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I never associated my assaults as sexual assaults. I always just saw it as a thing that happened me that was upsetting until recently. I was groped, forced into having sex and preforming oral sex on him. I remember one time he offered to drive me home. I lived over 40 mins from town so I thought i could save myself €60 in a taxi. Until I realised we were going in the opposite direction to my house. He drove me to secluded area. I knew it wasn't right I said no said I was due my period I tried everything I could to deter him. It didn't work. I can't drive that road without a feeling of dread. I do feel part to blame and I know that's wrong. I hate how it makes me feel. When I hear stories in the news I can't help but think my story isn't as bad as theirs or that maybe mine wasn't rape or a sexual assault. I hate myself for thinking it.

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

I was experimenting with my partner at the time, and he wanted to try new things. He pushed and pushed saying he wanted to try anal sex. I gave in and said that we could try but if I didn’t like it he had to stop. The second we started, I wanted to stop. I tried to push him and get his hands off my hips but he did not stop. I just lay there and cried until he finished. For years I thought it was my fault because I accepted it in the first place and said yes. But now I know it is not ok. And it was not my fault

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 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 thought we were friends. I was told it was a mistake, what I thought was a blossoming friendship was apparently just general “friendly chitchat.” He sexually assaulted me one evening, I learned afterwards he was in a long term relationship while discovering even later he was after another girl. When I tried to warn her through having been suggested her profile on Instagram (algorithm etc.), I was threatened physically and legally. When I later learned he was abusive to his ex and was now in a relationship with this new girl, he reported me to my job for harassment as I tried to warn her one last time. Rumours were spread in my workplace and left me with nobody to trust. He ruined my life, while making it impossible to rebuild. Here’s to all the women who have escaped or are trying their best in life. You’re not alone.

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,

IF YOU DONT, THE CHILDREN WILL NEVER SEE ME AGAIN.... It was Mother's Day and that's what the father of our children said. If I didn't have sex with him, the kids would never see their Dad again. So I did. And it was the final straw. My depression really kicked in then. Looking back, I realise a few things. It's now called coercive rape, the children would have been better to have seen as little as possible of a manipulative, narcissistic father as possible and despite all that happened since, I and the children are together.

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.

I was age out in a club and my boss and his friends were there at a stag, he introduced me to his friend who was hot so initially I was delighted. Had one drink with him and next thing I wake up in a hotel room, naked in a bed with him, the double bed was covered in my vomit, my first reaction was I just got too drunk and was consensual, he was horrible told me to go clean myself up and he would drive me home, he laughed at me when I asked did I need the morning after pill, I knew I did? I had only had sex with one other person, I’d bruises all over me and was sore. I knew something was wrong, he drove me home in his BMW acting like he had done nothing wrong. I got home, showered, knew 100% then I’d been date raped. Didn’t want to worry my mum so my best friend brought me to my doc and he refused morning after cause he thought it was abortion so we had to drive hours to get it. Also had to get std tests. I’ll never forget the smirk I got from my boss when I went back to work. The shame, guilt, embarrassment I put on myself over it, I drank too much, got in abusive relationship, and had about 10 years of feeling so negative about myself. Counselling, talking to friends and now meds have helped. I’m now embedding consent into my own kids and letting them know the dangers out there. It’s happening too often and it needs to stop. I wish I had of reported him, wish I knew then that it wasn’t my fault, that it was him being pathetic, sad excuse of a man. Fuck him and fuck all of the others that think it’s ok to rape. Hope you all rot in hell. And sending massive love to the women who have the courage to stand up to them, you are amazing xxx

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.

To fight back or not to fight back now that is part of the question. Your damned if you don’t and damned if you do so what does one do? The rapist might want you to fight back to further his sense of excitement and heighten the thrill of the rape. But fighting back brings repercussions for the victim just as much as not fighting back. Nobody ever imagines that they are going to be raped or asks to be raped. Rape, as I have said before,” is the total violation, invasion and destruction of one person by another be they male or female”. In my 40’s I never dreamed in my darkest nightmares that I would be raped let alone raped in the place that I considered safe. My home the sanctuary we had created together to be happy in no matter what storms life brewed up on the outside. But the storm brewed and simmered on the inside and over time it escalated until I was raped despite having obtained a safety order. A safety order which was explained to him by the Gardai after yet another visit to the house by them. I didn’t fight back because like so many before me and after me in this same dreaded place or position I was filled with a massive fear of being beaten to death. But I did keep saying NO NO NO. You see without consent it was rape but the DPP decided there was insufficient evidence so the case never got to court. What was I to do eat or beat myself up because I had not fought back and gained bruises or worse? Nope, I did what everyone should do if they are subjected to rape. Get help. Yes, I sought and got help to rebuild my life until I got this strong to use my experience to empower others. To fight back or not to fight back is a purely personal instinct/choice at that precise moment in time. It’s a bit like fight or flight only with rape you can’t get away because you are pinned down. Those who say the victim (a word I hate) should fight back they need to close their eyes and imagine to the best of their ability the sheer terror of rape. And those who say a victim should lie still they should do the same thing because both parties must realise that there is no proper way to react to rape. Yes, we can lock our homes up against robbers but we can’t lock our vaginas up against rape unless we are anxious and the vagina stays tight. But like the robber breaking into a house, a rapist keeps on raping until full penetration is achieved. A rapist doesn’t care if they use the front or back door and I am not talking about the house doors. They don’t care if you are raped anally or vaginally and no you like me can’t have a choice. To fight back or not to fight back still is the question. Who can decide, who makes the choice? Damned if I can answer that one.To fight back or not to fight back now that is part of the question. Your damned if you don’t and damned if you do so what does one do? The rapist might want you to fight back to further his sense of excitement and heighten the thrill of the rape. But fighting back brings repercussions for the victim just as much as not fighting back. Nobody ever imagines that they are going to be raped or asks to be raped. Rape, as I have said before,” is the total violation, invasion and destruction of one person by another be they male or female”. In my 40’s I never dreamed in my darkest nightmares that I would be raped let alone raped in the place that I considered safe. My home the sanctuary we had created together to be happy in no matter what storms life brewed up on the outside. But the storm brewed and simmered on the inside and over time it escalated until I was raped despite having obtained a safety order. A safety order which was explained to him by the Gardai after yet another visit to the house by them. I didn’t fight back because like so many before me and after me in this same dreaded place or position I was filled with a massive fear of being beaten to death. But I did keep saying NO NO NO. You see without consent it was rape but the DPP decided there was insufficient evidence so the case never got to court. What was I to do eat or beat myself up because I had not fought back and gained bruises or worse? Nope, I did what everyone should do if they are subjected to rape. Get help. Yes, I sought and got help to rebuild my life until I got this strong to use my experience to empower others. To fight back or not to fight back is a purely personal instinct/choice at that precise moment in time. It’s a bit like fight or flight only with rape you can’t get away because you are pinned down. Those who say the victim (a word I hate) should fight back they need to close their eyes and imagine to the best of their ability the sheer terror of rape. And those who say a victim should lie still they should do the same thing because both parties must realise that there is no proper way to react to rape. Yes, we can lock our homes up against robbers but we can’t lock our vaginas up against rape unless we are anxious and the vagina stays tight. But like the robber breaking into a house, a rapist keeps on raping until full penetration is achieved. A rapist doesn’t care if they use the front or back door and I am not talking about the house doors. They don’t care if you are raped anally or vaginally and no you like me can’t have a choice. To fight back or not to fight back still is the question. Who can decide, who makes the choice? Damned if I can answer that one.To fight back or not to fight back now that is part of the question. Your damned if you don’t and damned if you do so what does one do? The rapist might want you to fight back to further his sense of excitement and heighten the thrill of the rape. But fighting back brings repercussions for the victim just as much as not fighting back. Nobody ever imagines that they are going to be raped or asks to be raped. Rape, as I have said before,” is the total violation, invasion and destruction of one person by another be they male or female”. In my 40’s I never dreamed in my darkest nightmares that I would be raped let alone raped in the place that I considered safe. My home the sanctuary we had created together to be happy in no matter what storms life brewed up on the outside. But the storm brewed and simmered on the inside and over time it escalated until I was raped despite having obtained a safety order. A safety order which was explained to him by the Gardai after yet another visit to the house by them. I didn’t fight back because like so many before me and after me in this same dreaded place or position I was filled with a massive fear of being beaten to death. But I did keep saying NO NO NO. You see without consent it was rape but the DPP decided there was insufficient evidence so the case never got to court. What was I to do eat or beat myself up because I had not fought back and gained bruises or worse? Nope, I did what everyone should do if they are subjected to rape. Get help. Yes, I sought and got help to rebuild my life until I got this strong to use my experience to empower others. To fight back or not to fight back is a purely personal instinct/choice at that precise moment in time. It’s a bit like fight or flight only with rape you can’t get away because you are pinned down. Those who say the victim (a word I hate) should fight back they need to close their eyes and imagine to the best of their ability the sheer terror of rape. And those who say a victim should lie still they should do the same thing because both parties must realise that there is no proper way to react to rape. Yes, we can lock our homes up against robbers but we can’t lock our vaginas up against rape unless we are anxious and the vagina stays tight. But like the robber breaking into a house, a rapist keeps on raping until full penetration is achieved. A rapist doesn’t care if they use the front or back door and I am not talking about the house doors. They don’t care if you are raped anally or vaginally and no you like me can’t have a choice. To fight back or not to fight back still is the question. Who can decide, who makes the choice? Damned if I can answer that one.To fight back or not to fight back now that is part of the question. Your damned if you don’t and damned if you do so what does one do? The rapist might want you to fight back to further his sense of excitement and heighten the thrill of the rape. But fighting back brings repercussions for the victim just as much as not fighting back. Nobody ever imagines that they are going to be raped or asks to be raped. Rape, as I have said before,” is the total violation, invasion and destruction of one person by another be they male or female”. In my 40’s I never dreamed in my darkest nightmares that I would be raped let alone raped in the place that I considered safe. My home the sanctuary we had created together to be happy in no matter what storms life brewed up on the outside. But the storm brewed and simmered on the inside and over time it escalated until I was raped despite having obtained a safety order. A safety order which was explained to him by the Gardai after yet another visit to the house by them. I didn’t fight back because like so many before me and after me in this same dreaded place or position I was filled with a massive fear of being beaten to death. But I did keep saying NO NO NO. You see without consent it was rape but the DPP decided there was insufficient evidence so the case never got to court. What was I to do eat or beat myself up because I had not fought back and gained bruises or worse? Nope, I did what everyone should do if they are subjected to rape. Get help. Yes, I sought and got help to rebuild my life until I got this strong to use my experience to empower others. To fight back or not to fight back is a purely personal instinct/choice at that precise moment in time. It’s a bit like fight or flight only with rape you can’t get away because you are pinned down. Those who say the victim (a word I hate) should fight back they need to close their eyes and imagine to the best of their ability the sheer terror of rape. And those who say a victim should lie still they should do the same thing because both parties must realise that there is no proper way to react to rape. Yes, we can lock our homes up against robbers but we can’t lock our vaginas up against rape unless we are anxious and the vagina stays tight. But like the robber breaking into a house, a rapist keeps on raping until full penetration is achieved. A rapist doesn’t care if they use the front or back door and I am not talking about the house doors. They don’t care if you are raped anally or vaginally and no you like me can’t have a choice. To fight back or not to fight back still is the question. Who can decide, who makes the choice? Damned if I can answer that one.Tofight back or not to fight back now that is part of the question. Your damned if you don’t and damned if you do so what does one do? The rapist might want you to fight back to further his sense of excitement and heighten the thrill of the rape. But fighting back brings repercussions for the victim just as much as not fighting back. Nobody ever imagines that they are going to be raped or asks to be raped. Rape, as I have said before,” is the total violation, invasion and destruction of one person by another be they male or female”. In my 40’s I never dreamed in my darkest nightmares that I would be raped let alone raped in the place that I considered safe. My home the sanctuary we had created together to be happy in no matter what storms life brewed up on the outside. But the storm brewed and simmered on the inside and over time it escalated until I was raped despite having obtained a safety order. A safety order which was explained to him by the Gardai after yet another visit to the house by them. I didn’t fight back because like so many before me and after me in this same dreaded place or position I was filled with a massive fear of being beaten to death. But I did keep saying NO NO NO. You see without consent it was rape but the DPP decided there was insufficient evidence so the case never got to court. What was I to do eat or beat myself up because I had not fought back and gained bruises or worse? Nope, I did what everyone should do if they are subjected to rape. Get help. Yes, I sought and got help to rebuild my life until I got this strong to use my experience to empower others. To fight back or not to fight back is a purely personal instinct/choice at that precise moment in time. It’s a bit like fight or flight only with rape you can’t get away because you are pinned down. Those who say the victim (a word I hate) should fight back they need to close their eyes and imagine to the best of their ability the sheer terror of rape. And those who say a victim should lie still they should do the same thing because both parties must realise that there is no proper way to react to rape. Yes, we can lock our homes up against robbers but we can’t lock our vaginas up against rape unless we are anxious and the vagina stays tight. But like the robber breaking into a house, a rapist keeps on raping until full penetration is achieved. A rapist doesn’t care if they use the front or back door and I am not talking about the house doors. They don’t care if you are raped anally or vaginally and no you like me can’t have a choice. To fight back or not to fight back still is the question. Who can decide, who makes the choice? Damned if I can answer that one. To fight back or not to fight back now that is part of the question. Your damned if you don’t and damned if you do so what does one do? The rapist might want you to fight back to further his sense of excitement and heighten the thrill of the rape. But fighting back brings repercussions for the victim just as much as not fighting back. Nobody ever imagines that they are going to be raped or asks to be raped. Rape, as I have said before,” is the total violation, invasion and destruction of one person by another be they male or female”. In my 40’s I never dreamed in my darkest nightmares that I would be raped let alone raped in the place that I considered safe. My home the sanctuary we had created together to be happy in no matter what storms life brewed up on the outside. But the storm brewed and simmered on the inside and over time it escalated until I was raped despite having obtained a safety order. A safety order which was explained to him by the Gardai after yet another visit to the house by them. I didn’t fight back because like so many before me and after me in this same dreaded place or position I was filled with a massive fear of being beaten to death. But I did keep saying NO NO NO. You see without consent it was rape but the DPP decided there was insufficient evidence so the case never got to court. What was I to do eat or beat myself up because I had not fought back and gained bruises or worse? Nope, I did what everyone should do if they are subjected to rape. Get help. Yes, I sought and got help to rebuild my life until I got this strong to use my experience to empower others. To fight back or not to fight back is a purely personal instinct/choice at that precise moment in time. It’s a bit like fight or flight only with rape you can’t get away because you are pinned down. Those who say the victim (a word I hate) should fight back they need to close their eyes and imagine to the best of their ability the sheer terror of rape. And those who say a victim should lie still they should do the same thing because both parties must realise that there is no proper way to react to rape. Yes, we can lock our homes up against robbers but we can’t lock our vaginas up against rape unless we are anxious and the vagina stays tight. But like the robber breaking into a house, a rapist keeps on raping until full penetration is achieved. A rapist doesn’t care if they use the front or back door and I am not talking about the house doors. They don’t care if you are raped anally or vaginally and no you like me can’t have a choice. To fight back or not to fight back still is the question. Who can decide, who makes the choice? Damned if I can answer that one.

Me and My Shadow I was in the shadows but safe until you appeared. The shadows held me as I blended into life. But you brought a false sense of security and belonging by weaving lies. Lies, which without closer examination portrayed a caring man, a picture everyone saw. Lies which threatened my freedom, my career, my safety, my health, my confidence, my friendships. More lost than gained, More damaged than healed Timed journeys, timed grocery shopping, fecking timed everything. Control, control over who visited, control over shopping, fecking control over everything. You were the fecking Timing Controller of my life. Controlling to much, pushing me until my confidence was stilted and decisions were beyond my reach. So much for my high heels and power suit of management, they sure as hell weren't built to protect from rape and domestic violence. The suit was a challenge for you to bring me lower, so low I hardly recognised myself, so low I suicided, so low I thought I couldn't go any lower but yet I'd never go as low as you. My head space began to throw tantrums, not allowing you to live rent free. Thoughts of safety, freedom, family, friends filled it. Night turned to dawn as I made a call, a one sided call to Women's Aid. Each silent call gave me courage to step out of the darkness. Stepping up to the lights of help, hope, reality and clarity. Times even still I'm a shadow of my former self but I'm never stepping lower to believe: lies are love, isolation is closeness, a wallop or push was done in jest. Rape is love making. Domestic violence is abuse of one person by another person and rape is the unwanted invasion of a person by another person. Standing no longer in the shadows, Standing in the sunshine making harmless shadows, hurting nobody, loving life. Loving life without you.

As an only child, I had no one to look up to really as a kid. But I always looked up to my Dad. Even though he was never really around due to work (although Mam worked more than he did and still found lots of time to spend with me), I still idolised him. He was my hero. He would always say 'Dads know everything - remember that', so lying to my dad (even little white lies) were pointless. Though when I hit 13 I began to realise he actually DID know everything. He knew what myself and my friends would talk about, he would know exactly where I was and who I was with without even needing to ask me, and I would always wonder why. In reality he had my phone tracked and could read all my messages. Now that I have been through the court system and he has been imprisoned for the abuse he inflicted upon me, I can confirm that he was in fact grooming me from the age of 13. About a month after my 18th Birthday, began the horrific 7.5 year abuse that I suffered. My Dad, masked for the first 2 years as a stranger, blackmailed me into performing sexual acts with strange men in our home - the one place I should've felt safe. When I finally realised it was him, I couldn't tell you how it then turned into just open ended abuse and rape from him. He would advertise us as a couple on hook up sites and in order to avoid physical beatings I would go along with it. I feared for my life so much that endless rapes and sexual assaults were easier - imagine that being the easiest choice - until you're in it, you just don't know how you'll react. I stopped going out, I gave up my hobbies, whilst in college I gave up my part time job - he controlled every single part of my life. And if I even let my "everything is rosey' mask slip even for a second, especially in front of my Mam, well it just doesn't bear thinking about. Fortunately for me, once Mam did find out, he was gone out of my life within 30 mins. Unfortunately, he went on to groom and abuse others after that. He was convicted, and is currently serving his prison sentence - but the fear of him stilll remains.

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.

When I was 23, after having lost my father to cancer and moving into my first home as a single parent, I was "sexually assaulted" by my uncle who was now one of my neighbours. It was what was possibly deemed a harmless move by him, a drunken misunderstanding where he accidentally but forcefully stuck his tongue in my mouth while consoling me on my loss. The weight of him pressing me into the sofa of my new home. My new place of safety. He was a large man with a wheelbarrow stomach and a stench of unwashed flesh that lingers in the spaces long after he has passed through them. He never spoke a word I could ever understand because his native dialect rested somewhere between a brogue and the sound of someone clearing their throat. I always politely, on account of my aunt, nodded in agreement whenever he spoke to me. I pushed him away and apologetically resisted his advances so as not to offend him. It never occured to me to make a scene, others might have demonstrated greater revolt but I had just left an abusive relationship with the father of my child, a man who was given to dangling phlegm from his mouth over my face while pinning my arms down as a means of foreplay. Being sexually compromised was something that I had long accepted as normal. According to my mother I deserved it, people don't do things to other people unless they deserve it. He was just trying to be nice to me after all. I also learned quickly that if you did happen to discuss things with anyone that they had ways of silencing you. My new neighbours were informed of my single parent status and it's always better to keep girls like me at arms length. I thought I had been finally set free from an abusive relationship only to find myself thrust into a dynamic that set the stage for a lifetime of fear and resprisals from any man that wanted to really. A couple of weeks later my late fathers friend, an elderly gentleman with a family of his own, repeated the experience. A man of standing in the community, he had called to offer his condolances and suggested he could help me find work through a local employment scheme to help me get back on my feet. Once again I found myself on the recieving end of a sexual embrace, ending with him forcing his tongue into my mouth. I didn't get that job, in fact I spent the next twenty years resisting poverty and doing my best under the same kind of unemployment schemes while always being rejected for paid labour. It was on one of these employment schemes where I became the subject of one partcular mans obsession. He was the same age as me although very shy and reserved, maybe because he suffered from a physical disability. He worked in a different office to me and we would see him skulking around outside the building I worked in and often, waiting outside at clock out time. He would casually greet me and join up with our group and continue to follow along with us. The others made fun of him but I felt bad about that and tried my best to be respectful. As our work progamme ended everyone naturally went their own ways but he never left and for twenty years he remained, insisting he was just a friend despite my objections that I had no desire to be with anyone. Most people automatically assume that he was my partner now but in all the years I had known him, I remained single and celibate. I had never been able to consider being in relationship with another man. I never had the freedom to be even if I wanted to. My mother would tell people he was my partner and as it happened, he was very effective at "keeping me out of trouble". Instead, I turned to other women for relationship and in the hope that he, and others, might get the message and leave me alone. It was many years before I found the videos he had been taking of me on his phone when I wasn't looking. It turned out he was a prolific client of escort services too and apparently, acording to the man who's child I bore and raised by myself this meant that I was a paid whore also. It wasn't until I sought help that I learned how I was being portrayed. The first counsellor I went to called me a liar when I told her that my childs father had physically abused me. For three months I sat unable to speak in a psychologist office, being accused of things I had previously been unable to imagine. I lost the ability to verbalise. My nervous system shut down. My body would shake uncontrollably. I tried to kill myself but I didn't know how. I stopped trusting people, least of all the services you would nomally turn to for help. The gaurds, my gp, even the voluntary agencies in places of statutory ones. For years after I struggled to come to terms with this abuse and I was alone through all of it. I did everything I could to drag myself out of that place, yoga, meditation, exercise but none of it made much difference because I could never wipe away the pain on the inside. One day I listened to a story on the radio and in response penned a letter to a rape crisis center. I never considered what I had been through as sexual abuse so I never considered discussing it with anybody. I began to write. I met with a counsellor and handed her my letter. As she spoke the words of my story I heard someone else speaking but it didn't sound like me. I didn't feel ashamed, I felt brave. I didn't feel worthless, I looked at the woman in the chair in front of me and felt like her, like I had value and that my words had meaning. I didn't feel stupid or retarded, I saw a beautiful articulate woman, not a destitute worthless prostitute. After years of being silenced I finally heard the sound of my own voice. I think I slept for two days after that. My own voice has grown stonger every day since. It's kinder and more understanding, more loving and gentle toward myself. I no longer live with the same level of fear as before. The guilt and shame I was used to feeling and that others used to inflict upon me no longer controls me. Something was given back to me that was lost and now no one can ever take it away again. I'm still working on healing myself but I enjoy life in moments and even have goals again. I'm glad that this place can give people a voice too and that those who read these words might hear themselves speaking and will know that they are not alone.

So I was a woman who thought things like this don't happen to me, until it did. An old friend were meeting for coffee in his apartment, except it wasn't. When he locked the door behind us, I just knew, I told him over and over again I didn't want to have sex with him. He refused to listen, I went in to detachment and froze, all I remember was I got to get out alive, I bearly did. That was over 3 years ago, and I have become gray sexual, fear of sex, or intimacy. It does get better, it's like greif you learn to live with it and move on with it in your life. There is something you loose with out ever getting back. However hang on, talk to a support system, be kind to yourself and learn to love yourself for making it through what no one should have too, it does get better.

It was my freshman year of college at a frat party. I’d only started drinking about 4 months prior. Only about 15-20 minutes after arriving at the party, I took a drink from a friend of a friend - Not knowing it had been roofied. Within about 10-15 minutes, my memory went completely. My friend reports seeing me glassy eyed, stumbling and very unwell. She did everything she could to sober me up, but made a decision to leave me at the party in a bed so I wouldn’t get in trouble with our small Christian college. I don’t blame her for this decision and never have - I probably would’ve done the same thing. The next morning I woke up, no pants on, next to a man I didn’t know. In the coming weeks, I learned he took photos of me that night and sent them to his entire frat group chat. He proceeded to stalk me around my campus, send me texts like “you look so good naked” and harass me further. My life was a living hell and to cope with it all, I dissociated from myself and developed an eating disorder to gain back some sense of control in my life. It took me a year to finally open up to my mom and sister about what I’d experienced. This was a decision sort of thrust upon me when I decided to report my rapist to my school and they told me I’d need support through the process. That was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, and while I was told they couldn’t do anything because it was my word against his, I am so truly glad I did. Telling my story opened up my journey to healing - One that number years later has allowed me to raise awareness for sexual assault and gow we can prevent it, as well as provide a support system for other individuals like me.

For 15 years we were together. Three kids. But he would have sex with me when I slept. Sometimes I would wake and pretend to be asleep, other times I’d wake in the morning, pyjamas pulled down sore and covered in his ejaculate. It was like what happened at night wasn’t real, even though I hated it. I hated sex with him because not, I feared bedtime, I’d occasionally convent to buy myself a few days knowing he would leave me alone. Until the day he did it while I was awake, when I said no, and that I didn’t want to he replied ‘but I want to’ and then he did. I froze, that one time is the one that 5 years later never leaves my head, I think of it every day. But I’m good now. I left him, I’ve a partner who understands and would never do anything like that. I’m happy. But the ptsd is always right there

There was a night out with my house mate during college. We were having a great time- she was single & was enjoying chatting to guys in the club while I, being in a relationship, was enjoying dancing either on my own or with guys if they wanted to dance. We had a few drinks while out but I know we hadn't drank that much because we were broke students. Whenever a guy would try make a pass at me, I'd politely explain I wasn't single, etc,etc. Near to the end of the night, my housemate was still chatting to this group of guys & she asked if I would like to go back to the guys' house with her for a house party. I said OK because I knew she really fancied one of the guys. I remember being handed a drink but then after that I don't have all the pieces of the picture. Everyone else must have gone off to bed because it was just me & this guy in the living room. I remember it being later in the night/ early morning & I wanted to sleep on the couch. He put all the sofa cushions on the floor - that this would be more comfortable. He was trying to kiss me as I was lying down but I was trying to turn away from him. I definitely remember telling him no, that I had a boyfriend. I can't remember if I had fallen asleep/ passed out but the next memory I have is of him pulling down my tights & underwear. I find it so hard to think of this.. because I'm constantly battling with myself over it. He wasn't rough, didn't hurt me... but wouldn't accept my "no" & if I'm being perfectly honest, from the bits I can recall- I remember actually enjoying it. That is why it is so hard- I felt so guilty after that. I felt like I had done something wrong, that I had cheated on my boyfriend. That they didn't do anything wrong if I enjoyed it. I have never told anyone about that night. I realise now that there must have been something in the drink I was given & logically, I know he was in the wrong for not getting my consent. I can't shake this feeling of shame though.. this guilt.. years later.