At the age of 13, I have started lessons with this math teacher one of my friend's mom suggested to my mom. Every Saturday starting from 9 a.m. we will begin our lessons. From explaining the topic to me understanding everything was just fine. However, it started to get weird. He would touch me. He would caress my arms, my legs. He would make these circular motions with his thumb while he teaches me the lesson. He would compliment how I dress and anytime I have my hair down. It's like he was always checking me out like he wanted more. I knew things got really bad after the neck incident since he massaged it for me I have never felt so afraid in my life i just wanted to run out of his house but i sat there motionless. I couldn't do anything. I'm 15 now and i still think about it, it affected me in way in which anyone comes up to me but touching my back or my arm all i think about is him.

I'm not the only one who is affected. He does it to my friends also. All of them told their parents but why can't I? I mean I told my friends but they seem to not care and the worst part is I still go by his lessons. At the age of 15 I never really thought this would happen to me. I thought my life would be normal by just graduating school and going to college in majoring in some subject but I guess i can't have that life.

Before I spoke my truth I was sinking into the depths of self hatred and feared I would never experience happiness with myself. Speaking my truth has allowed me to move forward, one foot at a time. You are not alone. You deserve love. You deserve happiness. Your voice matters. 

It took me over thirty years to tell my family what happened to me, this is the letter I sent to my family. 

"A life lived in fear... is a life half lived." -Baz Luhrmann

This quote as resinated with me since I first heard it. As far as I can remember, I have lived a life in fear since the age of six and perhaps younger. 

Fear of rejection.
Fear of having a safe place to live.
Fear of being abandoned. 
Fear of not having enough to eat.
Fear of being asked to leave.
Fear of not fitting in.
Fear of failure.
Fear of success.

And Fear of being a woman. 

In twenty five days I turn thirty five. Each birthday I've told myself this year will be better. This year I'll eat better. This year I'll run more. This year I'll be more successful. This year I'll finish that project. Sometimes those "this years" end up being checked off the list and sometimes they get pushed to back only to be looked at twelve months later. 

Last year I checked off a giant mark off my list, to work on me. Not physically, there are only so many marathons I can run, so many miles I can bike, and so many weights I can lift. I worked on my emotional self. 

As you know, I've lived an abnormal life. It's not one I would trade for anything. My experiences are that, mine. They make me who I am. They are the only thing that can't be taken away from me. They are with me good and bad. They make me a better person. They make me loving, loyal, dedicated, and hard working. They make me strong, empowered, and resilient. They make me fearful of myself. 

I've worked hard to not talk about my experiences with people. I hid my life from my friends, my family, and my partner. No one knows the pain, struggle, and sacrifice I've made to survive. Hiding your life from everyone is hard work. It's stressful; it eats away at you. I'm tired of hiding, I need to let go so I can move on with my life. I deserve the freedom, to love fully, to love myself. 

This, members of my family, is why I write to you. On the eve’s of my thirty fifth birthday I need to release my story to you. Take it as you will. My truth is real and has been haunting me for twenty nine years. I'm not expecting any response. I only hope that you will listen. 

At the age of six I was repeatedly raped and molested by people I trusted, (xxxxxxxx) and (xxxxxx). I never reported the abuse, I have kept quiet all these years in fear. In fear that the abuse was my fault. In fear that I wouldn't have a family. In fear I would never be loved, that I was damaged. I almost told you when I was fourteen and (xxxxxx) accused him of abuse. I was elated that I was not the only one and I could finally tell. He made sure to keep me living in fear. He showed up at my house, when I was living in (xxxxxxx) on (xxxxx) Road one evening when I was alone. He brought his girlfriend at the time, and they both sat down on my couch and he told me that nothing happened when I was younger and that I didn't have anything to say to the authorities because no one would ever believe me and even worse the family would disown me forever, the same things he told me over and over after he abused me. Fourteen, alone and scared, I believed him and kept quiet until now. 

The problem with abuse, especially sexual abuse, is that you can never keep quiet. It will continue to come up in your life until you acknowledge it. Hiding from my family so I didn't have to see him, faking being confident and comfortable in my own skin, and focusing all energy on external successes only works for a certain amount of time until a person can't take it anymore. 

I am done living in fear. What they did to me was not my fault. I had no say in the matter. I am not defined by their disgusting actions. The adults in my life did not do their job in protecting me. I was a victim. I was a child. 

It's time for me to move on with my life. I deserve it. I deserve to be happy. I deserve to truly believe I am beautiful. I deserve honest, loving relationships with my friends and family. I deserve a life not lived in fear. 

Thank you for listening. 

In truth and love,
K

For years, my father molested me. When I was 17 years old, I finally said "no". He then took his pistol and said he had no reason to live anymore. I ran out into the street and wouldn't come in until it was put away. My sister and step-mother both happened to be away at the time which is why he decided to come to my room. I lived in fear from that time until I became estranged from my family that if I ever made him very angry at me he would kill me. I never felt safe until about 7 or 8 years ago when I discovered he had died. The estrangement meant I was left out of the obituary as one of the surviving children.

My sexual harassment story was at work when one of member of a different section of the department decided he would use the hem of my skirt to clean his glasses. This was at a time when there was no sexual harassment training done for employees, but people who witnessed it were upset and went to his boss and he was made to apologize to me and he was written up.  

It is because of these 2 situations that I don't really like being touched unnecessarily. I realize that for most people and for most situations this is done innocently. For me it makes me flinch. I also don't touch people even in comfort unless I know that really well.

Submitted December 21, 2017 by Anon