guy that my friend was supposedly dating decided he wanted me, and I ended up in his bed. I remember waking up the next morning, next to him in his button down white shirt and nothing else. I don’t remember any other details of the night. I felt dirty and gross and just wanted to get home.  

To get back to school we had to take busses from New Jersey into Grand Central Station and then the train to the college. On the way back my friends were talking about how great of a time they had, as well as saying how unfair it was that I’d gotten the hottest one of the group. I kept thinking how much I wished it hadn’t been me. Especially since I had to go back the following weekend to get my car from the repair guy. Which meant going back to the guys’ house to get my keys, I brought one of my friends and somehow managed to not get stuck in a room with him alone.  

At the time it happened other than being afraid of the male I didn’t even think to tell anyone because I didn’t have any idea what I should be looking out for or staying away from. My life had become a maze of misguided and hurtful relationships. I don’t know exactly what happened that night, but the way he wanted me to go back to his room and acted like he owned me afterwards gave me a good sense of what may have happened.  

My inability to remember what happened means I was unable to give consent. Whether he had just removed my clothes and given me his shirt to wear, or had sex with men neither was acceptable. This encounter was not consensual and is a far too common occurrence in colleges. We must teach our children, especially our sons that they need to ask for consent, and when someone is drunk or high they can not give consent.

April 20, 2021

After yesterday’s post reviewing date rape in college I wanted to go over first meetings. Yes, right now it’s pretty weird due to Covid, but as we start to go back to meeting new people what is important? Yes most of us are ‘meeting’ on social media sites etc…but what happens when it’s a real live person? Or what about meeting people first in real life? How is that done? How do we meet people out in public and not get the shit scared out of us? I don’t know about you but going to a bar isn’t super fun alone and even with a couple friends shit can still happen. 

This writing was originally from 2019, a time when masks and staying 6 feet from people wasn’t the norm. At that time, I had just read about a woman who was killed after being roofied at a bar. How the hell do we stop this from happening and still be able to enjoy life? My mom will say don’t go to that bar/club alone because you don’t know what might happen… shit really? Just don’t go out? How is that fair to anyone?

It isn’t fair but there are ways to make it work better. To say I’ve had my fair share of asshole moves might be an understatement but overall I use my head to keep things from getting far worse than they did in public places. I have a favorite restaurant/bar to meet new people or just chill and write because of the amazing bartenders and owners.  

One night, I went alone and was writing a new article and just chatting with those at the bar(pre-Covid). During the night I did a few things that kept me on point and one thing that could have gotten me into trouble. The first thing I always do and it is a great thing to keep up is I talk to the bartenders and know at least one of their names. I also only take drinks directly from the bartenders or restaurant staff even if it’s just water. If for some reason I have to go to the bathroom I just ditch what I’m drinking even though I am going back to my seat or where I was standing. Since, I can’t trust those around me to protect me I must protect myself. 

So what made this night different from every other night? A guy got a little pushy and wanted my number etc… I said no and went back to my writing. Then the place started clearing out, and I didn’t notice till there were only the two of us left in the building that weren’t staff. This is where things could have gone terribly wrong if I had just walked out the door. Instead, I tried slipping a discrete message to the bartender. It didn’t get noticed. I even flipped open my phone trying to get one of them to ‘look’ at a photo on it which was really just a text message that said “he’s creeping me out.” They were busy, and I didn’t think they noticed. That was until they said, “Alright it’s time to leave.” I said “Can I use the bathroom first?” Both bartenders said “Yeah, sure.”  

When I came out the bartenders and the owner looked at me and said hang tight for a few. We waited 15 minutes for the guy to leave… he never did. Finally, one of the bartenders said “Ok, I’m going to walk you to your car and go from there.” We got outside and the guy had his car running and door open. The bartender put the bag of trash he had been carrying down. Then walked me over to my car, waited for me to get in, started it, and rolled the window down to chat for a minute. While we chatted the creepy dude got in his car and drove away. The bartender threw the trash out, got in his truck and actually followed me till I turned down one of the side streets to drive home. He had made sure the creepy guy was nowhere in the vicinity.

I was physically ok, but for me this had brought me right back to a place where my ex-husband had left me. Scared of going anywhere on my own. For the next month I couldn’t even go hiking on my own, which for those that know me almost killed my spirit all over again. I stopped going out at all cause if I didn’t have a friend to go, who was I going with? I was still too afraid to date locally at this point, plus I was still stuck on a failed long distance relationship.

Another tip to stay safe when you get that creepy vibe from a person is to order an Angel shot or Angel drink. An angel shot, or drink, is listed in various restrooms with different types meaning separate things. However, I’m not sure I could remember each one when needed and not all restaurants are even aware of these. So I would stick to simplicity. If the bartender says I’m not sure what that is, simply ask them to “Please Google it, because I can’t remember the ingredients.” Most bartenders are excited to learn new drinks and after quick research will understand your query.   

Most importantly if you are uncomfortable in any way with a person follow your instincts. Do not get in their car. Do not take a drink from them. Do not let them pressure you to do anything you do not want to. Yes, easier said than done, but your life and happiness is worth more than appearing nice.

April 21, 2021

I missed posting an article yesterday the 21st so this will be a short one. I’m proud of myself for keeping up with my posts during this month even with physical limitations and children running around.  

The more I talk about my experiences and how I get through them the more I want to know about others. I can do all the research and talk about my own experiences, but I feel getting others first hand experiences helps to pin down the complexities of PTSD. If anyone feels led to share with me in comments or in my email – athena@athenatempestrose.com, I would appreciate any thoughts.

I am specifically looking for your experiences with disassociating or memory loss surrounding traumatic events. These could be any type of trauma, not just sexual assault related. I’m looking to write more in depth articles about mine and others experiences. The more people I talk to the more I am reminded just how common it is to lose memories from times around your traumatic experiences.

April 23, 2021

April 23rd and we have decided to approach the ever so-common non-consensual penis or vagina picture. Most people think only males send pictures of their privates without consent, but you would be surprised at how many pictures I’ve been sent of varying private areas. For this writing Wayward had fun with the comedy side of a dick pic, while Athena added in some comments to show that gender doesn’t determine who will send pictures of their private areas. Unless you have been flat out asked to send a penis picture it comes across like when a cat brings you a dead animal… Gee thanks, what do I do now?

As a woman who uses social media regularly, I’ve received my share of unsolicited “dick pics”. Sometimes they’re from total strangers, sometimes from a guy I’m “talking” to, but either way my reaction is always “ugh”. I guess I don’t understand why guys think that sending me a picture of their penis is going to turn me on. It doesn’t, at all. Never once have I seen a dick pic and thought, “oh god yes, I want that!” Even worse is when a guy sends a video of himself cumming. I’m sorry, but that shit isn’t sexy. Nothing about that is a turn on, in fact it’s more of a “turn off”. 

If you’re a person who likes to send pictures like this, I want you to picture this: the person who receives your picture is currently surrounded by family. She opens her phone and BAM, your dick. She panics but can’t close the chat fast enough and her grandmother sees. She has to explain that she didn’t ask for that picture, you just sent it. You are now and forever a pervert in her grandmother’s mind. 

Fun right? Well how about this one: Your girl is with her friends and they’re talking about everything. You sent her a picture a few days ago and she whips it out to show her friends. Now they’re comparing your dick to their boyfriends, ex’s, and other random guys that have sent the same thing. The worst part is that there’s a 90% chance that you’re smaller than at least one of the others and now all her friends know. 

There is literally only one moment I want a dick or vagina picture: when I ask for it! That’s it! No other time do I care at all! If I’m out running errands, or busy with something, and I look down at my phone to find a picture of your privates, I probably won’t respond. Even worse sometimes I just block you.  

Stay tuned tomorrow for my friend Mal’s worst case scenario story. Which, yes, involves underage sexting. Because remember online you do not know who you are talking to.

April 24, 2021

As promised yesterday, a story of the worst case scenario regarding sexting images – At the time of this incident my friend, Mal, was in his 20’s. In this situation he 100% believed she was not a MINOR! He has also served a sentence for his mistake, so do not think this story is to say his actions are ok. In my opinion, minors that present themselves on social media as adults should also be penalized in some way. Websites and Apps require dates of birth or other types of information to try to keep minors off of their site. If the minor changes their age the website has some ability to protect themselves from prosecution. However, as a person we have no such protections… 

In his early 20’s, Mal met a girl at his place of work. She exchanged numbers with him and stated that she was 18. They texted back and forth for the rest of the afternoon/evening. He sent her a picture of his penis, as she had requested. She wasn’t 18 and received it while her parents were around. They pressed charges and he went to jail. Did he think she was 18? Yes, but it didn’t matter because legally she was a minor. Unfortunately we can’t go around checking peoples ID’s, but if we make a habit of getting to know someone first, things like this are less likely to happen. 

Now fast forward to Mal still in his twenties, but more cautious because of the original incident. He is long-distance dating Jenny, also in her twenties. The two of them are ethically non-monogamous, which means they both date more than one person at a time. For Mal and Jenny this included wanting to add another female to the relationship. Jenny introduced Mal to an online friend of hers, Jane. They all chatted for a while, vetting and getting to know each other. Mal was more cautious this time because he had already made that mistake once. During this time Jane mentioned high school and going to class… Mal figured she was at least 18 and still in high school. Not a crime, but highly advised against. Luckily he was being cautious so he asked Jess, a friend of his, what she thought of Jane. Jess reached out and chatted with Jane and asked for proof of age – She was only 16! He couldn’t believe it. He had been lied to again. He didn’t know she was underage but nonetheless he was part of a disgusting trend happening all over. 

Mal couldn’t figure out what he had done wrong this time… the site Jenny met Jane on was an adult only one. But as previously mentioned young girls adjust their ages to get on these sites to date older people. Media portray young girls having sex with the fathers of kids they babysit for and other adults as the thing to do. It’s not and can ruin everyone that’s involved lives. Movies and television for teens fetishize age-play,sadomasochism, and bondage, which are not meant for minors. This leads teens to look for ways to try out things they aren’t ready for, the easiest being lying on websites. Teens’ brains are still developing so their actions are guided more by the emotions and needing to do something now rather than being able to see long term effects of their actions.  

Mal felt disgusted and horrified because he had already been arrested and listed for a mistake. This was not something he would have ever done if he had known her age. In the past year some people have claimed that pedophilia is part of the Lifestyle that Mal and I live in, or part of LGBTQIA+. It is not! Pedophelia, or as these people call themselves, minor attracted person (MAP), is illegal and wrong!  

Mal is nothing like Whitey in that he makes mistakes based on believing that others are being truthful, where as Whitey flat out knew I was a minor. Having relations with adults who participate in age play is one thing. However, being looked down on as supposedly being part of a Lifestyle that endorses pedophilia, molestation, or rape is not what either Mal or I are involved in. Lifestyle, sometimes known to outsiders as BDSM, is based on the four pillars, which are honesty, respect, communication, and trust; and that all interactions are Safe, Sane, and Consensual. There are no minors involved!

April 25, 2021

It’s April 25th, I am starting to feel like such a fraud. I talk about how strong other people are while I rip myself apart for not being enough. Even worse than ripping myself apart is I start to question whether my memories are what truly happened or I just made them up in my head. I am not a fraud and the events I remember are much less than the events that actually took place.

I know now you are wondering how in one paragraph I can go from calling myself a fraud to saying I definitely am not one. Well, a couple things – First, I like many other child sexual abuse victims have been so emotionally manipulated for so long that we question what’s real and what isn’t, this questioning is part of complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. When you have gone through years of child sexual assault, and then as a teenager end up with a “daddy figure” that twists every thought and action you have, no matter how stable and sane you are nothing comes easy.

The two partners that abused me always told me no one would believe me, or I asked for it. I never asked for it but they were both right in some ways: no one believed me at first. WHY? Because an abuser doesn’t usually look like they beat the crap out of you or pin you to a bed. They don’t usually go around hitting other people or forcing themselves on friends. These acts are saved for spouses. In public tempers are kept in check and most times the one being abused starts to fear leaving the house. It’s easier to hide those bruises, and the fact that you now jump or shake a little at the most simple of touches if you just don’t leave the house.  

I know for me my story was incredibly hard to believe when I went in front of a judge to get a restraining order because I couldn’t remember specific incidents. I knew they happened but I had gone into survival mode for the last six months or more of my marriage. For me to remember enough to get a restraining order and file charges, I needed to go through text messages, phone conversations, and first hand witnesses. I still shake when people ask what happened and pray that my sister is around to help tell my story.

On the other hand my abuser can work and have friends cause his story is simple – she cheated and I left. Wait what? Everyone is willing to believe a person that says it didn’t work cause the other party cheated. It happens all the time and it belittles the person abused. Joint friends just push aside anything you try to say as “she’s just trying to talk her way out of being a slut.” I remember one supposed friend looked at me when I started talking and said “we all know what girl’s nights out are.” WTF? Yup, suddenly I am a slut instead of the abused. Even the police that take the report tend to throw them in a file and forget about them. This is not true of me and not true of anyone else. Our society needs to stop victim blaming and listen to the actual reports.

April 26, 2021

As we begin to close up SAAM for the year, I’m reflecting back on Whitey and the new realizations that he had caused me to miscarry at the age of 15… the time I was with him changed my life forever. The pandemic has changed how most celebrate holidays and birthdays right now, but for me that change occurred as a teenager. As a child my whole family would gather with no less than 20 people present, usually more like 50. However, Whitey took away my family and friends little by little so I didn’t see it happening. How do you make sure someone doesn’t realize you are abusing them? You take that person’s support system and tear them away one at a time till there is no one but a frightened child standing in front of you.

I couldn’t escape Whitey for years because I was afraid. He made me believe I was worthless because I lived it day in and day out. He banned me from talking to any friends I ever had. My family was held at an arm’s length so as to keep me believing his lies. He ripped apart every flaw my mom had. Then he drilled into me that she hated me and was the reason I was a horrible human being. For years I blamed my dad for what happened with Calvin because Whitey repeatedly told me that if my dad had just stuck it out with my mom it would have never happened. Crap, my brother who was the one who would finally save me from this horrible man, Whitey called evil. 

I lost my friends and family one by one, not even noticing till years later the damage that had been done. I was afraid to say no to him because he warned me no one would believe me. I was also afraid to not do what I was told because he knew “how broken” I was and “was keeping me safe.” This is not the equivalent of consent – it’s definitively rape and assault.

It’s taken years to build back some of the relationships I lost while with Whitey, while others are gone forever. However, that doesn’t mean I don’t miss those that I lost over those years, it just means that we were never able to reconnect and give me the chance to apologize. Yes, I said I need to apologize, not because I did anything wrong on purpose. Instead, because the only way I can see to start a conversation with those that were on the outside is by taking blame for disappearing. I don’t expect those people to become my friends again or want them to apologize for not doing anything. This is because they couldn’t do anything, they didn’t see what I saw. This monster that had me afraid to leave the house for any reason embodied a good samaritan to the rest of the world.  

Remember this the next time you question a victim’s story – What you see in public is not necessarily what happens in private.  

April 27, 2021

It’s April 27th, today I’m going back to a story from last year. 

In my writings I’ve always tried to state that I am far from perfect and trying to learn as I go… today’s writing is just that: my learning I mess up, get hurt again, dust myself off, and try not to repeat the same mistakes.  

So you would think that this woman that writes about sexual assault and has been through it all can prevent herself from being violated again right? I mean come on I’m smart, I’m strong, but fuck I’m like a fucking magnet. Why? Well a person that is a serial violator or pusher knows who to look for. They know that certain people appear strong but can be manipulated or even worse have triggers that stop the person from saying no… this is what happened a year ago: 

 

Quint and I had just broken up, but were still very close. Our relationship had allowed for dating others, the only male I really dated while we were together was a serial violator. Of course there were some clues that something was going to happen before we even went out but I didn’t see them. I had been told he broke consent with an ex, but the person that shared wouldn’t give me details and I asked him to explain it. He told me that his ex had said she wouldn’t have sex without a condom. He said he was ok with that and had been following that protocol, until she gave him a blow job and then immediately they started having vaginal intercourse. He stated that she was aware that he had not put a condom back on and they had intercourse. He was charming in his words, helped me sleep, and seemed to support me so I chose to believe him at the time.

We talked a lot before that first real date. I explained my stance on fluid exchange including oral sex and not just vaginal or anal. I do not have oral sex until a relationship is well formed, because I am susceptible to infections, many that aren’t considered STI’s. He was aware of this and we had stated that there would be no sexual intercourse of any type during this date. He offered me a massage and I agreed. I love massages. During this massage he removed his clothing as well as mine, not your typical massage but ok. We discussed the “no sex” again. Then things went sideways: as he was massaging me he decided to state “If I do anything you don’t like just stop me.” He’s already handed me alcohol and removed my clothing and is now naked on top of me. I am not in a position of power at all. All large warning signs, but also triggers for me. I purposely walk through scenarios beforehand, the only people that should go with ongoing consent where I am concerned are those that I have an established relationship with.

Why are massages so scary for me? It’s almost impossible for me to explain all the stuff that was used to manipulate and control me in previous relationships, but those that I date start to understand my queues to prevent triggers. Massages very specifically can not lead into sex unless talked out beforehand. This is because Whitey would decide that if he lay me down in the bed and massaged my back then he could have sex with me even when i said “No, leave my underwear on.” I couldn’t say no to him, because he told me that he would tell my mother that I was a little slut and going around fucking my stepfather’s employees and any other male that came into the house. That was not true, but I didn’t think she would care what I had to say and only his words would matter. That happened 20 years ago, I should have recovered from that right? Wrong, anytime someone pushes and manipulates a situation where the answer was already no can lead to triggering responses no matter how much time has passed.

Those first experiences with massages set one trigger in place. I then over years had many more massages, all with females or those I dated. We set in place rules in those I dated that massages didn’t lead to sex. That was until Marc decided that it was a good way to force anal sex, which is a hard limit for me. He would give me a massage and try to slide his penis in my ass. Numerous times he would try and I would stop it, so all good there. Until the one time I was too sick and drunk to stop it. We had gone to my specialist out of state to adjust my medication and pacemaker, which makes me sick everytime. This visit was no different except for the super nice bartender that offered free drinks because I had shared the reasoning for our visit to the hotel. Marc decided that my qualms on anal weren’t a problem and forced it. I cried because it hurt and he stopped but it was already beyond what I could handle.

Back to the not so distant past, my date decided that it was ok to go down on me mid massage. I couldn’t speak or stop it. He finally did and then pushed for vaginal intercourse some. Then in the days that followed he said I’m glad we didn’t have sex. I tried to tell him I wasn’t ok with what had happened and over the next couple weeks he manipulated the situation and kept saying he wasn’t being pushy and I had said yes.

We did end up seeing each other a couple more times because I had convinced myself I was wrong with what had happened. Luckily for me I had a friend show up the last time he convinced me to see him. I had told him no and he still forced kissing me and wouldn’t take no for an answer. However, when she walked through the door he looked beyond pissed off. She stayed with me and helped me get him back to his vehicle so I wouldn’t be alone with him. After that incident he kept reaching out and trying to change my mind.   

I never said yes so this would be considered coerced consent. 

Coerced consent is Not consent….

April 28, 2021

As the month ends I’m going back to a post from last year which talks about my goals for writing and what that looks like. My month is a lot of writing and focus. Usually I would find a quiet writing area. Quiet in a house with four kids who can’t leave? Haha!!! So this year we are getting inventive. First up, set up computers and tablets on working spaces for kids and myself. Second, a YouTube music list and headphones for me… if it can’t be quiet around me I can make it seem quiet for a bit. Third, my bracelets, perfect fidget tools to keep me focused and inspired. Fourth, my water bottle as well as water for kids so they don’t interrupt my focus. Fifth, after I get through a rough draft I work out.

In 2020, right before the world shut down I went to my last adult party. Everyone who goes to the parties is always invited to stay over. While Quint and I were together I always made sure there was a yummy breakfast. This Sunday morning was no different, other than Mozart helped with breakfast. Quint was being funny and asked me to bend over, I did. What came next was not consensual at all. While I was bent over Mozart came up behind me and rubbed himself against my ass. I jumped and yelped a little. I was in shock that someone in this group would violate consent. While I tried to figure out what had just happened Kit decided to start talking. I’m not even sure what she said but it put me on the defensive, like I had done something wrong. So I was confused and hurt but tried to just continue my day like nothing had happened. Breakfast was finished and eaten without further issues.

The morning turned into afternoon — showers were needed. As I went to leave the bathroom Mozart and Kit came out of the bedroom closest to the bathroom. Mozart blocked my path out of the bathroom and backed me into the small space. He then closed the bathroom door behind him. At this point I must have screamed, but honestly I don’t remember. What I do remember is feeling trapped and trying to figure out how to get out. As the seconds ticked by in what felt like hours, I contemplated trying to throw him to the side towards the toilet and rip open the door. Would that cause more problems? Would he grab me by the arms or throat and force himself on me? Or would it work and I could get out of the bathroom? Luckily while my brain tried to figure out an escape the door magically opened… 

I ran into Quint’s room gripping my towel as tightly as possible against my body, shaking. A friend was in there getting dressed and stopped to see what was wrong. I could only shake my head. She hugged me. Quint walked in moments later and I hugged him. I tried to explain what happened and they both got upset and wanted to confront Mozart right then. I requested that it wait till everyone was gone and I had stopped shaking.  

I used my basic grounding tools to get back into a reasonably stable place. Specifically, I focused on my breathing and found 5 things I could see in the room. Second, 4 things I could touch, still deep slow breaths. Next, 3 things I could hear, my breathing started leveling itself. Then, 2 things I could smell, no more shaking. Finally, one thing I could taste. Perfect. Now to move on with the day. But do not forget.

I got dressed and went into the sunroom where another friend was sitting. She gave me a hug and asked why I screamed (the reason I said I must have screamed). I quickly went over what had happened and then my girl friends and I went out to play our video game to de-stress for a few. By the time we came back everyone else had left Quint’s house.  

These types of incidents play out way too often in our communities. One in five women and one in 71 men will be raped at some point in their lives. Worse than that is that in the U.S. one in three women and one in six men experience some form of contact sexual violence in their lifetime.  

I write often about how Lifestyle has helped me feel safer and more protected than regular parties or events, so how do I make sure this event does not ruin all the work I’ve done? This can’t be the norm — that would make all I’ve said just lip service.

April 29, 2021

Today is April 29th and we are finishing up Sexual Assault Awareness Month. I figured a good way to wrap it up is to take a look at the last month in snapshots..  

First off the most important to all the survivors and warriors of sexual assault – you are amazing! No matter how you are feeling this second you have overcome far worse to get to this point. Nothing that happened is your fault, it doesn’t matter what you wore, what you drank, or whether you originally wanted to have sex; the second you said no it should have stopped. You are strong. You are brave. You are powerful. You are loved.

Secondly, to me this month has all been about helping myself and others start to heal. This is why I’m sharing my story. I didn’t know when I first started my website what I was trying to accomplish but as I’ve continued talking and listening my fear has started to subside. I can only hope by my talking and sharing how I move forward I give others strength as well. If I am to give every victim one piece of advice to help them move from victim to survivor it is to write out your story. Don’t do it for me or anyone else – Do it for you! Share it after if you want, my email is always open, or just bring it to a firepit or fireplace and light it up! I plan on taking a printout of my whole story one day and setting it on fire. Those men that hurt me and the men and women who have judged me along the way don’t get to have power over me for the rest of my life! I choose me and my family and that is good enough!

Another very important piece that I know weighs on me everyday, as I am sure it weighs on many others, is they won’t believe my story. Why? Why is it so hard to believe a victim? First off, no one wants to believe someone they know is capable of despicable acts. Second, the abusers have control, in public and out. They know the story to tell. They are nice and even-tempered and have already planted the story meticulously for people they come across. You and I, those of us that have been abused, can’t even tell exactly what happened in order. We start at meeting the abuser, then jump all over the place because it hurts so bad to think about what happened. Some of us even black out or, like me, go into a type of survival mode so our body protects us from the pain. So yes, my story to those I talked to at first seemed so off the wall! It wasn’t until my closest friends and family could paste together what they had witnessed or heard or I texted that it all made sense. I lost at least six months of my marriage, because my body already knew the skills to protect me, these are months he was able to tell his story while I struggled to even live. If someone tells you they have been assaulted, listen and believe; it’s not something a person tends to lie about. Most people never report. The statistics are staggering and I believe they are still too low! Why do I say this? Because my story has gotten way more people sharing their stories with me, or just “thank you”s, than anything else I’ve written. Only a handful of people respond with “I’m so sorry” These are the ones that know it’s a problem but haven’t encountered it personally.

Lastly, you are all amazing! Here’s my real talk – it doesn’t matter whether you’ve been assaulted once or hundreds of times, it affects the way you relate to everybody else going forward. Give yourself some credit and some time to figure out who you are. Then figure out your wants and needs. Any experience you have is going to affect everything so take the time to learn to make yourself happy before worrying about anyone else. Remember flying in an airplane? They always say put your air mask on before helping someone else. This is life, you can’t help anyone until you help yourself. Even if you have never been assaulted, love yourself first. You are the only one that controls your happiness. Love you all! 

One more day of 30 days of SAAM!

April 30, 2021

It is April 30th, which means this is my last SAAM post for the year. This is the perfect time to explain my journey – from victim to survivor and then finally to advocate and warrior. Through both my chosen logo and cover photo in this writing I represent my journey in that I see beauty even when the storm rages around me. Throughout the month I shared parts of who I am and how I moved forward… but what comes next?  

This website was started because of my need to help others know they are not alone and to help them to find their inner strength as well as overcome obstacles. I share my story not to depress people but to show them that all of us deserve to be loved and happy. Some days my story is depressing as fuck, but it will never stop me from speaking up.

That reminds me of a comment on my website. Where a coward hiding behind a false name told me that I was a horrible parent and person and deserved to die. Did it hurt? Hell yes! But I know that the coward who wrote it did so because I scare him. Any person that is willing to stand up for what is right scares others! Some days things like that make me feel weak and alone. They leave me curled in a ball in my shower or crying in bed. However, I’ve been through worse, between abuse and health problems. Your words can hurt. I’m just stronger than them. My goal is to make sure everyone I can reach knows that they are stronger than all the cowards that need to hurt others to feel good, either in person or by hiding behind a screen.  

A website alone is not going to change the world and as anyone that talks to me or reads my writing knows – I will not stop until I change the world!  

What does that mean?  

First, if I could do anything and money isn’t an issue, I would buy a farm to turn into a retreat for teens that have been sexually assaulted, lived through trauma, and/or are part of a marginalized community and are struggling with their worth. I don’t think many that have read my writings are surprised that helping teens is my dream. However, you might be surprised to know that this dream has been in my head since my first Psychology class back in 10th grade. That was over 20 years ago. I started college as a Psychology major — no surprise there. I even wanted to specialize in Sexual Psychology. The surprises came when I left my school to go back home to marry a man that was abusive. I ended up finishing college with a bachelor’s in accounting because it was easy to do at night while I worked full time. While life kept moving forward I still held my dream even though it seemed less plausible as the years went on.  

That was until that day in the trauma therapists office when she said I should write and share my ideas with others. That day reminded me how important sharing my story was. Do you have any big ideas that you may have pushed to the side because of life? Are you struggling with who to go to for help? Are you struggling with feeling like you don’t belong in your current environment? I know we all are struggling some right now, but if you aren’t trying for your dreams it will feel that much heavier. Dreams don’t go away because of adult responsibilities. They are just harder to see through all the clouds.

You might ask why? Why do I need to change the world? Why is this my calling? It’s simple – my kids, your kids, anyone else that is still innocent… There is no way I am letting my children or any others I can help feel the pain that I did. They may not know what it is I’m protecting them from but they do know they have the right to choose who touches them. As well as if someone ever violates their consent in any way I’m here with no judgment.

I’m a force according to most that have met me. Go ahead, try and knock me down. Yes I cry and I bruise but I won’t stay down for long. I just find a different way to be heard. This website, my pen name, my Instagram, my loud mouth will not be quieted. If needing a feeding tube through my now fiery six year olds pregnancy and then bleeding out at her birth couldn’t kill me your doubt and hate never will. So in the words of one of my favorite people: 

Spread love not hate; and love is not canceled.