I 'll keep a running blog post of stories you all wish to tell . So far , I have all stories of sexual abuse such as my own , but they can be anything you want to tell . Every time a new story comes in , I 'll update and repost the blog . I cannot tell you how cathartic and empowering sharing my story was . I didn 't , for a second , think it would be . I would imagine this might be the case for some of you . Holding in a secret can feel so lonely . Here 's your opportunity to lessen your burden just a bit . There 's no pressure and there 's no due date . If and when you feel like sharing your secret , send it in via PM on the page or to ZenParenting1 @ yahoo . com . No questions asked . Everything will remain anonymous unless you state that you wish it to be otherwise . Another of my stories , one only my husband knows and only knew partially until he read this : In my second year of teaching , I met a couple and the three of us hit it off . They were fun , I was fun . We went back to their place - I forget why exactly . They poured me a glass of wine - along with something extra . They proceeded to rape me as a couple . He raped me anally . I recall only bits and pieces . I have flashes of the night . I remember him turning to her and asking her permission to rape me anally . I remember waking up naked and completely confused in their guest room . I couldn 't find my clothes , I didn 't know where I was in their house , I didn 't know how to get out of there . I woke up feeling more drunk than I 'd ever felt in life . I made my way out of there , but not without great difficulty . I was unclear as to all that had happened , I was in more headache pain than I 'd ever been in , and I was completely shaken and guilt - riddled . It wasn 't until a year later when I told my now - husband the story and he told me I had been raped that I finally admitted that to myself . Until that time , I felt so guilty and stupid for having put myself in that position . I still struggle with this , but telling it here is yet another step in that healing process for me . ~ Zen Mama Danielle writes , " My story . . . My parents separated when I was a baby . My father told me later it had a lot to do with the fact my mother continued to use methamphetamine while she was pregnant with me . Still , he left my brother and me with her . They created my little brother in the middle of their divorce . The three of us lived with her , she was mentally abusive , narcissistic , and incredibly neglectful . We lived in terrible conditions . She wouldn 't clean the house , blaming her mother for making her do chores when she was younger . She was " burnt out " . She was also a " Daddy 's girl " . She would get money from him , get his prescription medication ( my first clue to her drug problem ) , and leave us with him whenever she wanted . He was awful . He molested all of us . I blocked it out for quite sometime and I still have memories come back to me . His house was built in the 70s and his closet was one wall length with sliding mirrors for the doors . He would usually make us do stuff in front of the mirrors . I told my mother when I was about 6 or 7 , that " Papa was doing things he shouldn 't do " . She didn 't even act like she was surprised . She said she 'd take care of it . Well , it stopped for a while . When I was ten I was starting to develop , but did not yet own a bra . I was in his house with my mother one day and he commented on the shirt I was wearing . He came over and looked down my shirt right in front of her . I looked over to her for help , but she was sitting there watching and she had a smile on her face . I could not believe it . I know now she let him abuse us so he would give her money ( or pills or whatever else she wanted ) . When my baby brother was 9 she decided she was tired of the responsibility and sent him to live with our father . Baby bro was the first to tell someone other than Mom . He told our aunt , my mom 's half sister . My grandma had her from a previous marriage . He had done the same things to our aunt , so she believed baby bro . She later asked me ( after my mother had completely dumped us on Dad ) informed me she alrThere 's so much more I could write , things I left out , promises I have made to myself , but my fingers are tired . Thank you for giving me the opportunity to tell this . Not many people have heard it , but people need to know . If your child acts scared of someone , it isn 't for no reason . Find out what the deal is and don 't let your babies be scared . Or scarred . " My grandmother was kidnapped at 4 , raped with a knife . for 2 years . She grew up to be non stop raped / beat by her mom 's boyfriend 's . . and by her boyfriends . . She obviously grew up with mental health problems . That were never acknowledged , never treated and barely diagnosed a few years ago ( shes 65 ) She then became ' that mom ' who allowed her babies ( my mom ) to be raped , and beaten by her husbands / boyfriends . The one who raped her for over 10 years was her step father . PAUL WALSH . he lives in texas . and has a ' family ' . My mom is . . so messed up . . . she has EVERY SINGLE mental illness you can think of . Extreme bipolar along with extreme manic depression . . schizophrenia , anxiety , PTSD , and the list is endless . She has never been properly treated or helped in any way . . She has tried to kill herself ( o . d . , sliting throat ) multiple times in front of my little sister . . She contemplates suicide every day of her life . My point . . is that she never got help , she always has played the victim , she thinks shes worthless because of what was done wrong to her . She HATES herself . She cuts herself , she hates her life . Don 't be afraid to voice your struggles , your fears , and what has happened to you . You need to seek support in some form or another ( healthy of course ) Don 't be my mom , because its NOT YOUR FAULT . We are beautiful men and women who have had things happen to them that should never even be thought of . . My heart and my soul goes out to every single one of you whether you were forced to kiss or to have sex . You are SURVIVORS . You are BEAUTIFUL , WORTHY , STRONG , and loved , even if I am just a random person . Don 't ever think what has happened to you makes you any less worthy of a loving , intimate , secure relationship . you can and will get through this . My family are not success stories and may never be . . but you can be . But you need to get help - even if that 's just forgiving . . or sharing your story . This is a poem I wrote right before my suicide attempt at age 14 . I had molested and raped my entire childhood . I don 't even remember when it began . . . before school I think . I don 't know who my attacker was . I have blocked most of it out . I just remember his hands . Strong , and rough . At age 9 my brother started touching me . He would surprise me from behind and put his hands up my shirt . He came into my room every night , touching me and making me do things to him . It finally stopped on my 13th Birthday . The day I got my first period . My best Birthday . When I was 12 my parents divorced and my mom asked her girlfriend and the girlfriends son to move in with us . He was 19 . The first time I methinks was when he moved in with us . We camped outside that summer , the older kids and I . ( I was the second oldest of 7 kids ) every night he payed beside me masturbating . I always felt stupid for feeling the way I did about it . I felt dirty and bad . I felt like I shouldn 't care because hey , at least he 's not raping me . During my years in elementary school , there were a group of 5 boys my age . They cornered me everywhere . They forced me into the boys bathroom , the computer room , empty classrooms , a hidden spot on the yard at recess . They always tried to take off my clothes , and made me touch them . They pushed me around . I hated school . So I made sure to never do my homework so that I had to be in detention , away from those boys . From my thirteenth birthday , till I was 16 I never had any issues with sexual abuse , assault , etc . but it was an extremely dark time in my life . Plagued with nightmares , self mutilation , eating disorder , and attempted suicides . I lived in the hospital for a while but no one could help so they let me go . Then the spring after I turned 16 I started going to a school for troubled kids ( teen parents , sick kids , kids with behavioural difficulties ) . I met an older guy there , he was 19 . His little brother was best friends with my little brother so I didn 't see the harm in us all hanging out sometimes . He was nice , he listened . He seemed to care so much . One day after school he asked to walk me home . I agreed and he added that he just had to drop by his his house for a minute to grab something . So off we went . It was raining so he said I could step inside , and I did . Then all of a sudden I was thrown to his bed . I could barely comprehend what was going on before I was tied up and he was sitting on top of me . I was screaming for him to stop , to get off , trying to get away . He shoved his hands into my pants touching me . I couldn 't see what he was doing but I felt . . . everything . It was terrifying . I finally broke the cord that was holding my ankles and wriggled out of the computer cord that held my wrists . Pushing him off with all of my strength I kept up and grabbed a glass and knocked it on the counter , breaking it . I picked up and piece just as he lunged forward trying to grab me . I cut his arm and ran out the door . This attack is still so very vivid to me . I tried to tell multiple people about the abuses I have suffered throughout my life . Some stopped speaking to me . Some thought I was just trying to seek attention . Some accused me of lying . Sadly my mothers response was the hardest on me . When I told her about the self mutilation she laughed and told me I wasn 't doing it right , not deep enough for anyone to care . I cut deeper after that . When I told her about the rapes by my brother she told me I was lying , that I probably asked for it , that it was consensual . So I never told the police the truth when they questioned me . When I told her about the attempted rape by my " friend " . She told me that he went to talk to her that same day and he had something very different to say . She believed him . I am now 22 years old . I have three beautiful children . I am doing everything in my power to keep them from harm , to educate them , to respect them . . . and to BELIEVE them . Thank you ! Anonymous writes , " My dad has been an alcoholic for as long as I can remember . My dad would leave for work in the morning and , most nights , go straight to the bar afterwards . There were many days that I never even seen him because he didn 't come home until after I was in bed . My mom tried to talk to him about it & the toll that it was taking on their marriage , but he refused to acknowledge a problem . After my sister was born , my mom returned to work and met this guy who she started having an affair with . When I met him , I didn 't like him . I just got a weird feeling about him . Eventually , my mom said that he wanted to take her away and asked if I wanted to go . I said , " No , I don 't want to go anywhere with him ! But you 're NOT taking my sister without me ! " Something must 've finally clicked with my dad because he decided to take my mom out one night . Who did she get to watch my sister and me ? The guy she was having the affair with . It was the first time that he was ever alone with us . I just went about playing in my room , like a 7 year old would . He left my sister , who wasn 't even one at the time , strapped into her car seat when he came into my room . He took my clothes off & started touching me , putting his finger in me , and eventually his penis . I was crying , staring at a clown sitting on a shelf in the room , trying not to think about what was happening . He got angry with me when I told him that I was going to throw up and told me that I was lying , but I assured him that if he didn 't stop , I would throw up all over him . He finally got off of me and told me to get dressed . Then he left the room , came back in with my sister in her car seat , pushed me out of the room , and locked the door . I screamed and beat on the door , but realized that it wasn 't going to do any good , so I called the only number I knew , my old babysitter . She called the cops before coming to our house . In the mean time , hearing my sister 's screams from behind that door was terrifying . I had no idea what he was doing to her , but it didn 't matter . . . she was just a baby , and I wished that it was me back in there with him , so he had never hurt her . At some point in time , the guy had taken off , out the bedroom window , so the cops didn 't get him that night . My parents came home and found out what happened before my old babysitter and the cops left . Then we went to the hospital to be examined . I was , physically , okay , for the most part , but my heart sank when they said that my sister may never be able to have children because of the damage that that sick bastard had done . That guy was arrested and we were told that the best chance of a conviction was for me to get on the stand and testify against him . All I could think about was justice for my sister . I agreed to it and was warned that his lawyers would not take it easy on me just because I was a child , but I was up for the task . I don 't really remember much about the trial , except for being asked if my rapist was in the room and me pointing him out ( if only looks could kill ) , being asked if I had been coached in any way , which I hadn 't been , and then , my lawyer asking me , " What do you want to happen to this man ? , " to which I replied , " I want him to DIE for what he did to my baby sister ! " My lawyer replied , " You don 't really mean that , " and I assured him , " Yes , I DO ! " He did go to jail , but I don 't remember for how long . I don 't remember his name , and it 's probably better that way . Despite being urged to , my parents didn 't take me for counseling . They hoped that I was young enough to forget about it . Unfortunately , it wasn 't over there . My mom found out that she was pregnant . She didn 't know if the baby was my dads or the guy she had an affair with , the one who had raped me ( and did whatever it was he did to my sister ) . She said she wanted to get an abortion . I begged & pleaded with her to keep my baby brother or sister . First , she said that she was afraid that my rapist would be the father and my sister & I would hate our sibling . I tried to tell her that it wasn 't the baby 's fault and that we would love him / her , no matter who the father was . My dad even begged my mom to keep the baby and was willing to raise it as his own if it wasn 't . Then my mom said that we couldn 't afford another baby and I reminded her that we couldn 't afford my sister either , but we still had her . I came home from school one day to find out that my mom had went and had the abortion anyways . Up until that point , I had always been my mom 's little shadow . I didn 't say a word to her for a whole week . What had already happened to me didn 't hurt as bad as losing my baby brother or sister . My heart was shattered . My parents never talked about it . Any of it . At least not in front of me . . . excpet for the one time I over heard my mom telling my dad that she was leaving because she was afraid that we would remember and blame her for it . More than 20 years later , they still don 't want to talk about it . I didn 't even talk about it until I finally broke down in front of a friend 15 years later . I 've only talked to a few people about it , but , for the most part , I keep my story quiet . It 's not just my story . It 's my baby sister 's story , too , and she doesn 't even know it . I have carried this burden for myself AND my sister for 25 years now and will continue to do so . She was just a baby when it happened . She doesn 't remember her molestation or the fact that our mom had an abortion . Telling my sister now would destroy her & I will not do that to her . I don 't want her to blame our dad and his alcoholism , or my mom for having an afair , or hate our mom forAnonymous writes , " I was 15 . I 'd never had any kind of real ' contact ' with anyone yet , but I had a boyfriend . He was one of those guys your parents don 't like . Didn 't seem to have a lot of prospects in life or much self - respect , but he was polite to me and I considered him a safe bet , meaning I didn 't think he would dump me before I was ready . We were at school , at some kind of club event after hours , helping some oversight teacher transfer loads of junk from a storage closet to their car . There were like seven or ten students plus the teacher doing this . At some random point my boyfriend and I wound up in the closet together while everyone else was either outside or headed outside , and he just stopped what he was doing , shoved me down onto my knees , and stuck his dick in my mouth . I didn 't make a sound . It was so unexpected , so out of the blue , that I didn 't know how to respond . He moved himself around a bit there until we heard someone coming back and then I got up real quick because I didn 't want to be caught , didn 't want to be in trouble . Like I was about to be caught shoplifting or something , and that was honestly the first emotion I was aware of having during the whole event . I wasn 't offended or excited or hurt or intrigued or anything , it 's like I was a non - entity , a robot , until the prospect that I might be found that way , and then I felt guilty . Eventually the opportunity ended , and then eventually , so did the work . I walked myself home like I was supposed to . I kept up a normal face , normal attitude , around the teacher and the other students , but once I was alone , walking along a wide - shouldered highway , I started crying . I was sobbing so hard I couldn 't walk right , and then I asked myself why . That was the second emotion I was aware of having : confusion . Why was I crying ? I thought it seemed like something a girl does in a movie after she gets raped , is she cries . So I asked myself , was that rape ? And I decided it wasn 't , because I never protested . So nothing bad had happened . I stopped crying . And I went home . And I didn 't tell anyone . This was my boyfriend 's new favorite hobby . It was the first thing that happened every time we got a second alone . For a long time I found it nothing but supremely boring , but I never complained except by acting distractible and uninterested . Over time it grew into other forms of sex , other forms of domination . I started trying to talk to my parents about it , but they acted like I was breaching the norm by discussing something gross , like the consistency of my turds . One time we were all in the car together on the way to somewhere , me and him in the middle seats of the minivan , both my parents in the front seats , and my two younger sisters behind . He pulled out a knife , held it to my throat , pushed me back and leered at me and told me he could make me do anything he wanted . Everyone was watching . No one said anything . It 's amazing how quickly you can normalize to crazy situations if nobody tries to shake up your perspective and make you realize how crazy it is . I started to crave this behavior instead of , or actually as if it was , the healthy attention paid between two people who truly care about each other . We moved into role - playing full - out rape assault scenarios . He found it thrilling . In a way , so did I . This went on for about three years . I tried to break up with him multiple times , but he guilted me about having a love that was ' conditional , ' as if only people with a cheap heart and a grubby soul ever feel love that isn 't ' unconditional , ' - - which of course his was , which only proved how much more beautiful than me he was inside , if I ever left him . I stayed . I knew some nice boys , and at least a couple I knew would have been quite happy to offer me a nice relationship , but nobody could get me out of the situation I was in . Everyone was polite . Everyone gave me my space . Nobody judged . Nobody objected . I finally got away from him when I turned 18 and moved to a different state . I had several nice boys trying to get my attention when I arrived at college , so I picked the one whose moral sensibilities seemed closest to my own , and we 've been together for 12 years now . He 's sweet and patient and kind and flexible and encouraging , and I 've never told him any of this . It 's only recently that I let go of my initial assessment that ' nothing bad had happened . ' But something bad did happen . Sometimes I seem to go years without thinking about it and I imagine that it doesn 't matter anymore , but then I 'll read something or see something on tv that recalls it to me . Then I start fantasizing about being in a relationship like that again , and I know that it 's still with me . " " Telly " writes , " I am 22 years old , the oldest child of four . My sister D is a little more than a year younger than me , my brother W is three years younger than me , and my youngest brother D is one month shy of being exactly 10 years younger than me . I grew up in a small town in Pennsylvania , and both of my parents were raised in households that believed in " spanking . " As a child , I was spanked quite often , but now that I 'm older and have some perspective , I know this spanking wasn 't necessarily because I did something wrong . More often than not , I can recall being punished for inconveniencing or irritating my parents . In putting all these pieces together , I realize I 'm a victim of physical abuse . This realization came some time when I was in middle school . When I realized I was being abused , the first thought I remember coming to my mind was that it was most certainly wrong and I needed to find a way to stop it . But when you 're abused , it 's hard to step up and try to stop it , because you 're so afraid the abuse will get worse . On that note , let 's begin . I was four or five years old and had peed my pants one afternoon . I tried to hide my soiled pants in the chicken coop of the farm where we lived and my dad had found them . He found me , made me put them on my head , and came after me to spank me . I started to run up the stairs in our house , so I could hide in my bedroom and my dad kicked me in the butt . I flew up about three or four steps before falling down a few more of them . I remember my mom objecting and telling my dad to calm down , but he still caught up to me and beat me . The next day , my butt and both of my shins were covered in deep purple bruises . My preschool teacher had pushed my pant legs up so she could tie my shoes and saw the bruises and , of course , she asked about the bruises she could see . I told her the truth ( my parents had been very thorough in teaching me , with a belt across my young bottom , that lying was bad ) about what my dad had done . When my mom came to pick me up , my teacher confronted my mom and had already called Child and Youth Services ( CYS ) . I remember my parents telling me over and over that I shouldn 't tell anyone else about what happens at our house because it 's nobody else 's business , and so began the covering up of the abuse . I don 't remember much of anything after telling my teacher about this incident , but my parents have told me CYS was involved . I was too young to know or remember that part of the incident . I noticed , also when I was very young , that my dad preferred my brother over my sister and me . I noticed , in the way that kids do , that my mom never had an opinion of her own - my dad made all the decisions . I realized that my dad is sexist . If my mom did anything wrong , my dad would become so irate that it was terrifying to be around him . The entire family walked on eggshells around him when he was like this - and he was like this all the time . He hated his work and he brought that hatred home with him . He told my mom she was fat and worthless , that she didn 't keep the house clean enough . ( How the hell do you keep a house clean with four kids running around ? ) He made my siblings and I feel worthless . As soon as I got into school , I would get good grades and the only people who would tell me they were proud of me were my grandparents and my great uncles , and my mom . While their pride was a nice pat on the back , they had always supported me , so it didn 't feel like a big accomplishment when they praised me . They were all people whose opinions didn 't matter to my dad . All I ever wanted was my dad 's approval , and I never felt as if he cared a bit about me . Even now , when I do talk to him , I feel like he 's talking down to me . I know I 've blocked many , many memories of abuse , and they 're hard for me to recall . I remember some more clearly than others . Most are bits and pieces , harsh words and old hurts that never seem to heal , little land mines that ruin my day . I remember being somewhere around 8 years old … I can 't remember what I did wrong , but I remember I had gotten a beating and didn 't think it was fair . I wrote my parents a letter and put it on their pillows . I told them I 'd call the police if they hit me again . My dad knew that my favorite person in the world was his dad - my Pap . He sat me down with all my siblings , and told us that Pap told him to beat all of us until one of us told him who wrote it . I said I did it and he told me Pap told him he should ' beat me until my ass bled . ' I didn 't believe him , and later , I told Pap about this and he said he never saw the letter I wrote and that he never would have suggested we be beaten bloody . Another nice example of how sick my dad 's mind is - using lies about my favorite person against me . I can remember a lot of times I was slapped or pushed against cupboards or jerked around by my hair because I was told to do something and hadn 't acted on the instruction immediately after it was given . Sometimes it was my mom , sometimes it was my dad . The times that undid me most were when my dad was already angry and decided I was a good target for his anger because I 'd made a mistake or ' had an attitude ' when I spoke to him or my mom . I remember one night after I had gotten my ears pierced at ten years old , I was in the bathroom cleaning my piercings when my dad stumbled in the bathroom naked to pee . I went to leave , and he stopped me . He looked in the toilet and saw the amount of toilet paper I 'd used when I wiped , and noted that it was ' a lot of toilet paper for such a small pussy . ' I ran away feeling disgusted and violated , even though he hadn 't touched me . I wanted to vomit . There are a lot of times I can remember being lectured on who owned the house , who bought the groceries when I mentioned I didn 't like how I was treated . My dad would point out ' See that milk you let sit out on the counter ? I BOUGHT THAT . YOU ARE NOTHING AROUND HERE . I am the only reason you 're alive . YOU LIVE UNDER MY ROOF . YOU WILL DO EXACTLY AS I SAY . ' When I got older , my dad would try to keep a running tab of all the money I owed him for things he had to buy for me . This became a more frequent occurrence during my high school years because my mom wrecked our van when I was 16 and it came out that she had been borrowing tens of thousands of dollars from Pap , who is retired , diabetic , and really can 't afford to support a family of six and buy all his medications . Pap had to tell my dad that he couldn 't afford to lend us the money for a new car , and my dad finally figured out that my mom had been paying the bills and buying everything he wanted , not with his money , but with my grandfather 's . My dad was furious with my mom , and the emotional abuse he inflicted on my mom still affects her to this day , though she refuses to leave him . The next clear memory I have was from when I was fourteen . It was the first time I was directly and purposefully involved in CYS being called about abuse in my family . The night before , my youngest brother ( who was four at the time ) had been playing with a mirror my dad kept on the stand next to his place on the couch , and he told my brother not to play with it . My brother touched it again , and my dad hit D in the head so hard that he fell over , banging his head on the couch on the way down - my dad had his feet propped up at the time , so D had hit his head on the metal bars that hold up the foot rest , and had a big bruise immediately . It didn 't end there . My dad ended up standing up and nearly squishing my brother 's head in the foot rest as he folded it down , and then D tried to run away , and my dad chased him with a belt and hit him with it everywhere he could - his face , his arms , his back . It caused me physical pain to hear D screaming and crying and begging Daddy to stop hitting him , saying he was sorry and seeing my dad 's face , blank with hatred and rage . I tried to step in and was punched in the face and knocked against the wall . I very nearly blacked out . My mom just stood and watched , like we both deserved the beating we were getting . I felt so helpless and useless . The next day at school , someone saw me crying , sitting on the floor of one of the bathrooms , and told my guidance counselor , who came and found me . She talked to me and I told her about my parents and their abuse , so she made the call for me . CYS came in to talk to me that afternoon . I told them everything I could remember at that time , about what happened the night before and about more abuse that I can 't remember anymore . CYS then went to the other schools to talk to my siblings , who didn 't tell the CYS folks the truth out of fear of my parents . I can 't blame them , but I wish they had stood up . I know they finally did stand up during later calls , though . That night I went home and my parents wouldn 't talk to us kids , not even my baby brother . They didn 't talk to us for the better part of a week after CYS was initially called . My siblings , except D , were angry with me and wouldn 't talk to me . That first night , my mom set my dad 's dinner on the table and my dad yelled at her , saying something about how us kids would probably slip rat poison in his food if she left his food unattended like that . Everyone was on edge . The physical abuse stopped , but that made it morph into emotional and psychological abuse . The biggest slap in the face of all of it was that CYS said the allegations of abuse were ' unfounded . ' So nothing was done to stop what was happening , because they didn 't believe it to be abuse . My dad was working his manipulative , charming side when he met the investigators , and I could see their belief in him as an abuser just disappear when he spoke . I felt sick . Around this time , I started cutting myself . Not because I was trying to kill myself , but because I was so full of emotional pain that I didn 't know how to express it otherwise . The scars showed the world my pain . I drew and painted and it wasn 't enough . Cutting was a way for me to feel pain and let it out . I was so upset that I wanted to die , but I didn 't have it in me to kill myself . I didn 't know where to turn for help . In time , I stopped cutting , and it was one of the hardest things I 've ever done . It was one of the only things I seemed to have any control over back then . My mom didn 't notice the scars until just before I graduated high school , two years after the last time I 'd cut . The physical abuse was horrible , but the emotional and psychological abuse is probably the worst of it all . I can 't even begin to recall all the times my parents made me feel like I didn 't matter . Being called a bitch , worthless , a piece of shit , stupid , etc . - that was normal for me , and I truly believed all those things about myself . I felt so ugly - aside from being abused at home , I was teased at school . It took a long time to believe in myself and my worth again , but I 'm still not where I should be in regard to believing in myself . I know there was a CYS call between the time I was fourteen and the time I was seventeen , but I don 't remember what happened leading up to that . I remember the one when I was seventeen clearly - I was home while my dad slept on the couch . Nobody else was home , and I was doing homework on the internet . I had eaten dinner and let the bowl sit on one of the stands in the living room . My dad woke up and slammed the stand onto its side , knocking everything directly at me . The bowl I 'd let sit cut my foot when it shattered . I went to school the next day and my favorite teacher again called CYS . I asked to be placed with my grandfather for the weekend following the call , and when I went to his house , he told me he was worried about our family . I realized he had no idea what his son was doing to his grandchildren , and I told him . I showed him my cutting scars , and I told him about every incidence of abuse that I could remember . I had just stopped cutting a little while before this , and he asked me to stop . I promised him I wouldn 't anymore , and then he told me that if my siblings and I needed to get out of there , to come to his house . He would be happy to have us , and that way we 'd get a break from our parents . Knowing he was on my side was so empowering , but it came way too late - I was about to graduate and I had decided to join the Navy upon graduation . The disgusting things I experienced in the Navy are a totally different story , but in a nutshell , though I had joined to escape my parents ' abuse , I had enlisted and felt as if I 'd just traded one form of abuse for another . I 'd traded my child abuse for sexual harassment . But anyway , let 's get back on topic . I have so many memories of my mom punching and throwing W against cupboards in the kitchen when he ' smarted off ' to her . My mom and dad both hitting my sister when she ' smarted off ' to them . My dad even punched her and me in the face a few times , so that we had to hide the knuckle marks before school for the next few days . My mom literally shoving D out of At thirteen , I hit puberty and then , at fourteen , D stopped wanting to come near me because I was so angry and depressed and full of hate . I couldn 't be patient with him anymore , and I still feel so guilty about that . I didn 't know how to be a mother , and I am afraid that after all the other abuse he suffered , my inability to mother him has just added to the pile of hurts that may never heal . I know now it wasn 't exactly my responsibility , but I still feel guilty . One day I will ask D for his forgiveness , when I can explain things to him better . Someday I 'll also ask the forgiveness of all my siblings for going to the Navy and leaving them in that house . I thought I 'd earn enough to get them out and I was wrong - I never did . Along with the obvious mental and physical abuse , there was a lot of neglect , too . For instance , I went to the dentist in 4th grade and then didn 't see another dentist until I arrived at boot camp in 2008 , though my teeth desperately needed help . My youngest brother injured his knee somehow when he 'd been walking for a few months and when he was injured , reverted to crawling again . My mom didn 't take him to the doctor for months . When she took him anywhere , she took him to our chiropractor ( and she 'd been neglecting to take my brother while she had her regular visits ) because the X - rays were cheaper . She also knew the chiropractor wouldn 't report her for neglecting to bring him in for care . Today , my sister D and my brother W have moved in with my grandfather . D doesn 't speak to my parents if she can help it , but W works at the same machine shop as my dad , so they see each other every day . W doesn 't let my dad get to him anymore , and I 'm glad he 's able to do that . D still lives at home with my parents , a thought that horrifies and worries me every day . He seems to be doing alright , but every now and then I get a call about yet another incident and my worry doubles . I usually call Pap and ask him to grab D for me for a couple of days , but I still feel so much guilt that I wasn 't there to protect him like I should . As for me , I was stationed on board a ship that was home - ported in San Diego , California in 2010 and have lived here since . I recently separated from the Navy . I am affected by the abuse I suffered as a child on an almost daily basis - although I worked in a high stress environment in the Navy , I never did learn how to cope with it well . I dealt with my stress on deployments by working out as much as time allowed , which wasn 't necessarily a good thing - I 'm already slender and on deployment , the food is inedible at best , so I lost even more weight . Because of the way my dad treated my mom about keeping the house clean , I try to keep our apartment as clean as possible , though I know I fall short . I am sort of waiting for my husband to get upset with me for it , even though I know he won 't . It 's an irrational response to the abuse I suffered and witnessed . ( my dad claimed his cheating on my mom and his abuse of her are because she can 't keep house . ) I have at least a few days a month where I can 't make myself get out of bed because I 'm so depressed . I make sure that if I have a day like this , the next day , I force myself to get out of bed early , I do some yoga , meditate , eat right , etc . I feel certain that my anxiety and depression would never have developed if I had been raised differently . It took me a long time to realize my mood swings and ' off days ' aren 't normal , and I 'm currently considering going back for more therapy . My husband is retired from the Navy , and so I could get treated for next to nothing , money wise . I 'm afraid of being put on medication , though . I 'm also a little afraid of laying all of this abuse out for a psychiatrist or psychologist , and being told , as I was told by CYS when I was fourteen , that my claims of abuse are unfounded . I know it 's ridiculous , but it 's still a fear . Irrational , just like the response I expect from my husband , who supports me and loves me through everything . At 22 , I 've just reached my third wedding anniversary . I 'm also pregnant with my first child , so my childhood experiences have recently come more sharply into focus . Thanks to my vivid pregnancy dreams , I 've relived many of the horrors of abuse from my childhood , and each time I wake up in a cold sweat after nightmares about being trapped in my parents ' home , watching my siblings being beaten and me useless to stop it … my resolve to break this horrible cycle strengthens . I was home in Pennsylvania when I found out I was pregnant , and neither of my parents seemed to care very much about the fact that I 'm carrying their grandchild . I 'm toying with the idea of not allowing my parents near my baby , because I 'm terrified they will try to parent my baby their way - the way that 's left so many invisible scars on my heart and mind and body . My dad doesn 't seem to listen to me when I do bother to call . My mom is better about it , but I know no matter how much I talk to her about attachment parenting , she will ultimately go back to what she knows . My parents have violated my trust enough by now for me to know they 'll end up hitting my child if I allow my little one to spend any amount of time alone with them . I don 't want that for my child , even if it means they 'll never know their only set of grandparents . It 's a hard decision , and I 'm still mulling it all over . When I first told my husband about the abuse , we agreed that our kids would never be punished in the way I was . I found Zen Parenting through a friend of mine on Facebook , and I will never , never be able to thank her enough for silently guiding me to better parenting choices . I 've been reading about attachment parenting since I found out I am pregnant , and I 'm excited to show my little one the love and trust I missed as a child . I realize it will be a challenge to overcome the negative emotions I may feel toward my child . I realize it will be difficult to break the cycle , but I also know just how great the reward can be when I succeed . I know I 'll make mistakes , but as humans , we all do . I just need to make sure my children know that I 'm aware I made a mistake , and ask forgiveness , and tell them how I should have acted . I received a small amount of therapy in the Navy , but I still feel as though I have a lot to work through . Despite this feeling , I know I can be a good parent because I have my mind set to it … and I 've never been one to turn down a challenge . Most of all , though , I know that in gently parenting my little one , I will heal myself . Seeing my little one grow into the person they will be , uncorrupted by fear and violence , will be a balm for my battered heart and my bruised soul . And , simply put … there is nothing in the world more important to me than ending the cycle of violence and replacing the pain with peace . " This is about my dad . I remember once in a supermarket he had told me that another man of around 45 - 50 was looking at me in interest . This was when I was around 12 . He used to tell me stories about his previous sexual partners and how little he was currently having sex with my mum , how he craved that touch , etc . She was suffering from OCD and I was daddy 's little girl because she didn 't have time for me . We still held hands in public until I was around 15 , when I had my first boyfriend and I decided that hand - holding was no longer a paternal thing . ( In my defense I was home educated and had no contact with other people my own age , I cringe looking back , I should have realised sooner ) . He used to get quite upset and try to take it still . From around 12 he used to start slapping me on my arse , and commenting on well - fitting clothes and my " little round bottom " . He used to drive me places and would constantly reach from the wheel or gear stick to my knee and squeeze it , sometimes hard . I soon got very upset and told him to stop doing it , he replied with something along the lines of " it 's a father 's right to touch his daughters little knee " , it became a thing , a half - game that he would instinctively reach for my knee and I would slap his hand away . This didn 't stop until I moved out at 19 . He used to tell me ; ' If I were younger , and I weren 't your father , I 'd be interested in you . ' He used to insult me if I had spots or I 'd put on weight , still does . When I first dyed my hair at 15 ( a subtle shade of dark purple ) he said ' you look like an old slapper ' . My mother knew about all this , but not that he had talked so sexually about her and his previous partners to me . She was disgusted when I told her very recently but she 's still with him . I 'm now 21 , he still asks for kisses on the cheek and I won 't give them , I don 't like hugging him because it makes me feel physically sick but I can 't help coming into contact with him due to his relationship with my mother . Mum knows this and does try and keep him away from me . He wilThank you for listening . There was a time when I first went to school at 11 when three girls who didn 't like me took a hockey stick up between my legs and tried to ' hook ' me on it . They weren 't ' punished although the school was told . Anonymous writes , " I was physicaly abused by my father . So was my mother . We lived In the woods in alaska . My earliest memory is of my mom and I running away from the cabin and sitting on a log with my mother crying . I was 2 / 3 years old I looked back at the house and I could see my dad 's shadow and he was laughing because we couldn 't go any where . I gave my mom my toy bc she was crying and I told her he helps me not be scared . Well years pass and we moved states with my dad and mom . We were living in a city and I was 12 years old I was getting beaten and I sicked my dog on my dad he tried to kill her . The police came to the door and my dad took my mom out side because there was a report of a man beating his wife . The police left and my dad told me what they said I screamed ' you were beating me ! You lied to them ' he told me if it bugged me that much to go tell them my self . I was 12 I didn 't think they would care . ( this hurts to write out ) I looked at my mom and screamed ' why don 't you stick up for us ! Why don 't you love me enough ' I had bruses all over my arms and welts on my back and buttox I couldn 't sit or lay down for weeks . I 'd like to say that I never was harmed again but I dated bad men for years . And one even started to abuse physicaly my daughter then it hit me my 3 yo was being harmed I left him I stuck up for her ! I was single and prayed alot got to a better place and now am maried to some one who will never do that to me or her . You can break the cycle and there are more details I can give for an article if you would like but most of all stick up for your kids , and if you are law enforcement on an abuce call go in the house look at the children please ! " Anonymous writes , " I just wanted to say I think it 's great that you are reaching out to sexual abuse survivors . This is such a taboo topic and lots of people are terrified of telling their story . I use to be one of those and still am and I am an adult now . My first sexual abuse encounter was when I was five . My parents had allowed me to sleep next to my grand father at the time and even though I was young I knew the way he was touching me just did not seem right or normal . Luckily even at five I knew that what he was doing was wrong and managed to run to the door yelling and screaming for mom or dad to save me . I did not know what to say , I never had been talked to about sexual abuse , about what it meant , about how to tell I mean who sexually abuses a young child it 's unheard of ( though common sadly ) so I was never talked to about what to say . The whole ordeal was written off until I was old enough to know what was going on and at this point I am not really sure what happened at the age of nine but my parents had invited my uncle over to babysit my brother and I . This was in the day where Mr . Rogers was a fabulous show and the only computer I got to play with was one that you took a book and propped it up against the couch and pretended you were typing . I was called into the bathroom of the house we were living in , and the memory of what was happening is so blurry to me now that I don 't even remember what exactly happened just that he pulled down his pants and I was forced to touch him . I was of course told never to tell anyone , that because I had been a troubled child growing up no one would ever believe me and I believe him . I was not exactly a good child , I was always perceived as " bad " . This incident only happened once as did the one with my grand father and I never told anyone what happened . I began going to college in 1998 , there I met my husband ( then boyfriend ) . As we became sexually active together I never felt quite , I always felt ashamed but could never explain why . As we became more serious several yeAnonymous writes , " I was raped by a close friend when he took me home from a party when I was too drunk to drive . It was Independence Day of this year , I had just had a bad breakup earlier that day . I was drinking a lot , and had been trying to hook up with a guy I had always thought was attractive to ' get revenge ' I guess . . . obviously not in a good state of mind . My friend got me away from him , and put me and our other male friend in his car , took him home first . Since I lived an hour away I guess we decided it would be better if I just crashed at his place . I don 't remember anything really beyond getting in the car at the party , dropping our friend off , and I sort of remember getting to his house . Next thing I know , I 'm in his bed and he 's on top of me . I have no recollection of how I got there , when he started touching me , if we even kissed . . . nothing . Just waking up , realizing we were having sex . I had him get off of me so I could go to the bathroom , then I came back to the bed . . . I think he may have laid with me there for awhile , but in the morning he was on his couch . I talked with him how I felt about it somewhat , how I didn 't remember how it happened and he was never someone I had intended on sleeping with . He said details were fuzzy for him too , and maybe he shouldn 't have driven . And that he had never seen me that way either . We agreed to pretend it had never happened . My Diva Cup arrived fortuitously on the same day as my period . My innards are psychic . Day 1 : Hate it . First of all , how the heck am I su . . .