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For me, my story entailed a male friend getting into my bed when i told him not to and forcing me to ‘cuddle’ with him, while he grabbed at me. He had been telling me all night how he missed his girlfriend, particularly her body & “that” part of their relationship. I felt horrible, i was uncomfortable and scared that he might do more. He didnt. But still even years later i feel uneasy when i think about it & how creepy he really was. He ignored me when i said no. He took away my autonomy that night. So dont feel like your story isnt worthy just because it “could have been worse”. Every experience is valid ❤️

I was with my ex and I had just started some new tablets that made me sleepy. I tell my ex that I’m going to sleep and he continues to play his video game. I wake in a daze around an hour later and he is raping me and enjoying it. I react by making noises out of fear and wait for him to finish up the act , I just froze in fear. Once it was over I was mad he never got consent but he told me that he thought I wanted it. It’s been nearly a year and I’m still not over it

Over 2 years on and I’m only realising the impact of what I’ve been through. I was 19, just had my heart broken by a cheater after being together for number long years. So of course when this guy said he’d buy me a drink I took it, danced with my friends at a local festival with my home only being a 5 minute walk away. He found me in the nightclub later on and asked me to go for a walk, and I agreed. I left the nightclub and first thing made it clear, all I want is to talk and most I’ll do is kiss you and he said that was perfectly okay, he offered me some of his drink and I had a few sips. We talked and talked, we sat down on a flat rock and had some laughs and shared some kisses when things started to change. A lot happened, a lot that I asked him to stop doing, my mind felt fuzzy and I felt numb. At one point I couldn’t move and could barely breathe, there were a few moments where I wasn’t sure what he was doing to me, or if he was recording it. I’m not religious but I prayed that I wouldn’t be found dead the following day, I didn’t want my parents to lose their baby at only 19. I don’t know how I got out of the situation, but I did. And I rang my friends straight away, was hysterical and guards found me. I ended up going to the hospital to the sexual assault treatment unit and the women were lovely but that has traumatised me. It was the only time I was ever in hospital and there I was alone. Every day for over 2 years it comes into my mind at least a few times. It happened in the month and in month I started college, I sought college therapy but I’m not sure how much it helped. I disassociate a lot and my emotions are easier to switch off now, but every few hours that night plays into my head. I felt as if I had the worst beginning to college, but I also felt that it was a new chapter and a new experience. I struggled with alcohol abuse for a while and I wasn’t scared to say no to drugs. Thankfully that only lasted a few months. I hit some really bad lows, but I’ve also turned from a caterpillar into a butterfly in a sense. That Christmas I cried, I cried because I was glad to be alive. That I survived what he did to me, and I also survived my mind. But him in my mind still affects me to this day at 21 and a half. I haven’t gone to RCC as I’ve always felt this shame and guilt, I feel very alone as none of my friends were supportive and the news broke out the day after it happened across my small town, and having that victim blaming comments or remarks “like oh wasn’t he apparently younger” going around made it even harder to talk about or the “it wasn’t that bad and it could’ve been worse”, yes it could’ve been worse but it is the worst thing I’ve experienced. I have reached out to therapists and I am considering visiting the rape crisis centre as I have been struggling these 2 years really, I’m happy and have a brave face but that night intrudes and invades my thoughts an awful lot. I’ve also been struggling with my sexual life, after the incident I slept with a lot of people most of it which I can’t remember. And I regret it and feel so much guilt and shame, especially when people ask “oh what’s your body count” well I never tell and I never will as it’s my business. But even after I calmed down, I either get attached easily or I run away, and then feel the shame and guilt around sex, believing that I rushed in. I’m slightly better, but reading these stories reminds me I’m not alone and that I won’t be judged by others and people willing to help. I hope one day, I can feel “normal” again and live the rest of my life as any young woman should.

At the age of twenty-six I was raped by a stranger. It took me many years to name what had happened to me as rape. Although, distressed when it happened, I blocked it from my mind for a number of years before going to a therapist for support. I decided to attend therapy as I was struggling with a deep depression. I didn't attend a Rape Crisis Centre. It took me a number of years before I disclosed to my then therapist that I had been raped. I had buried what took place deep within myself and I had never disclosed to anyone what happened that night. The person who raped me was a friend of some friends of mine. I was away for the weekend and thankfully, I never saw him again. While my healing journey has been long. It has been deeply supportive and has allowed me to heal from many different issues within my childhood and to heal from sexual violence. I no longer carry guilt or shame for what took place that night and would encourage any man or woman who is a survivor or sexual violence to go to a therapist who specialises in sexual violence and allow an experienced professional to support you on your healing journey. I have no regrets and am grateful to a number of wonderful women who have supported me to heal from a deeply traumatic experience. Healing can and does happen. Don't give up on you, as I have never given up on me. I have learned that I like so many survivors of abuse am a very resilient woman. I live life today, from a very grounded place and although, I remember what happened to me in the rape I have emotionally healed from the hurt and the pain of that traumatic experience.

I don't imagine that you are lying in bed, thinking about number of years ago. That's my curse to live with. The Mark you made upon me. You raped me, in that miserable and dark car park. Held against my will, and now I lie here thinking, reliving, or simply just living with what you did. Wishing I could change The past. Wishing I could change Your past that you probably don't even remember. Lucky you. Rape and move on. Lucky you. I didn't save your number. Lucky you. I don't know your last name. Lucky you. I didn't report it. Lucky me. I didn't report it... because what was I wearing? And how much had I drank? And why didn't I scream or fight? And why didn't I run or take flight? Facing fear, I froze. Lucky, lucky you.

I was inappropriately touched and groped by an older uncle. I have only disclosed this with 2 people. The uncle is my moms brother and our family (particularly his immediate family) have suffered horrible losses and deaths over the years and I just don’t want to add fuel to the fire. I feel like I don’t want to tell anyone and make it public so I am so so happy to have found this space. I know my mom would be fully supportive, my whole family would but I just can’t bring myself to say it. I’m 30 now and although the abuse never got far, it still happened. There are 2 occasions. This uncle in question also has been charged I am healing myself every day through mindful breathing, exercise and yoga but it is tough some days.

After number years of living with the guilt, shame and denial of being raped I finally got the courage to begin speaking of it. The solitude,loneliness, and hypervigilance stayed.with me for many years. I sought help from the RCC who supported and guided me in what was to become a.new chapter in my life. Although I still meet challenges today, I'm confident to speak to and support many women and men who have or are currently experiencing sexual violence. I learned so much about myself during my time in the RCC and will be forever grateful that they were there at a time when I was ready to speak. Working with women now in same situations I see.the strength and resilience of many victim survivors who have had to tell their story over and over again just to feel safe. I feel privileged I have the capacity to work with these women in gaining control of their lives. For years I blamed myself and told myself it was my fault, but I now know it wasn't. I still get angry sometimes when I think I should have reported it but I was young and thought sure no one would believe me. I've never since allowed myself to ever trust a man again + I feel sad about that, but I've made peace with this and who knows maybe one day. I still have trust issues and fleeting thoughts of that night +others after it. I've learned that time is a healer and even though some memories are still raw, I can sit with it but not let it take over me. I have learned with great difficulty how to support myself in that moment. I believe education +information now will help many more to speak of their experiences without feeling judged or disbelieved. This is key when working with victim survivors.

My first time was an assault. We were engaged. I had too much to drink. I felt so stupid for years because I'm a feminist, I should have known better. But nobody is immune from trusting a person who doesn't deserve to be trusted. I still carry this every day but I now have a partner who cares for me, and understands my trauma and my triggers. I'm doing better than ever and healing every day. I hope the same for all other survivors of intimate partner violence.

Number years since what happened to me. There has been so much pain and hurt. One of these men was constanty asking me to sleep with his friends but my answer was always no , never, not a chance , You see i found it so hard to accept what had happened because i had to much to drink . I do believe that something was put into my drink as i had no more to drink than what i normally would . I was a at party with these two people. I dont remember leaving the house but i do remember getting sick out of the taxi on the way home. Both of these animals took turns to have sex with me . I remember just lying there with no clothes on and been unable to move unable to fight them of . Both of them went outside and i remember the strong smell of cigarettes and could hear them both laughing . Shortly after both of them left and i lay there confussed , helpless and alone. I must have fallen asleep because i remember it was bright out and one of these men came back to the house. No accountability has been taken from either of these and this is what makes healing so hard for me. Im trying to take back my power but some days are just so hard. Both of these men took adavantage of my vunrability. Learning to tust myself and love myself is my main goal for now and knowing that i did nothing wrong,

It wasn’t until I read this platform that I realised what happened wasn’t trivial. A friend at the time told me to go to the gardai, if not for me, but for anyone else who might have been affected or might later be affected, because you just don’t know. I handed them everything, and they did nothing. If it wasn’t for the help of my friends I don’t think I would still exist. I attempted suicide 6 years after it happened because the concept of getting serious with my boyfriend meant in my head that it would happen again. I suffered flashbacks and he was always so patient. I’m happy to say, now that boyfriend is my fiancée, it does get better. I was in college, I had a serious eating disorder, and this guy was the only one who didn’t try to change me but accepted that I was very sick and didn’t demand that I eat. In hindsight that was a huge red flag. He was happier that I was vulnerable and didn’t want me to get better. After a year together he started to get violent. He refused to let me be by myself. I remember very distinctly the first time he got violent on my birthday, and the only place I could be was in my bathroom because it locked. I sat there all day, knowing he was outside, not knowing what would happen next. When I came out, he was just watching tv as if nothing had happened. He would routinely steal my debit card and buy food for himself, knowing that was my food budget for the week, and none of what he bought I was comfortable with eating. He kept me from recovering for two years. At one point, he took every penny I had, and had no money to go home for the weekend. I had to lie and tell my parents I was staying there to finish essays, I was so ashamed that he could control me like that. I was in denial, believed it was just harsh words and he didn’t know himself or his strength, I was just too weak. I tried to break up with him, but he guilted me into taking him back, saying no one else would ever love me. I took him back. We went to a Christmas party, and he made me feel guilty for him because he ‘missed’ the last bus home, so he asked to stay on my couch. I couldn’t say no. He knew everyone else was out at the Christmas party, so he coerced me into sex, as he had done before, but I saw it as a way to give him what he wanted to avoid him getting violent. Until then the sex got violent too. That night I didn’t consent, I actively said no. I cried quietly and when it got worse I asked him to stop. In response, he strangled me till I couldn’t see properly, and left bruises. When I tried to scream he clawed at my face and scratched my retina, leaving me needing glasses (which I never needed before). I bled everywhere, but he just went to sleep with his arm around my neck so I couldn’t leave. The next day I went into uni, and tried to tell a former friend who studied law, but because she was his friend she joked that he was into BDSM and things like that happen all the time if it just goes wrong. After she told him that I had mentioned it he had me sign a ‘contract’ that said how good he was at sex. I honestly can’t remember how he convinced me to do that, it was all a blur. I don’t remember most of that year, but I know he sent me threatening letters that never stopped until I moved house a year later. After that, as she was the first person I told, I thought no one would ever believe me. But a friend, without me saying anything, let me know that he knew something had gone on. Something was wrong, and finally I told him. He convinced me to tell others, to go to the Gardai, to get therapy, to go to the rape crisis centre and tell them. Another friend let me stay at her house almost all the time as he sent me death threats by text and on social media. They pulled me through university and helped me in any way possible, organised for me to have a separate exam hall from him, and even brought me on nights out to know that I was still able to have fun, and I was still loved even after it all. My one regret is not pursuing it further. He’s an occupation now and I dread the idea of someone that evil near other people and in a position of power over others. I lose sleep over it. I wish I could get back the gardai file and insist that yes it was that bad, yes he is violent. I could stay at my own home for two years. I lost several stone with fear and worry. But I finished my exams, I finished my degree, went on to further study and even found who true friends are.

I didn't realise I had experienced Sexual violence until I was in a women's refuge. It was when they were going through my experiences and fully explained the sexual abuse that I realised. I was often coerced into sex and one time after a night out I woke up to him on top of me, I was frozen and couldn't move. This was my husband, I trusted him.

Sexual assault is a spectrum. I think as young women we laugh off so much - bring catcalled from 12 or 13, being groped in clubs, mocked for pushing a guy off who won’t keep his hands of you. I’m so glad there is this space to share our stories <3

Stuck in the bathroom. It is possible to be loved. When I spent ages telling my Mum and Dad that it would be ok to travel to city for a gig , I thought I was grown up and street wise. In reality I was a naive young man - my parents reluctantly agreed as long as we stayed with my friends uncle - this would mean we wouldn’t have to travel back late . The gig was fantastic - we got back to his flat the others went to bed. I stayed up chatting with name - after about half an hour he started asking me if I was a virgin and showing me pornographic magazines . I tried to get away and go to bed - he then attacked me and raped me . I locked myself in the bathroom and waited but he was still agitated - he wanted me to sleep in his bed - I had no idea that a man could do what he did to another male. Two weeks later I went back to stay again after a football match - this time I tried to persuade my parents that I shouldn’t go - but they didn’t want the ticket to go to waste - he attacked and raped me again - I eventually managed to lock myself in the bathroom . I mentally stayed in that bathroom for the next 40 years - never telling - never asking for support - 3 failed marriages - problems with drink - difficulties being a good parent. The first person I told after 40 years was my ex-wife - her response was “I can’t love you - you have violated me by keeping this a secret” - this was crushing and led to a decline to a very dark place. Now with the support of my children, my new partner , a fantastic psychiatrist and a therapist from support organisation - I feel better and believe I can be loved. It is never too late to start to heal .

Hello, My name is Name & I would like to share one of my poems to (hopefully) be read at Event 😊 This poem is called "He Didn't Hit Me" and it is based on my own personal experience with an abusive relationship. I hope that anyone reading this poem & it resonates with them will take comfort in knowing that they are not alone ❤️ He Didn't Hit Me He didn't hit me, but his words cut like a knife, He didn't hit me, but he upended my life. He didn't hit me, but he made false accusations, He didn't hit me, but he had unreasonable expectations. He didn't hit me, but destroyed my hopes & dreams, He didn't hit me but ripped my confidence at the seams. He didn't hit me, but I always had to take the blame, For his shortcomings, moods & his manipulative game. Abuse isn't just physical, this I know to be true, Gaslighting & manipulation are powerful tools, Knowing I deserve better, I am finally free, For I am much more than what he tried to make of me.

I was sexually assaulted while living abroad for college. I did not accept what had happened to me for some months and allowed my life to spin out of control. I am doing better for myself now and picking up the pieces after having accepted the reality. But I am finding it harder and harder to process and work though the thought of memories of the incident. It feels like im taking one step forward and two steps back. Luckily I have people who I confided in but I feel like asking to talk about it is too much to ask. I can still feel everything, it hurts in my body and I hate that this happened to me and I want so badly to move on.

I was raped about 7 months ago by a man I once considered one of my best friends. I felt safe in his company and I trusted him. We even had consensual sex on occasion. One night we both got really drunk, we were so drunk that I don’t remember how we started having sex, but I do remember him telling me on the walk home that we were going to have sex. The first thing I remember was that I threw up during, I didn’t even realize I had thrown up - he had to tell me so he could clean it up. But it wasn’t until I told him that he was hurting me, and he ignored me, that I really started to panic. I remember the shock that set over me when he didn’t immediately stop, and then the fear when I realised what little control I had over the situation. I cried and pleaded with him to stop by pretending I had to go to the bathroom. He asked if he could keep going first and I said “No!” So he stopped, I went to the bathroom, cried, and came back out. I thought that would be the end of it and I turned on a movie and turned away from him. I was wrong. He initiated again. I felt so defeated and ignored. I knew in that moment that he wasn’t going to stop until he got what he wanted, and I stopped fighting it. I hardly slept that night, but he fell asleep almost instantly. At first I thought it was just bad sex and I told him the next morning that it wasn’t good for me. He said he noticed that I seemed “disinterested”. For the rest of the weekend I couldn’t get it off my mind. I was sore and bruised and confused. I kept googling consent trying to figure out what had happened to me. It wasn’t until I contacted the rape crisis centre and described it out loud that I could admit that I had been raped. I never reported it to the guards and I don’t plan to. I confronted my rapist and tried to continue our friendship on the condition that he got therapy to ensure that this wouldn’t happen again - he did it for a couple of sessions and then stopped. We are no longer friends.

This guy was my best friend. He knew everything I was dealing with. He was the reason I got out of the abusive place I was in. Less than 2 weeks after I got out of that abusive place, he raped me when I needed a safe place to stay. I had trusted him so much with absolutely everything and he not only violated me, but my trust aswell. He then text me the day after telling me not to tell anyone what happened. But I didn't remember anything about what happened until 5 days after it happened. He denied and denied and denied when I confronted him until eventually he admitted to what he did. Its been numberyears and I still can't walk around my hometown alone anymore out of fear, I can't hear his name or see anything remotely near to what he was wearing or I was wearing. But I'm in therapy now and it's making me realise so much. I'm working on trusting the world again. I didn't deserve it. No one does. As difficult and painful it is to deal with something like this, we can all survive. We can get through it. Someone wants to listen to your story. Someone wants to help. Don't deal with it alone xx

“Imagine an ending”, said the counsellor. “See it as you want it, as you need it to be. Write your story and those in it as it should be in a just world”, she suggests. I think “no!”, it needs it to be real; a conversation with live faces across real tables, with a hug, a strong handshake, and a glance that lets me know it really happened in amongst the unreality of it all. Those conversations, as yet unsaid, will anchor me in truth, bathe me in facts and create a storyboard with pins and thread for me follow home. Those people, as yet unseen, will interpret it with me, a Watson and Holmes quest - in the room together as the facts reveal themselves. The institutions, as yet faceless, will now permit me to be a fly on the wall of those interviews where untruths were told. I need all this, I think, so that finally the lost threads are found, and I can write my story, now coloured with the gaps I have craved to fill; revealing me to myself. The words shared will help me to find my own. ……………………………………... Us women are left outside a system hoping that something or someone will ground us in the facts held at arms lengths- the facts about us, our assault, or experience. Many women who report sexual assault to the authorities face multiple hurdles. Some remain open to responding to this system that offers no guarantees for all we give to it. Others shut down before the act has concluded, resigning themselves to a painful silence in the hope it will be less so than the alternative public ordeal. The burden of proof lays solidly with us as we concurrently grapple with processing our own trauma. If we are able to share a palatable version of our story with other women, we soon realise how much worse it could have been. But we knew that already. Grading our experience with a perfunctory “at least”. It lives in us: this learned and inherited shame. We carry that burden before we are assaulted, and it is further cemented by the knowing glance or stern word spoken before we leave the house in those clothes. Later that night we are escorted to a beige room and asked to remove them all, still sticky with fearful sweat and told that without us in them, these articles might determine his guilt. There is always some authority acting as sartorial dictator, taking away our carefully chosen outfit with worried words or procedural hands. As such, we continue to hold the weight of their assigned moral value, and determine little of their impact, for that is decided by the viewer, whomever they may be in the room that day. ……………………………………... I am caked in heavy layers of dread, pending success or failure. Why did I start this thankless task? I enter another world, an office of sorts, where you catch a glimpse of the story not told to you, because by knowing you may contaminate the truth. Despite my bodily contamination, I am not permitted to know the full facts, as they say. The most personal and invasive event, prolonged by paperwork. This manufactured situation demands intimacy and yet requires, by law, complete professionalism. Their job, an often-thankless endeavour to find and prove the truth to a wig not made for this century. I try to picture my good egg behind the mask that doesn't fit his face. I saw more of him than ever before on our day in court. It was our day. I needed to see his eyes as he spoke; for the real-life connection to mirror the intensity of our past dealings. He is the only one who knows who I am in this. Until this happens, I float here, suspended in the delay, waiting to be anchored to the tangible earth beneath. To feel the bench and smell the varnish. To be present and audible. To be where life is being lived. We leave court and enter a room with my sister-in-assault. Kept apart for many months to protect us from further injustice. Unsure of the protocol and fearful of our matched pain, we join hands. We hug on my request – despite our fear of emotion and viral spread. How odd to have a thing such as this in common. To be joined together by an act of harm by a man with less years than us, so far away from home. We all came to this city with hopes - for opportunities – for a life beyond the limitations, however different, of our respective hometowns. Joined by this recurring act, we three meet again in a room filled with wood and plexiglass, unable to see beyond the thing itself. This dirty touch has smeared us all with a single colour, marking us out as dirt. Her wide face and open eyes meet mine in tears, a flood after a personal drought. Guilt shades my face pink – I wish she would cry. We share past fears and eventual overcoming and know from this moment on we are allowed to let go. The words have been spoken, by us, the good eggs, and the wigs. The ordeal is over, and permission is granted to lock our fear away with him in the middle of our land, far away from the hopes of this Eastern city. This is the end and the beginning.

I was conditioned to think catcalling was a compliment, that if someone held your waist a little too long at work it was just cause "ahh they're just a bit touchy", that it's easier to just "go with it" than to say no and risk their response. It took me years to identify that no matter the degree of your experiences it still is never ok. We often get told sexual violence is one way but it isn't, it comes in many forms and sometimes you can't identify it at first - and that's ok. I am only recently coming to terms with the varying degrees of experiences I've had. I didn't want to say anything because I was made to believe I'd "rock the boat". Well some boats are meant to sink. Let's rebuild the boat so everyone can stay afloat, included and safe.

I was 18. In college I was part of a ladies team on in college sports team. There were also male teams. There was a inter college tournament that our college was hosting for other male college teams within Ireland. We all had nights out planned and a 'play hard, play hard' attitude. It was great to be part of something - I genuinely loved playing and being part of the club. On one of the nights I was drinking and got to talking with a guy from another college mens team. It was fun and we ended up back at his hotel room, where we had consensual sex. After, I remember feeling groggy and then being suddenly awoken to all these lads barging in. They ripped the bed cover off us and I remember phone flashes going off. It was year so, not exactly amazing phones back them. Slagging of various types ensued but then I remember being held down. At least 2 different men. I remember saying no, please stop. Flashes in and out while I just stared at the corner of the bedside table, thinking how similar it was to the one in my parents room. Weird. I must have slept at some point because I woke up. I got dressed. I remembered nothing. Nothing but the sex with the lad I kissed. Naturally, the next morning is always awkward so I wanted to get out of there. Just as the hotel room door clicked shut I realised I had left my shoes. I knocked back and had to do so loudly as everyone was deep asleep. As I was doing that one of the other team members opened a door across the hall, he stared at me. I said sorry for waking him but I needed my shoes. He just said he was so sorry. I was confused, having no memory of what he was actually talking about, so I said I'm sorry I left my shoes. Eventually someone opened the door and I got my shoes. Leaving the hotel and walking to the nearest bus stop, I felt appropriately hung over but sore. Down there. I'd never been sore before. Guess we must have really gone for it, I thought. Fast forward to lockdown 3 during Covid, I began experiencing severe nightmares that weren't nightmares. The missing memories came back over 2/3 months and I realised that I had been rated multiple times. That my brain had protected me until now. My SA, unknowingly, had a huge impact on my formative years - I came out as bisexual just 2 years ago. I feel I would have had a very different 20's but I met a decent guy, stuck with him like glue and am now married with a child. Due to the memory block, I have no recourse. No sense of justice so I just hope those boys, now grown men, are better than they were.