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I struggled to accept I had been sexually harassed. I was out, but in a group of friends. There were witnesses. I told myself it "wasn't that bad". But, she touched me without my consent numerous times. When called out about it, she pretended like it was innocent. She was a total stranger. I had no idea who she was. She claimed she was too old and I was too young to be taking this seriously. I asked the venue for CCTV, but they wouldn't share it unless i went to the gardaí. What happened wasn't criminal but it wasn't right. I feel shame for not standing up for myself more and making myself smaller in the moment. I am angry that I am angry that others didn't speak when I couldn't. It isn't their fault. It was hers. I am not the typical victim; whatever that means. She wasn't the typical perpetrator; whatever that means.

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.

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.

The way we learn about sexual abuse needs to be changed in schools because that’s where it started and I didn’t even realise. Small things that seemed like not a huge deal led to the shaping of my own attitude towards what is acceptable behaviour. When I was 14 during pe, a boy smacked my arse so hard with a table tennis racket it left a mark, I was so embarrassed and so self conscious that I said nothing. The next situation was when I was 16 and I had a younger first year student pinching my bum whenever the hallway was crowded, I could never catch who it was but I knew it was a smaller person in a younger year, it was like a game for them but I was uncomfortable, again it didn’t seem so bad and what would I even say if I were to tell someone? The next incident happened a few months later during a group project where we the students were in a room alone, I was standing talking to a boy the same age as me, I was in the middle of giving my opinion on the project which he clearly wasn’t listening to because he suddenly grabbed me and “jokingly” shook his head between my boobs. I was shocked, and so was everyone else but it had happened and that was that, I left the room upset but also worried I was being too dramatic, our group dynamic had been so good up until that point and I didn’t want to ruin it over this “small” thing so I said nothing, the boy apologised but it was already done, he later asked me to not tell people what happened because it was upsetting for him. These incidents all occurred in an environment where the incidents themselves never stood out, there were girls in my year who’s nudes had spread like wildfire, girls who were more developed than others with boobs and a bum who were labelled sluts purely because of their appearance, I myself got attention from boys and attention could only be positive surely? I was almost thankful that I was being accepted even if it meant I was being objectified and at times mistreated, I couldn’t see clearly at the time, I thought attention that made me uncomfortable was better than nothing. With school in the past I entered my first year of college, I’d had a healthy relationship before that had ended at this point and I’d had sex with only this boy so I felt ok with the thought of it with a new person. I was 19 and there was a boy in my class who I was head over heels for, my heart stopped whenever I saw him. I bumped into him on a night and the feeling was mutual, he gave me a kiss and I couldn’t believe it I was so excited I texted my friends and made plans to see the guy the following week. I saw him again on another night out and we kissed and he asked if I wanted to go back to his house so I said yes. I said yes Ready to have sex with this person. We went back to his house and we started, he was a bit rougher than my previous partner and didn’t take things as slow as I was used to but I didn’t want to cause an issue so I didn’t say anything. Penetration happened faster than I anticipated and it was uncomfortable and then painful but he kept going and I felt tears on my face I was in agony, he stopped eventually. I could tell he was annoyed he didn’t finish so I let him essentially have sex with my mouth, I wasn’t actively giving him oral sex. He got what he wanted out of the situation and I was lying there wondering what I had done so wrong, for him it was just a bad shag and for me it was feeling like I had been torn open, I wish I had said no sooner during the act. I got dressed in the dark and went home, I went to use the toilet and pulled my trousers down and my legs were covered in blood, my heart stopped. I got cleaned up and threw my underwear in the bin and went to bed my body still sore. The next morning instead of going to class I went to my gp. I told her a small lie and said I had a new boyfriend and we had rough sex and I was a bit sore, so she checked me and said I had a cut on my area, she told me to take a painkiller and to take it easy and off I went. Later that day the boy texted me, what a relief maybe this will fix the shitty feeling I have. He texted me to say I got blood on his bedsheets…and I apologised. He quickly moved on with his life flirting with other girls and having better sex than he did with me and I dwelled on it for a long time. I couldn’t have sex properly for a long time, whenever I tried my body shut down, my legs would shake uncontrollably and I would tighten up, I would have panic attacks and the whole time I felt bad for the men I was trying to sleep with, it was always my problem. When I met my current partner I told him what happened, I still didn’t know what to call it, just a bad experience. We took it slow, he was very understanding and let me get back to penetrative sex in my own time, allowing me to get to a point where I could actually enjoy it. My sex life is positive now, my partner and I have a healthy relationship. The incident years ago with the boy in college meant a long period of panic inducing sexual experiences but I think the cause began long before him. The attitude and entitlement of the boys in my formative teenage years had a lasting impact on me. It made me believe I had little to say in what happened to my body, whether I was allowed to enjoy sexual experiences and took away my voice where I could say NO. I think a different experience in school would’ve meant things would’ve gone differently with the boy in college because I still don’t know what to call it, for me it wasn’t rape because I never said no, my body says otherwise, my body felt what happened and shut down from it, it took years to recover. I’m glad I’m where i am now, my hope is that teenage girls get more support in school than I did.

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.

I was assaulted for the second time in Month multiple times on the same night by the same person. He removed the condom without my consent. He had sex with me multiple times while I was barely conscious and he had gotten me extremely drunk. I hadn’t realised what had happened until we broke up. I am still struggling to get intimate with men since

I was a young waitress who didn't feel protected or safe. "The customer is always right" isn't true for someone who is harassing you, touching you without your consent or being a creep. I wish people stood up for me.

Stare the Stalker Down The beach is nothing like the soft sands at location, my hometown. It's pebbly with gentle waves lapping it's shore. I sit by the edge. Tears roll down my cheeks. They wet the pebbles and the sand. The Freedom is overwhelming. So many emotions. I had woven a blanket over my pain. It's today's date but my story began on a date in the past. I got married that day. The day ex husband told me he owned me. The day he put a curfew on me. From that day I was his. I will never forget date. My 9pm curfew had passed. I was working late. Panic stricken I fled the office. My boss tore after me offering a life, thus avoiding the 20 minute walk. He insisted on stopping at the chipper. I couldn't say anything. You see, I had never told anyone what my life was like. How could I? What would they think? All I could think was "Oh dear God just get me home". Ex husband was there, absolutely livid. Burger, chips, onions, red sauce hit me like a brick. Smash straight into my face. Humiliated and wretched I felt burger, chips, onions, red sauce stream down my crying face. It was one of two turning points. Next morning, I told my boss everything: how if I stayed I would surely die. The relief. Between us we hatched a plan. I told nobody. Two days later I caught the train to City and signed up with some Agencies. When I got back ex husband was at the station. He was so angry. I didn't know it then but each morning he had followed me to make sure I had gone to work. He manhandled me into the car. People stared but nobody interfered. I thought the end has come and I would lie on that cold wet ground. Back home he straddled my chest for the entire evening. I could scarcely breathe. 5am he fell off me having fallen into a deep sleep. I crawled on my hands and knees, heart pounding in my chest, locked the door from the house and ran. Courage comes in all guises. Gloria Gaynor's song : "I Will Survive". I played it, I sang it, in my mind, out loud and I promised myself I would survive. The prayer "The Memorare". How can I thank that Prayer enough? the words helped me at my lowest point. I believed that I would get help from somewhere and today it holds a special place in my heart. I started my new job in City. I moved into a flat with my sister and her friend. Then it started - the Stalking - ex husband new my every move. When I went home at the weekends, he would linger outside my mam's house waiting for me. He constantly followed me. His shadowy figure never more than a few feet away. Beside me, behind me, in front of me. Never speaking a word but just staring. My peace was destroyed. Threats made in the past had not been forgotten. That night he told me that he would get me "not now but sometime in the future and forever you will look over your shoulder you f........ b......." My mam died in year and I visited her grave almost every Saturday as I still went back down to location. My siblings lived there. Always ex husband was there. Skulking behind or beside a headstone close by. I changed my times and my route but it never made a difference. He appeared and just stared. He never spoke a word. I never knew if "today would be the day". I knew his threat was real. Ex husband would crawl drive down the Main Street if he saw me, staring out of the driver's window and follow me until I got to my destination. Cars would beep at him to speed up but he ignored them. The only gesture he would make would be with his fingers "keeping an eye on you". Five years passed. Everyday without exception he appeared at my workplace in location He would follow me back to the flat. He kept pace behind me but never passed. I puked in litter bins and gutters. He made me sick in every sense of the word. I was a wreck. We moved but he always found me. I later found out that he changed his work schedule to flexi-time so that he could make the round trip Monday to Friday and then at the weekends he stalked me when at home. One day ran into the next. He stalked me. I puked. Who could I tell? Who would help? There was nobody. The Police wouldn't believe you at that time and anyway they could do nothing. I mean he hadn't harmed me!! Mentally I was dead inside. I left my wonderful job and moved to the location. I met a wonderful man, husband. We got married in year and in year our son, son's name was born. You would think the stalking would stop! We would go to location at the weekends. So beautiful. I loved the sea. Husband knew I had been married to ex husband but my life with him was too painful to discuss with anyone so I didn't tell husband about the stalking or anything else and thus it continued, but now ex husband had a new hatred in his eyes. My walks on the beach vanished. Ex husband was like radar. Always there. It was so scary. Little by little my life was vanishing. Ex husband never followed with husband came with us. Ex husband would always try and find a way to interact with son's name. Once at a Vintage Car Rally, I let go of son's hand for an instant and within seconds ex husband had taken it and was trying to give him a Dinky car that he had purchased mar dhea for him. I grabbed son's name and left. Trips to Tesco were a nightmare. Son's name would be in the trolly. We would be at the checkout and then always at the next checkout stood ex husband. No groceries and that stare. Staring me down and staring my son down. Back then stalking wasn't recognised as anything let alone a crime and I would have been deemed an "eejit". Then turning point two came: date. Husband's younger brother, brother in law's name came on his holidays to location. He hadn't seen the sea before. The excitement. I felt nervous all morning getting the picnic basket ready and our stuff but it would be okay as husband would be with us. At the last minute, husband got an urgent call out from work. He was on 24 hour call in his job. God I couldn't disappoint the kids. Son's name was now 6, and then I had daughter's name and daughter's name and of course brother in law's name coming for the first time. Our house was at the bottom of a lane. There was ex husband behind the lamp post. I tried to ignore him. The beach would be busy. Once he saw no husband that was it. He started to follow us. Up the quayside ex husband walked behind us. He didn't pass, didn't speak. Over the bridge, still behind us a few feet. I could see brother in law's name looking wondering why that man was not passing us out! Passed the duck pond and over to the beach. He still followed. I remember the day so well. A beautiful Summer's day. Hearts bright and excitement in the air but my heart was pounding, scared shitless. I put down the blanket, the kids leapt about with excitement. And then there was ex husband! Practically on top of us. Not more than a few feet away. Lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, facing us, staring and staring. I felt sick. My head pounded and my heart was beating in my breastbone. If I get into the sea with the kids what will he do? I couldn't leave our things. I didn't know what he would do. I was afraid to go, afraid to stay, afraid to let the kids go to the edge, afraid for all of us. I packed up the picnic and headed home. Ex husband followed. Matters were taken out of my hands when I got home. brother in law's name told husband about the man following us and that he was scared of him and he described him in detail. Husband figured it out very quickly and then I told him what had been going on all of these years, since year to be exact! I thought he would be angry at me for not telling him but he just held me close and told me that it was going to be alright. A person doesn't have to be imprisoned for their freedom to be taken from them. I learned to "stare". Husband taught me. I had staring matches with my siblings growing up but now this was different. This I knew was life changing. I need to stare ex husband down and that took practice, a lot of practice. I know it sounds absurd but learning to hold a stare for a considerable length of time is no easy task. Everyday after dinner, we held our staring matches, Husband and I. Our gazes fixed on one another and I knew that I would have to hold that stare for a long time to get the better of ex husband. I felt like giving up so many times. Several weeks later in location I was attending my parents' grave and sure enough just as the sun rises there he was. I knew husband wouldn't let anything happen to me and that I now knew ex husband was a coward and a bully. Once stood up to, they cower and slink away into the hole from which they came. Ex husband stared, I stared. I could see the hatred in his eyes. The date came flooding back to me. I kept staring. He got so angry but his stare never wavered and neither did mine. I prayed to every Saint in Christendom. I prayed that my mam and dad would somehow get up out of their grave and get him. I prayed the Memorare like my life depended on it and I sang in my mind "I Will Survive". I was determined to take ownership of my life. My eyes burned, blurred, watered. Oh God let this over soon, I prayed. But he just stared and stared for what seemed like an eternity. Then as quietly as he had entered the graveyard because I didn't hear or see him come in, he left it. I fell to my knees on my parents' grave and wept. Sixteen years had passed since I left ex husband and the stalking ended but it took until 2022 - a full number of years later - for me to walk on a beach on my own. I know so much more now. In 2020 I contacted a support service. The gave me the skills to cope with ex husband and I continue to work with those skills. I know I should have told husband, and should have told my family, but I never did. I was so ashamed, but I can speak about it now. My friends in location came back out of the woodwork. I thought they had deserted me, but ex husband had warned them off in no uncertain terms and they were scared. date is my special day. It's the day I sat by the calming waters and felt proud of my achievement. I might not ever stop looking over my shoulder but I am working on it. I wanted to tell this story in the hope that it might be of benefit of somebody else.

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

He was my boyfriend. We had just had sex and he wanted to go again. I said “no”, he said “but I want to”, and he did. Those words ring in my mind so clearly. It wasn’t violent or aggressive, but it felt like something broke in me then. I carried that with me for a long time, and still do. Part of my shame was that I didn’t leave. Months later, I confronted him about it and he was so angry and not open to hearing me. That is not how someone who loves you, cares for you, or respects you acts. That is not how someone who respects women acts. It took me a long time to see that. Years later, I am seeing someone who is kind and safe. He doesn’t know this story but he cares for me and wants me to feel safe regardless. He has never been angry or upset when I didn’t want to have sex, if I wanted to stop or pause or talk about it or if there was something I didn’t like or wasn’t comfortable with. He listens when I explain a boundary and is always open to changing his behaviour to make me feel as comfortable and safe as possible. That is someone who cares, who inherently respects other people and wants to be a safe space. That is normal and the bare minimum. Abusers, perpetrators, and predators can warp your sense of reality but I promise you, people who are kind and good exist and there are so many more than you would think. You deserve to be treated with respect, kindness, and gentleness. That is never too much to ask for, that is the bare minimum.

I was assualted, sexual assualted by a man I trusted, who I looked up to. I was 21 at the time, modeling, doing shoots, stepping into the modeling industry. Little did I know how dark things would get. These women who would stand by these abusers. He groped me from behind and touched me sexually on a shoot. I froze, I couldn't say anything. Couldn't process what was happening. He drove me home, told me to play with myself and let him watch. I ignored his requested and he told me if his wife found out, she'd die from the stress (she was sick at the time) and it would be MY FAULT. I strongly believed this and held everything in for three months. I pushed everything to the back of my mind, denied it. Everywhere I looked I saw the make of his car, his name, thought he was following me. I eventually I had a breakdown, went to the guards. Who were absolutely useless and laughed at my five page statement. There was no evidence but my word against his. So he got models to read off scripts and tell the guards how I was in love with this man and "asked for it". Told everyone in the industry that I was "unstable" and how he feared for HIS life. As if I was the predator. The coward couldn't even come forward himself...turned everyone against me. Feeling so alone, I confided in my dance instructors who I really trusted. Only for them to be STILL working with this man to this day. I gave up fighting as no one around me believed me. Taking me 7 years to open up again about my trauma. Everyday it still effects me..seening his name everywhere on social media. People singing him praises, if only they knew... would they believe me?? Do I risk going through the trauma all over again??

“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 used to think rape was what you'd see in movies. Jumped on by a stranger and violently assaulted. Turns out I was wrong. I have been raped on multiple occasions and didn't fully understand it until I got older and wiser and also found out that I'm autistic. This is what helped me to understand what had really happened. I learned and studied autism in girls and women and figured it out from there. I was vulnerable and impressionable and masked so much that I was a completely different person on the outside than who I really was on the inside. When I was younger and had no clue that I was being preyed upon due to my vulnerability and started to pretend as though I just liked sex and was willingly promiscuous. It was a lie I told myself and my friends so that I didn't have to face the fact I couldn't and didn't know how to say no and mean it. There is flight, fight and also freeze. So many times I was telling them no and when they didn't stop I just froze and realised that my voice was pointless and they weren't listening to me. It was easier to allow them to finish without fighting and having it be violent too. I didn't realise how badly the mental impact would be. One particular night I was out in a bar and a few of us went back to a house party. One guy was showing interest in me and I actually liked it. We kissed and had fun and then he led me to a bedeoom and I hesitated but ended up going in. When he started to undress me I held my dress and said no. I said it so many times and he started to get really rough and forceful and started saying things to me about leading him on and what did I think was going to happen and I just wanted it rough. I realised that no matter what I said, sex was going to happen so I had two options, fight and be both violently and sexually assaulted or just have the sex without any further resistance which would mean that I'd be only sexually assaulted without the extra violence. I chose the latter and for a long time I believed that I just had sex that night. I now realise that was absolutely rape. It's played with my mental health for over ten years and I'm ready to acknowledge what happened to me instead of being in denial.

Each year it crashes in like the waves beating the stand. It brings a swirl of emotion and feelings unbeknownst to my fragile mind. My body seises as it struggles to stay afloat. I gasp as the sharp prickly water traps my body, unable to move, but only to breathe, breathe... breathe... and breathe. A calm air slowly comes over me as I become conscious of this storm. Sobering me, I remember that it will pass...

I was a prudish teenager in the '80s, an introvert who wanted friend but only on my terms (they had to respect my boundaries, and I had many). It was only in my twenties, while I was working with more liberal people, that I made a conscious decision to cast off my old, narrow way of relating to people because my barriers had become walls. So I opened up more, made myself vulnerable...and attracted perverts. Older men, bosses, colleagues and contacts (I worked in industry). I still had enough boundaries to prevent actual rape, but I would not push them away as forcefully; I would make light of it when a man put his hands on my hips or made some inappropriate comment. This went on for years. I had a a few boyfriends in my twenties including one I stayed with for three years and loved (I still love him but don't want a relationship with him and have to keep enforcing psychological boundaries - he was never a sex pest but he wants to be friends and gets upset when I don't want to meet him). Being an introvert, and possibly Aspie (I have yet to find the courage to look for a diagnosis) I have always felt like an outsider, and in relationships always felt as if I was playing at being "sexy". In my forties, the men who breached my sexual boundaries (with inappropriate comments and the occasional arm around me as I sat beside them on a work assignment) were men my own age and slightly younger; I was still attracting men in the same age group: 40s. They would obviously want to take things further, but I would always put up that barrier...and I noticed that after I rebuffed a man I'd lose a work opportunity. I was frozen out of the cliques in my profession (I don't have family in my industry and I did not go to university so I didn't have the underpinning network to fall back on). I dealt with this by developing a tough, jokey exterior; desperate to prove that I was "not a prude", I merged my career with a rather tarty image (I cannot go into details here without possibly revealing who I am or, worse, narrowing it down - which would not be fair to others who might not want their stories told). At first, it actually helped my career and social life; suddenly I was great craic, a youthful looking middle-aged woman who was happy in her own skin, free-spirited - and "great craic". The men who used to flirt with me would also mock-boast "I'm a prude"; they had respectable wives / partners (indeed many of these women were my colleagues). Eventually, it was time for this middle-aged disgrace to be managed out of the industry. It didn't happen all at once; my mentors and good contacts retired or died (these were the people who never abused me). There were various reasons: cutbacks, personality differences, my political views were at odds with my bosses' views, and there were new people looking to fill my role. I adapted by finding a mosaic career, doing a few courses and muddling through. Now I see my former colleagues (the flirts and their partners) getting on with their careers; I am on the outside, looking in. But I was always on the outside. And I have no doubt that my story is very common (a bit like me, some would say!).

I had to say yes to get it over with. I was in bed alone and he came back from a night out. He wouldn't take no for an answer and had the cocaine fuelled energy to keep harassing me for hours. I was so worn down and exhausted and emotionally beaten down that I decided saying yes would mean he would eventually leave me alone. So, I let him.

My story begins by being coerced into sex with a man I didn't know. I was vulnerable at the time and only came to the understanding of the fact it was rape two decades later. My understanding of rape was that it had to be a violent incident where the victim is kicking and screaming and being physically overpowered. I didn't have the understanding that it is much more complex and I was in fact raped as I was coerced and coerced until I gave in and 'just did it' even though I didn't want to. I knew it wasn't right and that it affected my mental health, I just didn't understand why. At the time I didn't know it was rape. I was then subjected to verbal abuse for being a 'slut'. About a month after this rape, I was quite drunk, and got upset due to both the mental state I was in and the first rapist and his friends calling me names and laughing at me. So I tried to escape by walking away from these people. I was sat at a wall trying to compose myself when a man approached me and asked if I was ok.. To which I clearly wasn't. He told me he would look after me and coaxted me to go with him. I felt as though he was actually going to look after me. He brought me to a hotel and I fell asleep. I woke to him taking my trousers off. I was stunned and froze. He raped me. And I only came to the realisation that that was rape too after said two decades. I didn't realise it was rape as I didn't scream or kick and just 'let it happen'. I've done a lot of beating myself up and believing that I must be the 'slut' I was told I was. Constant questions in my mind. Why didn't you scream? Why did you go to a hotel? Why did you allow yourself to be fooled by the first rapist, then you wouldn't have been in the second situation? 'You idiot' floats around my brain too often. I went to counselling and did some research and realised why these incidents impacted my mental health all these years and realised that rape takes many forms and thats exactly what both of these incidents were, rape. I can say it now. I understand now that my body went into survival mode which is why I froze instead of faught that night. I'm learning to be kind and compassionate to myself now as beating myself up hasn't done me any good. It was not my fault. Only theirs!

It's been 7 years almost to this day since I was raped. Seven years of denial, acceptance, denial again. Seven years of hiding how I am feeling from everyone I know and love because I feel like I should be 'over it' by now. Seven years of wanting so badly to talk about it, to share my story, to take away the guilt that I feel for something I was never guilty of. But always being too afraid. Too afraid of how I'll be seen. Too afraid of if I'll be judged. Too afraid of not being believed. But finally I am on the journey to understanding that for me talking is taking back my power, sharing is taking back control and connecting with people with this shared experience is giving so much power to our voices. Every healing journey is different, and I hope sharing mine will help someone else in theirs, because I know reading everyones experiences and sharing my own is extremely helpful for me. Xo In my third year of college I decided to go to Peru during the summer to volunteer in a home for children who had suffered through childhood SA and violence. I lived in this home for 6weeks and helped with daily activities, cleaning, afterschool fun etc. While there myself and my friend decided we would leave for a week or so to see Machu Picchu. We headed for Cusco and found a travel agency which offered a 5 day adventure trek to Machu Picchu which involved white water rafting, hiking and ziplining...every 22year olds dream trip. The trip started off amazing. Our local guide seemed so kind and interesting. He shared so much of his culture with us and our group was getting on amazingly. Then 3days into the trip we stopped in a small town with a bar. We all had dinner together and decided we would go out to the bar for a beer. We were all dancing salsa and having a good time. My friend and a few others decided to go home and I was left alone with our guide and some people from another group. I felt safe. I felt like we had all built a connection over the previous three days and a trust had been built. Our guide offered me a glass of beer from his bottle and told me he would teach me how to say cheers in Quechua. We shared a drink, chatted a bit and Then everything went black. From that moment on all I have are flashbacks. Nightmarish glimpses of what was happening to me, to my body, while I was helpless. The next morning I woke up in his bed with him next to me as he spun some story about him needing to protect me the night before because I got too drunk. And telling me how nothing had happened. I was groggy and confussed and sore and had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach but no real idea of what had happened or what was going on. I looked for my things and tried to get out of the room as quickly as possible....we had to leave for the next destination in 10minutes. As i left his room my friend found me, she was so worried but I still hadnt processed what had happened and I dont fully remember any of that morning. As the day went on the memories became stronger and the sinking feeling became more and more intense. I finally confided in my friend about what had happened. Thankfully she believed me, but the other girls in the group did not. I warned them to keep away from the guide but they said that it must have just been my imagination. We continued the two day trek. I acted as if nothing had happened. I even remembering trying to get the guides attention, not knowing how or what I was feeling. He ignored me. When we arrived back in Cusco we got the first possible bus back to Lima, back to the home, earlier than planned. A few weeks later I started final year of college and things finally began to sink in. Thats when the panic attacks began. The crossing the road if a man walked behind me. The need to be clean. The self isolation. Crying in the car, crying on the bus, crying at work, crying in college. Then soon after this I began to pretend. Pretend like I was fine and nothing had happened. I began to hide from it all, and in doing this hide who I am as well. Thankfully I am finally on the road to accepting my story and feel strong enough to share how I truly feel so that I can continue to heal. I can acknowlege when I feel down but also am beginning to feel true happiness again. I can think about what happened to me and share my story without being filled with a feeling of dread of how people will percieve me. I have accepted my story, and although I obviosuly still wish it hadnt happened, I am beginning to truly love the strong, resilient, empathetic person it has helped me become! xx

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’m sharing here because I hope I can reach out to other women who may have gone through marital rape or may still be going through it and I want you to know you are not alone. For years I felt as if I was asleep as I couldn’t face up to what was happening to me, why I was losing weight and why I so depressed. I minimised everything, even to him. I would try and make him feel better afterwards. Most of the time it was as simple as me saying no to sex and him doing it anyway while I was completely disconnected, and it was so often, I would lie there and wait til he was done most of the time, but each thing built up to him pushing the boundaries further, sometimes when we were out in public, always after I went out with my friends, it was part of the deal. I always told myself he’d be in better form if I just went along with it. He was always so stressed and so angry. And I loved him and sometimes I enjoyed sex with him. It made things very confusing in my head. And I was eating barely anything, which he encouraged, he was constantly buying me exercise equipment and sexy outfits. I kept getting sick, I was tired and low all the time. My family and friends were saying I wasn’t myself. There were 3 incidents that I play over and over in my head that I couldn’t minimise (although I tried). And they led to me telling him our marriage was over. That was a year ago. I thought it might help me to write one of them down and maybe someone will identify with me and it might help them. It was at his best friends wedding and as usual, he wanted us to do something exciting sexually. So we went to the men’s toilets. We were kissing and we started to have sex. I was quite drunk. All of a sudden he turned me around and bent me over the toilet, my hands on the window sill. I started to say no. It came out in what sounded like a little girls voice. I don’t know why I remember that so well. I don’t know why I didn’t shout. He raped me anally in the men’s cubicle and I was crying looking at a dirty window sill and I could hear strange men outside commenting. Afterwards I kept asking why did you do that, I didn’t want that, it hurt me, you were too rough, I said no. But he he didn’t want to talk about it. He left me sitting with one of his male friends that I didn’t know to go outside with his best friend and have cigars. He saw I was in pain and bleeding for days after. I stayed with him for years after that. Other things happened after that too. I ended up feeling like his stress ball, a rag doll, good for nothing else. I was with him since I was 18 years old and we have children together. He was all I knew. He was my husband and I loved him. No one knew what was happening. Everyone thought we were a couple in love. It wasn’t until I told him I couldn’t share a bed with him anymore and I was starting ti have panic attacks that we went to a marriage counsellor and it all came out. I woke up. It was her face. Her reaction. I felt so stupid and embarrassed. And he tried to explain it away to her shouting at her that he was a man. I was sitting there thinking how did I let this happen to me? I always saw myself as quite a strong, intelligent, bubbly person. I’m in my 40s, I should know better. I was looking at the counsellors face and it somehow didn’t feel as if it was happening. I realised I was shaking and she was worried about me and he was shouting at her. I felt so embarrassed and helpless. And stupid in front of another grown woman. I was thinking what if this was someone I loved telling me this happened to them? But still in my head I kept thinking its not really rape because he was my husband, and I loved him and so many times I wanted to have sex with him so how could it be rape. But why did he want to hurt me? I kept thinking this couldn’t be happening to me. Anyway thanks for reading. I hope it helps someone. I feel it helped me to write it down.