He was a teenager. A hormonal youth who saw an opportunity to “practice” and probably didn’t fully understand the repercussions of his actions. He might not have even known that what he was doing was wrong.
I, as a child of seven or eight, knew, for absolutely certain, that what he was doing was wrong.
And yet I did not stop him.
When he put his filthy hands up my shorts I sat in silence and let him do it, under the blanket, RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY GRANDPARENTS.
When he asked, “Does it feel good?” I nodded my head.
When he said, “You won’t tell anyone, right?” I shook my head.
For weeks, I let him. I encouraged him with my head nods. I kept his secret.
It was the nightmares that gave me away. My mom had to play twenty questions to figure out what had happened. “Kristen, what IS IT? Did someone touch you? Was it G___?”
She picked up the phone and dialed, no matter that it was 2am, and okay, this is one of the highlights of my life: “If you ever lay a hand on my daughter again, I will CUT YOUR FUCKING BALLS OFF.”
But… he was family. The secret went into the vault, as these kinds of secrets so often do, and I still saw him at the occasional family event. He didn’t try anything else though; my mom’s threat stuck.
Anyway, it wasn’t his fault. He was just a horny teenager.
I’m still trying to figure out how the shame part of it works. Aside from my grandmother innocently asking, “Well sweetie, why didn’t you just say something?”, no one ever shamed me or led me to believe any of what happened was my fault.
But.
The knowledge that I sat like a stone and let him do those things to me, that I kept his secret as long as I did (How long? One week? Three? I can’t remember), it stayed with me.
I LET him.
After all these years, I still make excuses for him. I still ask myself why I didn’t shoo his hand away, why I didn’t shout DON’T TOUCH ME, why I didn’t tell sooner. Shame pops up in other weird ways, too, ways that I’m too embarrassed to even talk about here. And what happened to me wasn’t even that bad. He didn’t even rape me.
I know I’m not alone in dealing with shame; I know that the mere existence of society’s absurd double standards are enough to cause an otherwise mentally healthy woman to have her own private battles with shame.
Also, I’m not sure it would have made any difference if my family had outed my abuser and made a big stink about it, or if I had received counseling. Maybe I am just built for shame.
Wow. See how that works? I really just wrote that. That nonsense really just tumbled out of my head.
No. I was not built for shame. I was not built for secrets. I was not built for SILENCE.
And neither is anyone else.
Can we change things? Can we change how instances of family abuse are handled? I hate to use a phrase like “make an example out of these guys,” because it sounds so cliche and… well… cruel (there’s that shame again, it is always there), but I’m going to just cut the bullshit and say it anyway: Let’s do things differently. Let’s make an example out of these guys. Let’s send a message.
Boys. Men. No you may fucking NOT. Keep your fucking hands to yourself. That girl IS A PERSON. When you touch her, you take something from her, something that CANNOT BE GIVEN BACK. You change her for life. FOR LIFE. Are you listening? Pay attention: Her silence is not consent. Her shy “yes” IS NOT CONSENT. She does not have the ability to consent to ANYTHING, because she is just a fucking LITTLE GIRL. HANDS TO YOURSELF. That girl you’re lusting after is A PERSON. I said that last part twice, I know. Because I mean it.
Girls. Women. This is not a secret you have to keep. This is not a bag you have to drag around with you. You have no obligation to protect him. Talk about it. OUT HIM. Live your life without shame.
Parents. Authority figures. It’s time to stop letting these boys get away with hurting girls like this. A few weeks of hard labor on uncle so-and-so’s farm isn’t enough (I’m looking at you, Duggars). It’s not okay to protect abusers, teens or not, by keeping their transgressions secret. It’s not okay to put the victim back in a room with her abuser. It is incumbent upon you to protect her from him. Show her she matters. Remind her that this is not just something that happened to her; it is something that was DONE TO her. It was not a passive event. Remind her, for as long as it takes, until she gets it, that she is blameless. No matter now many times she nodded her head, no matter how long she kept his secret. She has NOTHING to be ashamed of.
Look, I wrote that last part even as I swim in my own thick cloud of shame.
Gary. His name was Gary.
What was your abuser’s name? #CallThemOut
— — — — —
***The original version of this post was called “Call Him Out.” Thanks to several people kindly pointing out to me that abusers are not always men, I have changed the title and hashtag to be gender neutral. Of course I never intended to alienate anyone; it’s only that I was writing from my own perspective, so naturally I went with the genders that applied to my situation. Please consider all genders in the post to be interchangeable to apply to your situation. I apologize to anyone who was hurt by the lopsidedness of the writing of this post!
Thank you so much for reading. If this post resonated with you, you might enjoy my books. To stay in touch, follow me on Facebook or join my book group.
632 Comments
This is the bravest post I’ve ever read. I applaud you.
Leo. His name was Leo and I hope he’s rotting in hell right now.
respect to you rachel. fuck them bastards
Eddie, David, Ed,Bruce, Tony, Andrew……….too many to count
Dennis and Rayeannan
My Grandfather at the age of 5 and then my babysitter for years at 6
Rot shithead!
And when a relative in denial saw my post, he vomited his own insults & discounted my experience yet again here. Thanks to Kristen, this forum belongs to those who have suffered & strive for strength & forgiveness. The naysayers & women-blamers can form their simple words of hate elsewhere.
A special thank-you to Kristen Mae, fellow Superwoman, for keeping this movement safe from perps. Hugs to you…
I held my breath reading this. This is my story too. Except, I ever told. I still haven’t to this day. I have forgiven, and for the most part, moved past…I still have my moments and thank God my husband is sweet, and comforting and understanding.
My mom was so loud with her protection over me that I was afraid of what “I” did, what “I” would have done to my family.
I will kill anyone who touches my daughter, but I won’t be so loud with it.
I HATE that you experienced this.
I LOVE that you’re brave enough to share it.
I KNOW it will make a difference.
Jack. His name is Jack. Fuck Jack.
#CallHimOut
#ThenHaveYourMomCallJackBecauseShesABadass
Thank you so much for this. I wish I had the courage to post it to Facebook and #callhimout publicly. I’m not sure I can. But I’ll leave it here.
Joe. His name was Joe.
I too experienced a similar instance when I was 6 or 7 with an adolescent family member. It went much farther then just once and just touching. I held the secret until I was almost 18.
It took my childhood away. I sought out counseling in high school and it empowered me. I’m not a victim, I did not chose to have that done to me!
He died when I was 15…his name was Dion!
Thank you for posting this. Your honesty and bravery has touched my heart.
#CallHimOut
colby.
What a fucking stupid name.
I’ve never written that anywhere.
I just want to hug you.
Cool, I like hugs! {{{HUG}}}
Me neither. =)
my daughters and my abuser’s name is Gary.
wtf is it with that name??
HER name was Crystal. I’ve never admitted that anywhere else, ever. It’s not always a “him”. In my case, it was a her .
Hopefully one day I have the courage to share my story with my husband so he understands why I am so ultra protective of our son and daughter around all relatives.
I know this. A friend of my family was abused by an older sister, and is consequently suicidal. I cannot imagine the additional shame that must come along with that. #NotYourFault <3
Her name was Etta, she was a babysitter for one summer when I was 5. I told some family it happened, but never my parents because of the shame of being molested by a woman. I was also molested by the son of a babysitter, Scotty at 6, and two teenaged neighbor boys Jimmy and his brother Roger at 7. I never thought it bothered me, but it turns out I was wrong. After my husband cheated on me for the 4th time we are now in therapy and I am discovering just how wrong I was. I too am hyper-vigilante and it’s one of the reasons I’m a SAHM.
Okay it’s super weird and creepy seeing my name on something like this. Not a lot of Etta’s in the world. Seeing as how I never was allowed to babysit I will say with confidence that it is not me. I am so sorry though because I know how it feels. My abusers were my brother and his friend from next door and also my grandfather. At 15 I lost my virginity to a friend who snuck into my window one night an attacked me. There are so many of these cases that go unreported because we are afraid that we will be in trouble. I was taught that somehow it was my fault and I wanted it when I did speak out about it.
And it’s not always a “her” that it gets DONE To.
You’re right about that. It happened to my son.
My son too, he was 3 :*(
Sitting here reading this was like reading a page out of my own life story…………….except I never told any of my family. I think I am glad I didn’t, I think I may have resented them if they swept it under the rug. It is a horrible truth that many more little girls have experienced this than we can even imagine. Thank you for sharing.
Kenneth. His name is Kenneth.
#CallHimOut
#FreeYourself
Rick. His name was rick.
Debby. Her name was debby.
Lewis.
And Trent.
#callhimout
Absolutely amazing. This is just beautifully briliant and simultaneously heartbreaking. Jason was the family members name that molested my brother. Not a damn thing happened to him because he shamed my brother into denying it happened when they brought him to counseling…. But this is so important. Thank you for your bravery and honesty!
I did tell a therapist, she said perhaps my parents were going through a bad time… Seriously, told me that.
That’s awful. Awful.
That therapist is a worthless piece of shit! I hope you found a better one later. You’re awesome and BRAVE!
#callthatassholetherapistout
Bad time is no excuse, not even a little bit of one, not ever.
His name was dad. My mother put an end to that immediately. The courts granted him visitation though and there was nothing she could do. It’s a lifelong struggle when there’s a forced relationship. My mom’s my hero for everything she did to protect us for all those many years.
He knew it was wrong. And you froze. Did you know that’s what victims do? Even in the animal world, victims freeze. (this may sound like a strange tangent, but when I heard this on NPR it was HUGE for me). There’s fight, flight and freeze. It is very real. And I’m saying it because freezing and not calling him out in that moment doesn’t make you guilty. It is a very human and natural reaction to trauma and violation. It’s part of what brings shame to victims.
Thank you for writing this. The more we #CallHimOut the more people will see that abuse is rampant and pervasive.
Ricky. Fucking Ricky.
You are so right. I know that now. I read a great book called “In An Unspoken Voice” that helped me to understand my responses. Still working on the shame thing though. (obviously lol) 😛 #FuckRicky
Thank you for the book info. I will check it out. TY
I am in tears right now. So many of us have kept their shameful secret. Mine started when I was about 6. I tried to get help for me and my little sister when i was 12 but no one would listen or believe..I still carry the scars of those years. His name was Daddy.
{{{hugs}}} THIS is also written by me, at another site I write for.
I went and read the article, and it made me remember about a friend of mine’s dad. We had a lot of sleepovers at their house in elementary school, and he never did anything to us, but years later he went to prison for sexual, verbal and physical abuse of his kids. Looking back I realize he did look at us inappropriately, give us a lot of hugs and tickles, and said inappropriate things, I was just too young and naive to realize it.
Mine was named Daddy, too.
Daddy
JJ
Arnold
Mark
His name was daddy. And also big brother. And no one ever knew, until I years later told my husband. Some of it was never known. Thank you for writing this.
NO!
NO!
NO!
You did not ‘let’ him. You should not have been expected, OR expected yourself to ‘shoo’ him away. You should not have been expected to tell. You should not have been expected to not nod your head and agree with him when he asked you.
You were a CHILD and HE, HE, HE was a million miles in the wrong and ALL THE RESPONSIBILITY WAS HIS.
You say you’ve carried your shame for so long, and I hurt for you but…how, how can you hold that expectation of little-girl-you, that she should somehow have stood up for herself or spoken out or *done* something? NO!
This was done TO you. Not something you allowed or endorsed or consented to BECAUSE YOU WERE A CHILD AND HE WAS NOT!
His name was Gary and ALL THE BLAME WAS HIS. Every. Last. Bit.
Pleasepleaseplease internalise that. Somehow. If you can.
I think I’m getting there. I wanted to write from the shame perspective as much as possible so that others who haven’t been through it might understand, and so that those who HAD been through it would know that someone else DOES understand. Thank you SO much for your supportive words. I hope all the women in this thread read them. <3 <3 <3
I’m so glad, because reading this was utter agony, that you (or anyone) could think that a vulnerable child could ever, ever bear responsibility for ANY of this, because it so absolutely isn’t the case and never should be. Goodness, this really, really got to me. I hope you don’t feel I was yelling at you from unkindness but just from sheer frustration because I’ve heard that story so, so often…”I shouldn’t have let him xyz” and it rips me to shreds every time 🙁
<3
The molester is finally dead and cremated . Probably burning in hell. My earliest memories start at 4 yrs old and it continued until about 14. Touching. Rape. Forced Oral. I told my mom. I told my friend, I told her cop dad. My mom told me to say I lied because he would go to jail and we would be homeless. What a heavy burden for a 10yr old child to carry. I am a little fucked up Because of it, but I am strong and God is not done with me yet. I’m waiting for my mother to die .. Will I be free of the pain and reminders of hurt, betrayal, hatred then? I watch my daughter like a hawk around anyone, and everyone. No one is to be trusted. I try to instill in her the courage to NEVER let anyone touch her inappropriately. I can’t protect her every minute, she will have to have the tools to protect herself. Call them out.
Daddy, his name was daddy.
Sissy you don’t have to wait for your mother to die to feel okay. I also had the burden of “we will be homeless if you talk” when I was 11.
You can be free of some of your pain and anger now. Don’t allow her being alive keep you stuck. Two months ago I called my incubator (they call guys sperm donors so I came up with a name for shitty mothers). I asked if she knew who was calling. She did. I proceeded to tell her “I can’t stand you, and I have really tried but I just can’t do it. You are a terrible person. You didn’t deserve to be a mother. You knew what Bill was doing but you didn’t want to leave him because he was financially set. I became your meal ticket also. You even participated in some of it. Remember sitting on the couch and he was taking pictures with a Polaroid? Remember him wanting me to lower my nightgown and expose my breasts. I didn’t want to and he told you to do it and show me it wasn’t a big deal. AND YOU DID! I sat there next to the ONE person a child should be able to look to for protection! Your financial security was more important than me. I’m going to try and get the law changed to remove the statute of limitations on child abuse. I want to make it so that people like you will NEVER be able to stop looking over their shoulders. I just wish that everyone that thinks you are Saint Julie could know all about the real you. I never want to see or hear from you again.” I hung up the phone and felt incredibly light and even a bit giddy. I don’t have to wait for her to die anymore. I’m free from her now. I still hate her but it’s not eating me up. It’s more like if she comes up (like now) I can talk about her without feeling sick or angry. I am no longer tied to her. I am so glad I said what I needed to say to her while she’s alive because she has to live the rest of her life with the things I said to her.
I hope that this helps you even if just a little bit.
I’m taking Kristen’s advice and reading your words…again and again. I was made to apologize to my babysitter/abuser for not saying “no” as it was, in my parents’ misguided opinion, the best way to free me from guilt, by helping me to atone for any responsibility. She wouldn’t even meet my eye, though I tried so hard to make peace. I refuse to accept that responsibility any longer. I don’t know her name. Later, they didn’t make me apologize to my brother but how do you protect your daughter from your horribly troubled adoptive son? How do you choose who to help? I don’t know and they certainly didn’t. Somewhere along the line I took on the job of protecting him and didn’t talk about it. Not today. His name was Philip.
Ken from 3-7 and Kevin when I was 13! I love this post. so brave. I am a warrior and I too have written of my abuse. It is cleansing and gut wrenching mixed with tears! Thank you for writing this! <3
I still can’t say his name publicly!! Can you email me plz?? I want to know how to do this without making excuses for him!!!! He is a very close family member!! Thank you!!
Email me at [email protected]. I know it’s hard not to make excuses.
I am in the same boat, Joetta. Decades later, I am still protecting that bastard’s secrets while he’s everyone’s darling. How I’d love to take him down without destroying families in the process. They should be the ones carrying these burdens, not us!
To Joetta & S,
I implore you to at least add his first name. You deserve to be liberated in even a small way! So many of us kept quiet for everyone else’s reasons. Hugs & support to you…hoping you’ll find your voice!
So sorry this happened to you. I was in tears reading this. My abuse continued for 4 years. I was 8 years old and he was in his 20’s. The fucker is now rotting in hell. I will castrate the bastard who even dreams of touching my children! It’s a fear I live with everyday of my life. #CallHimOut Steven. His fucking name was Steven.
His name is Todd and he is my brother. Well, half brother. I was 6 and he knew damn well what he was doing was wrong. He still knew it was wrong 2 years later when he tried it again. At least the second time I was brave enough to get away. He was 14 at the time and knew full well what he was doing. NO EXCUSE. And, he got away with it. Because I knew that no one would do anything about it.
And it still haunts me to this day even after counseling. I often feel like his wife should know what P.O.S. she married. But I am willing to bet that if I tell her anonymously and she tells him, he will know it is me. I hope I am the only one he did this to.
His name was Jim and he was a ‘stepfather’. It started when I was five the same way, the touching, the questions, the nodding. I had no idea he was doing anything wrong as molestation was a taboo topic. It lasted until my mother divorced him for cheating on her. I found out years later he had also done this to my younger brother and sister too. My fear is that my silence put them in this danger… and others after we left him. He should have been in jail. He should have that label of ‘sex offender’.
His name was Jim Bement, and I wish all the pain in the world. #callhimout
You are amazing . You humble me. His name is Miguel . #callhimout thank you for sharing your nightmare , and hopefully giving strength to someone who might have been afraid to speak up before reading this.
Also, WHAT LIZZI SAID!
*hugs* This tore me to pieces. These stories…ohmigosh these stories….so much pain. I’m in agony.
I cannot tell you how powerful this is., I don’t have the right words. Or maybe not enough words. But I hear you and I stand with you. Each and every one of you.
I’m sorry that you and so many have experienced this.
It was not your fault. Not yours. Not hers. Not hers. Not the fault of any of you incredibly strong women.
Thank you for sharing this. So very much.
Andrea,
“But I hear you and I stand with you.”
You have no idea how powerful that statement is. Thank YOU for catching me off guard today with a vote of validation without judgement. Hugs, sister…
I went thru this as a little girl. I want told by my own mother never tell. I wasn’t even school again yet. now my mother cares do this elderly man since my grandma passed away. It still kills me. I still have nightmares. I have a very strained relationship with my mother. I am an over protective helicopter mom because of this.
Dub his name is Dub
#call him out
Thank you for this post! Steve!! His name was Steve and he was a neighbor. It happened twice and then I became the fighter I am today…no way was he touching me again. No way was anyone ever going to hurt me again. I spent the rest of my life pushing people away, putting up walls built with sarcasm, anger and defensiveness. At 41, I’m still trying to break down those damn walls. Fuck you Steve! Some of those closest to me know and as I get older, I’m finding it easier to talk about and share with others cause there are way too damn many of us. sadly. My parents though, they’ll never know. My father would’ve ended up in prison after having killed Steve (he died when I was 15, he never knew) and I just could not inflict that kind of pain on my family. How sad that as victims we carry the responsibility for our family’s pain on our shoulder’s, we are the protectors but where was ours? I don’t have shame that it happened cause that wasn’t my fault, never have I believed it was my fault but I have carried the weight of shame and guilt squarely on my shoulders because I never told and probably never will and who knows how many others there are because I never told (I know logically it’s not at all my fault it’s Steve’s but that human side of me believes otherwise). Again fuck you Steve!
I think being able to talk openly about this stuff will go a LONG way to reducing the shame. I’m slowly getting to where I’ll just drop it in conversation if the topic arises. It feels better than shoving it down. {{{hugs}}}
I’m 42, and my walls are still up, too. It’s strained my marriage tremendously, and I’m just tired of feeling like it controls me.
It does control you, dictates for you, determines for you. I know. Breaking that bond with the abuse was hands down the most frightening, yet freeing experience of my life.
Please, for yourself, get some help. Find a therapist. If you don’t like the therapist, find another.
It will make all the difference in your life and you are worth it.
You are a soldier. Yeah fuck you Steve!
I wrote this last year, the day after he died, which also happened to be the day after my 34th birthday.
It was not now that I survived you as I was feared it would be.
I survived when my Walkman died and I pretended I couldn’t hear you.
I survived when I had the courage to speak the truth.
I survived when your apology blamed me and I knew you were wrong.
I survived every time I walked by you without cringing.
I survived every time I held my head high.
I survived every single day.
Until the day I realized you couldn’t hurt me anymore.
And then I was free.
His name was Vestal.
#callhimout
This was beautiful, little survivor.
Ed. His name was Ed. He was my father at the time. And while it never progressed past groping and he never made me touch him it lasted 8 years. No little girl should ever feel guilt when asked about her first kiss. It took me years before french kissing didn’t make me want to throw up. He used everything from threats to bribery and as I got older and tried to say no he would shame me into silence every time.
You are strong. And brave. And not at all to blame.
You’re helping so many people with this post. So many people–those able to #CallHimOut and those who can’t find that voice yet.
Incredible post. Chills. Big time. Thank you for sharing … your words will help other women. Will help other women. And I said that last part twice, BECAUSE THEY WILL!
Thank you for being so brave. It must have been bittersweet hitting “publish.”
Mine was Gary too. And since my mother knew and chose him over protecting me, Anita.
And my son’s abuser was Jared.
#callthemout Call them ALL fucking out. Because we have NOTHING to be ashamed of.
Michael. His name was Michael. He was an older cousin. I was maybe 5 or 6. He literally molested me while my parents slept in the same room. He is now a registered sex offender in the State of Florida.
Good for you!! I never remembered anything my father did to me until I was 36 and my nightmares brought it forth. He was long gone dead. Took me 5 years of therapy to get over the rapes – as much as one “gets over” them. What they take away, what anyone takes away from a child with an inappropriate touch is their childhood and innocence. It ends RIGHT THERE~
I called him out to my entire family even though he was dead.
I am at a place of forgiveness now, not that I excuse one vial thing he did, but I had to put the baggage down to get control of my life back and take it away from him.
Stay strong!
#callthemout
Mine was named Gary as well. My father/ hero turned monster. I called him out 3 years later and my family hated/shamed and likely blamed me. #callthemout
Gerald. His name was Gerald, and he was the older brother of my cousin. I don’t know when it started, or when it stopped; in fact, I remembered only recently that it happened at all. I believe my mind has somehow found a way to repress that ugliness. Thank you for writing this. #callhimout
I spent decades not remembering as well. Now, dealing with all of the pain and shame as a wife and mother is very difficult.
Your bravery in telling your story is amazing. Seriously thank you sooooooo much! I’m glad I fell upon this post on fb and I will be excited to see what you write next.
I also am a blogger (book reviews), as well as I writer. I have a support group on fb for people that suffer with PTSD, Bi Polar, and BPD. I wrote something for that group that I think you might like to read. If so feel free to email me and I’ll send you a copy.
As for me, it started when I was 11 and ended when I was 12. He was four years older then me. I told and was told “Don’t let this interfere with the relationship I have with his parents.” There were a few times that his best friend was involved.
His name was Mike. And sometimes Joe.
If you would like the article I wrote about living with PTSD and bi polar my blogger email is: paranormalwasteland(at)gmailDOTcon
could you just email it to me at [email protected]? I’m having a hard time keeping up with messages right now. #overwhelmed
What you wrote has struck such a chord…this is a vital post. Hang on in there – you’re doing amazingly. You’ve started something big and very healing, and it’s going to be very raw, but you got this.
I totally understand that. Between authors and publishers my email is crazy. I’ll send ya a copy.
His name is bill my own father.
Not only me also my older sister
Our mom did not believe us
I’ve heard too many stories like that. Terrible. {{{hugs}}}
His name was jeremy. He was 16. I was 6. He is disgusting and I’m sick of people saying just because someone prays for forgiveness that they’re absolved from what they did. I have been forever changed and he should be jailed. #callthemout
Praying for forgiveness is NOT the same as absolution. God forgives us of our sin, if we TRULY repent (meaning to turn away from our wrongdoing and to stop doing it). He wipes our slate clean in HIS eyes. However, God does NOT take away the consequences of our sin; we still have to pay the price of what we do. Absolution is God’s prerogative and not ours. I am so sorry you have to endure this, and I hope your pain is comforted.
Paul, Joey, Vince, and Brandon
Jimmy. His name was Jimmy
#callhimout
#CallHimOut
James Williams-7th grade Science teacher ( who was still allowed to teach after me and 13 other girls came forward).
Donnie
Jayson
Fred. Fred was his name.
He was my uncle. I was 8 years old. Amazes me, 31 years later, and I still remember the color of shorts I had on.
Scott. Prick died in a car crash at 16.
His name was David, my biological father, and he abused my sister when she was 3. He went to jail. We were separated and put in foster care.
His name was Arnold, my adoptive grandfather. I was 10.
His name was Earnest, my adoptive father. I was 12.
I ended up back in foster care, and stayed there until I turned 18.
I am so angry for you. I want to hug you, and go back in time and adopt you before that evil nightmare kept repeating itself on you. Ugh, fuck those nasties.
I have no one to name.
And I never before realized how lucky I am.
I am humbled and moved and proud of ALL of you.
It’s their shame, not yours. #callthemout
I have no one to name for myself either and we are a minority but on behalf of my daughter who at the time was four. His name is David Masson. She told me and I beat him like a crushed bloody spider with a cane. He is now dying in a nursing home in Arizona. Die David, die.
You gave me chills! Yes, David…just go away.
Hugs to you & your daughter. At least she has your support. That’s kinda huge. 🙂
#callthemout His name is Peter. He was my uncle. Now he’s the mess I deal with at random family functions. And I hate him. WITH EVERYTHING. I was four. He was my babysitter. And my Dad, Peter’s brother, didn’t want to cause a fuss…so nothing was ever done. Because what’s more important? Your little girl who has a giant penis-phobe, OR your disgusting, broken, fucked up brother??? Well. We know how that turned out. Thank you for this post. Thank you thank you thank you thank you. THANK YOU. <3
The cunts name is Richard and I was 10 he was my step brother and I was pretending to sleep because if I was asleep I could pretend it wasn’t happening!! I feel shame but anger over rules it because he was 16 and should have known better!! I told family members even my dad who WAS my hero but no one believed me, I lost faith that they could believe him over me!!
You are extremely brave for what you have written and I applaud you for it!!
Steven. His name was Steven.
Indah. Her name was Indah. The name I gave to the baby I miscarried, the pregnancy was the result of what he did to me.
His name I wish I could forget. Hers, I never want to.
#callhimout
Indah. She lives on in our hearts. She will never be forgetten.
His name was Ward.
I have seen many comments on the Internet to the effect of “he (Josh Duggar) ruined these girls’ lives.”
No he didn’t. Their lives are not ruined. They are still people with full and valuable lives ahead of them. Their value lies somewhere he could never reach. It will likely be more difficult for them to find their value inside themselves now, but it’s still there. Being sexually abused means their assailant has hurt them, deeply. He did not, however, “ruin” them.
“Their value lies somewhere he could never reach”. That statement right there is so important to remember. Thank you Amanda for reminding me x
Thank you for this.
#CallHimOut
Frank. DOCTOR Frank.
I was 18 so I’m still convinced that I am partly to blame. I should have fought, or yelled, or ran.
But I froze.
Fuck you Frank. You are unworthy of my hate.
Jason. His name was Jason. I was 4, he was 9. He had apparently found his father’s porn. I still remember what he said…
Brad. His name was Brad. We were 19. It was in an NAU dorm room. He was my boyfriend. He said if I screamed, he’d punch my face in. The relationship lasted 6 months after this until he had a male friend of mine hospitalized because he thought we were going around. We only occasionally had lunch together.
Derek. His name was Derek. I was 20. I was drunk at his girlfriend’s house and passed out. I awoke with him on top of me and inside of me. This was the first time I fought back, and the last time I drank with people I didn’t know.
Micah. His name was Micah. I was 21. I consented and then he got rough and I told him to stop. I fought, but he was stronger. Fighting made it hurt worse. I stopped fighting and just lay there cry. After he was done, he told me I consented at the beginning, so it wasn’t rape. Yes it was.
At the age of 26, I finally told my mother all of this. She cried harder than I did. She then told me of her own abuse. She blamed herself for not protecting me when I was 4, and for not telling me about what she went through. She told me about her mother’s boyfriends when she was a child. About her college boyfriend. About her drinking with people she thought she could trust. And about her giving consent on a first date, and then trying to revoke it mid way through.
Now, at almost 30, I am married to the most sensitive, amazing, understanding man I’ve ever met. We have a 2 year old daughter. She will know what was done to me, and I will do everything in my power to stop history from one again repeating itself.
I have never hashtaged anything, because, generally, I think it’s kind of weird. But for the first, I will proudly post #CallHimOut
Too much, lady. Hugs to you. xo
There were 4 brothers who lived around the corner
Ray Chris TJ can’t recall the forths name. I was 5 and I remember telling my mom and soon after the family moving . Nothing more said the hurt and shame I have pushed way fare down inside never to let suffice.
His name was Barry Austin.
I was 8 years old, and it happened twice. I sobbed both times. I blame him for not being the most affectionate wife.
It was my cousin. I fell asleep while we were on my Mamaw’s bed watching Double Dare. I woke up to his hands in my pants. I froze. I didn’t know what to do. I’d never even kissed a boy; not only did I know that this was wrong, I did NOT want it to happen. I pretended to be asleep. Why for fucks sake didn’t I knock the shit out of him and go screaming for an adult?! Shame. Guilt. Fear.
To this day, I have moments of feeling like I am still laying there, helpless. Recently had to see this cousin at a close family funeral. It took everything that I had and more not to lose my mind. He is now married, with a young daughter. Which scares the SHIT out of me.
Brant. I keep praying he will get his one of these days.
The freeze response it normal. It absolutely does NOT make it your fault that you froze. I hope you know that. {{{hugs}}}
JD..he is my step dad’s father. I was 8, I didn’t deserve it and my mother still celebrates holidays with him.
His name was Louie. He was old enough to be my father. He had a daughter my age. I think he is still alive somewhere.
I was not the “only one.”
The first thing he told me was that I must not ever tell anyone because they wouldn’t believe me anyway. He told me that more than 40 years ago and I.STILL.REMEMBER.
I never told my parents. They are still here with me on earth and they will never know. I’m afraid the knowledge would kill them.
Thank GOD for therapy.
Jeremy. His name was Jeremy. He was the son of family friends. I was 9 he was 17. The taste of Raisin Bran still makes me throw up.
Chris. His name is Chris. He was my older cousin (13 or14) who I caught messing with my little sister. I told him if he left her alone I would take her place. It went on from 8-12. My family finally moved and when I found the courage to tell, I was called a liar.
#callthemout
Adam.
Mike & Ryan.
Sebastian.
I have made peace but it still hurts to think too much on it. The last one caused friends to hate me. Fuck them all.
Thank you for writing this. You are all of us. I felt like I was reading my life.
I was 10. Once, at a family gathering at my house, in front of people, in a spa. He was 13ish. I told my parents 10+ years later.
Jason.
#CallHimOut
Oh how hard this was to read, it’s like reliving my childhood all over again .
I did try to face my abuser with the support of an amazing counsellor..and as I had the courage at the same time he attempted suicide, so no I didn’t do it.
I no longer have the guilt or shame, I am a stronger person now.
My day will come when I do confront him, as that is what I need to do for me..to make him feel the SHAME and tell him how much what he done affected my life.
His name is Robert
I…. this piece… damn you Kristen.
His name was Michael.
HER name was Migdalia.
His name was Daniel.
His name was Carlos.
Each took a piece…. each left me broken in a new way. Never got any of that back…. Its hardened me, and made me paranoid for my child. I call them all out, for much more then just touching me When i didnt want to be, for taking much more than my innocence….
J….. I fully understand. I too am walking in your shoes of sorts. Big BIg hugs my friend.
Hugs in return. This sucks.
J,
You are not alone. Just look at how many sisters have stepped up to hold your head! Where was this blog 20yrs ago?! You’ve survived…now thrive! Hugs.
You are the bravest woman I know. Period.
I am replying to the article CALL HIM OUT.
My daughter was put in this very situation in February 2015 at school by a boy who is a teachers kid and an athlete. After a couple days (after the severe shock wore off), she did call him out. The police were called, reports written, pictures of bruising taken, & the boy was suspended. However, the case was turned over to the DA, who up to this present day 5-22-15, has done NOTHING. I call every day and am put off. The boy’s parents got a lawyer who got him back in school with the theory that he is innocent unless proven guilty. He is back in the same school as my daughter and other girls who I feel are in danger. We found out through my daughters coming forward that he has a history of this behavior, yet only one other girl was willing to tell. Still NOTHING. My daughter says that this is why she didn’t want to tell because no one believes her. Of course him returning to school gives that impression. She too, is blaming herself. Can you give me some advice? My daughter deserves justice and this child’s needs help.
Email me – [email protected] and give me more details. Perhaps we can make this news? Have you gone to your news station? Would your daughter be okay with it? People will believe her. I understand if she doesn’t want to tell. At that young age, it’s incredibly difficult. Tell her *I* BELIEVE HER.
#keeptellinguntilyouarebelieved
I believe her!!!!
I believe her. I wish that helped more, but tell yes a stranger in Minnesota believes her.
I believe her as well. Encourage her to tell her story. Let HER determine the outcome empower her. Hugs to her. From a stranger I California
I believe her. It happened to me too – a very long time ago – I was 17 and a senior in highschool – he was captain of the football team. No one believed me. I was called a liar, a lesbian, a dreamer (his girlfriend said I WISHED it had happened – like he would EVER be into ME!) and shunned by all my friends. It was one of the worst experiences of my life and I’m so sorry your daughter is going through this. It wasn’t her fault (nor was it mine) but this article took me right back to that day over 23 years ago.
I believe her in North Dakota.
Believing her from Saudi Arabia. Bless her and praying she has the strength to get through this.
Hi Dorothy, I am a former child abuse investigator and know from experience that once the case is turned over to the DA it can take a while before you hear anything. You can try calling for an update on your case (at least that’s what I’ve had families do.)
Hopefully they are just working on your case so they can “get it right.” So sorry for what you and your daughter are going thru
Makes me sick! Texas has her back, too. Keep fighting for her, Mom. It will mean more than you know.
I believe her
Virgil.
Friend of the family with a creepy glass eye that didn’t fit right.
From age 7 to 10.
I was excited to go to his funeral.
I never told. Still haven’t.
I know the feeling. {{{hugs}}}
Loved this article.. Still to this day I have family that protects my abusers and I still can’t say his or her name out loud.. “Dad” and “Cousin” now the 3rd his name, his name was Jack. that’s as far as I get.
I was molested from age 3-8 by mothers best friend ‘s son. When I told my parents they asked me if I had at least kept him from touching my younger sister by 10 months . His mother knew all along, she had walked in on him on top of me more than once. But she was being paid to babysit my brother sister and I. My parents chose to disbelieve it all . His name is Shawn.
Brave and beautiful, like you. Be forewarned. Huge hug coming your way very soon. Also, tears. XOXO
Although I was brought up in a world of thinking I had to perform for every man my mother brought home for a roof over my head, The youngest age I was , 10. There names where Roc, Kenny, Gordon, They took my innocence, and now I perform every night to ensure a roof over my head. I have been married for 22 years. I am nearly 40, and still deal with shame and vulnerability.
Wow see-ing my words here is quite terrifying- powerful.
You are brave. You are beautiful. You are NOT theirs.
Sending hugs of comfort & understanding.
His name is Harold Penney. He was my grandfather & best fishing friend until he did similar things as in the story. He’s dead. I never got the satisfaction of telling him just how worthless he made me feel.
I cried reading this… my abuser was a grown man, he knew better. He said it was my punishment when I was bad. My family didn’t believe me and when they finally did it was just swept under the rug like it never happened. My own mother once told me to just get over it… I still have to see him from time to time and found out that my daughter had been taken around him without my consent recently. I lost it.
His name is Wendel Posey and I hope he burns in hell.
I was 7-9? I don’t know his name, all I know is he was my neighbour’s grandpa…and he did it right in front of his WHOLE family while I was over there watching TV in their living room. No one said anything as he fiddled with my little girl bits as they all had their dinner in the adjoining room. Fucking sick. I felt scared and confused but I sat there wondering if it was some weird Korean tradition that I was unfamiliar with. So I let him.
He molested my other siblings and the other neighbour kid as well.
Dirty fucking pervert.
When I was in my 20’s I was raped after a date with Todd. I said no but he kept undressing me and had his way. I blamed myself because I never screamed. I just lay there clutching my shirt, the only article of clothing he couldn’t get off me. Todd. Fuck him. I can still see his ugly ass veins popping out of his neck while telling me to “tell him I wanted it”. He knew I didn’t. He could see the look of repulsion in my eyes. I never reported it. I’d been drinking. I never screamed. I had nightmares too. Pig. Short, blond, schmoosing the ladies, player, pig. Hope his wanker falls off.
<3 Sending my love.
Thank you! <3 and to you as well.
I read your story too and I understand performing to keep a roof over ones head.
I tried to leave my abusive husband last summer but finances forced me home. Then when I found out that he's cheated on me too (while abusing me the a-hole) I was so disgusted. I told him to get out over the holidays last winter. He did but came home to tell me how he'd fuck me over financially and make my life hell and make it hell for me to raise my kids. So I took him back. I had to take him home. I bawled. I bawled having sex with that pig of a man. I said nothing but tears rolled off my face. Then I found out he was having an affair WHILE doing this to me. My counselor told me that I was prostituting myself to him & that I should go. I was scared as hell. I have no job, my career was on hold, I was in another country, and I have 3 kids with him and no money for a lawyer. But I came home and confronted him about his affair and…he left! Best damn day of my life. Fuck you Brian. You never deserved me.
Tassy—You are far too precious to give away your heart and soul to a man who treats you like his live-in prostitute—you are NOT that. Not even close!! You are precious. You are courageous. You are strong (because a woman who endures this hell is strong). You are worthy of love. You deserve better. You deserve the kind of love that protects and guards your heart from such evil.
I wish I could hug you and give you courage and the way out so you could leave him. I prayed to be rescued—and he left. As scared as I was, it was the best gift I could have been given.
Hugs to you and I send you my love as well <3
His name is Dean Kowalski and it was 30 years ago but it haunts me to this day.
I have never been in a situation such as yours however, when I was about 6 or 7 walking home from school with my friend a man stopped and tried to get us in his car. My friend and I knew instinctively that we were in a dangerous situation and ran taking off in different directions. She kept to the path and I ran down the river bank preferring to run somewhere he could not follow me in his car. I never ever told my mum and dad what had happened because I thought they would be angry with me. My take on this is that as a child you are drilled about stranger danger through your parents and education at school and for anyone to touch you is WRONG! Despite me not coming to any harm I felt the like I was the one who had done the wrong thing and that my parents would be angry with me for being approached in the first place so I kept it to myself. I’m not sure if my friend told her parents but I’m sure if she had, surely her parents would have contacted mine. Maybe she felt the same way as me but because we were so young it was never discussed between us ever. I havent seen my friend since i was about 14 but often wonder if she too remembers that day as vividly as me.
His name was Ken. He was a friend of my parents. He’s dead but I still hate him. I didn’t have the support of my family.
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Daddy. Kevin. Russ. In ready to write my story, but terrified of the backlash. #CallThemOut
I don’t remember her name, she was a physician in a clinic. I was in college needing birth control. …..for years it haunted me, I refused to go to the doctor for 9 years until I became pregnant, the thought of it made me want to die. They found stage 3 cervical cancer which was treated after I had my baby, I never would have voluntarily gone to the doctor again had I not gotten pregnant. It more than likely would have been too late for treatment by the time symtoms showed up, and honestly I don’t think I would have gone even then, I was absolutely terrified. #callherout# #bitchalmostkilledme#
His name was Dad.
wayne. His name is wayne. He isn’t worthy of a Capitol W he tried but I was faster than him. I ran and ran. I still run after 35 years. When he does die, I will place a cup of urine between his legs before they close his casket. It will spill and rot his body. I’ll also plant a tree on him to hold him down. I hate wayne
I don’t know the first one’s name. I was so young that I only have overheard conversations and what I think is a dream as proof. I was never allowed in the attic like the other kids were at my great grandmother’s house. I know something happened and I know it was up there. I remember, I’ve dreamed, of being up there with someone and my uncle who was 11 years older than me came up and beat that someone up. I remember hearing my mom tell my grandmother that the doctor asked her if someone had messed with me because of how my vulva looked. I grew up thinking I was horribly disfigured. I don’t remember his name. He was family, someone knows. No one has ever told me. #callthemout
The second one, his name was John. Fuck you John. He started when I was around 12. He would do sexual things and hurt me simultaneously. He groomed me. He abused me. He hurt me. He found me where ever I was. He trained me to make no sounds. When I was sixteen he tried to force me to have oral sex once again and I refused, I fought back. He took my virginity instead. I stayed silent for years, ashamed, scared. I was broken and afraid of my own sexuality. I saw him last week. At Walmart. He’s balding. I clutched my baby to my chest and moved like hell to get away. Afraid that his disgusting presence would taint my child. Fuck you John. #callthemout
The last one. His name is Chad. He is the father of my older son. He was my husband. I thought he was my soul mate. He helped me heal…until he didn’t. One night he gave me an ultimatum. He was leaving me. He was taking everything I loved away. He had told everyone we knew what a horrid abusive person I was. This was the end. He said he had never really loved me, he had just settled, he said he had to force himself to be attracted to women of my type. Then he said he wanted sex and he wanted it now. In my mind I had no choice. He was going to take all I loved from me, I had no one to turn to, I had to do this. I cried the entire time and he never noticed. Out of all of them, he was the worst. He knew. He knew everything. And he used it to his advantage. Fuck you Chad. #callthemout
As I have been reading this I am reliving things of my past… Some I tell myself I’m over… But somehow I still remember when reading post like this. I never told anyone about any of it until my current and amazing husband who knows all of it. I wasn’t going to write a comment cause for the most part I am doing ok.
Maybe because the first time I was so shocked that it happened. I was babysitting and since it was going to be late I ask my new boyfriend to stay and watch a movie with me. I was 17, but they approved of him being there as it wasn’t the greatest part of town. I had been sexual with my prior boyfriend but not this one. We fell asleep and I woke up to him on top of me… I froze. I can’t remember his name for some reason.
But like I said I wasn’t going to write… Until I read your post Jess… My husband of over 10 years of mostly great years until he met someone and then it wasn’t. Things got so bad that he took what he wanted one night as I laid there crying he never noticed. To this day I still can’t get over the fact that my husband RAPED me! We were done at that point no matter how much I loved him! But I allowed him back and things were really good again after he admitted what he did and knew he was wrong… 2 Years later when I finally realized that I AM WORTH so much more than he could give.
Jess I’m sorry you went through this too…. I can honestly say it was worse than being raped at 17… Because he was my husband and father to my 3 children!
His name is Stephen… Ex-husband father of my children.
Their names are
Ralph perverted babysitter he was 17 I was 6
Eddie a good friend of my father, I was 8
Crystal neighbor she was 13, I was 11
Johnny neighbor he was 15 I was 12
Doeboy cuz I cant bring myself to write it. Shit I’ve just started saying it out loud, my ex-husband. He was 19. Took me at 13, manipulated me for 20 years……..beautiful children and gave me the strength to become the woman I am today. It’s strange though, because I never looked at it as he being a pedophile child molester until recently.
Fuck all of you! I will win. I am not to blame!
You all suck!
#callthemout
#thankgodfortherapy
His name was Philip and then later on, his name was John.
Her name was Lillian.
I was 10. She was in her 50s or 60s – I don’t recall.
She was my aunt.
And while I am more than sympathetic to your pain, and recognize everything you’ve described yourself, I’d politely suggest that your hashtag needs to be expanded in scope.
His name was Jeff. He’s my cousin. He did it to my sister and his sister’s as well. We never said a word. 20 years later he was the girl’s softball coach at a high school. He did it to them too and was caught and served jail time. If we’d only said something maybe we could’ve spared those girls as well. This guilt I will carry forever.
It is very, VERY difficult to tell. Forgive yourself. xo
His name was Tom. He was my older brother. He had always teased and humiliated me. My family said he only did that because he loved me. If I ignored him he would quit. Try to be nice to him, he’ll stop. He only did it because he loved me. He was 15 and I was 9. I wasn’t able to tell when I was a child. Later my family didn’t believe me.
It wasn’t my fault!
Awful. And you are correct, it wasn’t your fault.
I was young. 7 or so. HER name was Janet. She was a few years older than me and experimenting. I kept it in for a time. When I finally told my mom she shamed me for not telling earlier and told me it was a sin what I had done. I spent the next several years fearing I was going to Hell. A little girl thinking she was going Hell. to I still resent my mother to this day, more than Janet. Expand your hashtag. It’s not just men. #callthemout
Yes. I will modify the post to include the expanded hashtag! Several have pointed this out!
You are brave and strong and I thank you for writing this for all of us. His name was Richard and I was 10. He was my grandfather. I am still learning more than 20 years later to get through certain things.
Jack wright. He was my mother’s boyfriend. She was moral and would not have sex with him. He was almost 40; I was 12. He used me. At the drive in or anywhere he could. After two years I finally told mom. She didn’t say anything
Just walked away to call him to break up. That was it
Her name was Trish.
His name was Robbie.
#callthemout
My story is similar. I was 2 the first time. Still in diapers, but I remember. Huddled in a dark closet. Even then I felt shame. A baby, feeling shame. How miserable. It happened a lot after that. Sometimes weekly, sometimes daily. He would sneak into my room at night. He would do it in the back of the car on the ride home from family vacations. It lasted until I was 13 when he finally just finished it. He raped me. I was so ashamed. Years later, I’m still ashamed. Ashamed I didn’t tell sooner, ashamed that I still love him because he’s my family. Ashamed that I wasn’t worth protecting. Made to feel ashamed because I “must have liked it and asked for it” because I allowed it to go on for so long. Ashamed I didn’t have badass parents to protect, but parents who told me it was my fault. Ashamed because I could forgive him, but it took 15 more years to forgive myself.
But, I wouldn’t change a thing. Because I learned. I learned that I will protect my kids at all cost. I will protect them from this as best I can. I learned to be vigilant and never ever be a victim again. I learned that if my child comes to me and tells me this happened to them, I will go to my grave fighting for them. I learned that my children will never feel alone or ashamed. Because I will never blame them.
His name is Jeramie
I’m so sorry for what you went through. But – what incredible things you have learned, and what an incredible protector you must be for your kids! xo
I was also young when it started…I cringe to know when it actually began. I know it was happening when I was 2-3 because I remember the little yellow pajamas that I wore during one of the earliest memories. Like others have said, it happened in front of other family members while I was sitting in his lap, but they were too blind to see. As I got older, I was subjected to humiliating verbal abuse from him on a daily basis. The only time he was nice to me was when he was molesting me. I have been so ashamed for decades and never admitted openly until this moment that I actually enjoyed getting the attention. I thought that it had stopped when I became old enough to tell (around when I went to school), but I was rudely awakened one night to him getting a beating of his life from my father – one of my parents had caught him doing something in my room. My mom told me that it was nothing and told me to go back to sleep. I knew exactly what had happened. His relationship with my dad after that was often violent and I blamed myself for that. Years later (when I was almost an adult), my mom decided to tell me what she had caught him doing and warn me that I should be careful when I was alone with him. Was this the first time we were alone in the same house since then? Of course not. I told her that I already knew what happened and that it wasn’t the first time. Did this change their relationship? No. I didn’t remember how old I was when he got caught, but I had been telling myself all of these years that he was just a kid. I asked my mom when this happened and she said I was 9, making him about 15. He definitely knew what he was doing by that time – trust me.
It feels like no one cares what happened. If I told anyone else, they wouldn’t believe me. He’s was good-looking, so charming, and he had so many girlfriends…why would he have to do that? Because he’s a sick, sadistic fuck. Everyone just loves him. He has a big nice house and a family. Yet I have to deal with the consequences of the abuse until this day. I was the one who was accused of being a slut because I attracted people with my sexuality; yet, what else did I know? He is the one that taught me that people are nice to you when you let them treat you like an object. In turn, I used it as a weapon to hurt people, taking out my anger on people who had nothing to do with my abuse. Why am I the one who has to drag this baggage around while he is sitting pretty? I wonder if he remembers. I wonder if he even cares. Does he know that I know? All I ever wanted was to be loved by him. I think I still love him, but I hate him even more. I want him to suffer and die, but I am nice to his face when I see him. I want to be rid of this secret, but I will destroy his family and they will blame me. Will telling anyone make a difference? His name is Roger, my brother.
*I* care what happened. You are worthy of validation & love. <3
My neighbor came to me one afternoon. He said that he had “caught” his son and daughter playing “doctor” with my youngest daughter. Stupid me….I didn’t think a whole lot about at the time. In my mind, it was something kids do. It wasn’t until much later (years), that my daughter, Heather, explained to me how Krissy had held her down while Billy fondled her and “humped” her. Heather was 4, Billy and Krissy, 8 & 6 respectively. Realizing my lack of response hurt and damaged my daughter has been a scar that I have carried since. Parents: DO NOT ignore your children who are trying to tell you things that have happened to them. LISTEN TO THEM. PAY ATTENTION. I wish I had.
I have no one to call out. I’m one of the lucky ones. You are all very brave women (and men if there are men here who were molested) and NONE OF IT was your fault. Hugs to all of you for bringing your abusers into the light.
I was abused by my biological father and brother. Both named Dan. My brother also pulled the ‘while you were sleeping’ shit. Just typing this makes my skin crawl.
Had an Uncle Bart who tried to kiss me.
I hate them all. Sex/intimacy is still hard even at 41 and 20 years into a loving relationship.
I have no one to call out as I was one of the lucky ones. But none of this was your fault. NOT ANY OF IT. It was the fault of the abusers and it is their shame, not yours. Hugs to all of you.
Thank you! You have no idea how good it feels to know I’m not alone! For years and years I was made fun of by family and friends because I was “emotionless”. It was easier to blend in with the walls if I didn’t laugh, cry or otherwise draw attention to myself. After 40 years I finally told the one person that I knew I could trust. Life is so different now!! I laugh. I cry. I giggle at myself. I even talk to strangers. I’m different because I finally called him out. Now I’m writing the fucker’s name for the first time – Joey. The fucker’s name is Joey. #callhimout
I am the reverse. Super duper emotional over everything. Not sure if that has anything at all to do with being molested. I’m glad you can laugh at yourself now. Laughter is a beautiful thing.
my daughters and my abuser’s name is Gary.
wtf is it with that name??
Ick. Such a nice name, too. What a shame.
I’m relieved to say I have not had this done to me. But my daughter’s abuser’s name is Tom and he was my boyfriend and her step-dad for almost 5 years. He and I broke up 2 years ago.
He (allegedly**) molested my daughter that summer after he and I broke up. My daughter only just told me a few weeks ago.
It’s not just the victim who struggles with shame and guilt. Believe me, so does the parent.
Over the past few weeks I have gone through the emotional gamut of “How could I not have known?”, feeling like I let my daughter down by staying with him as long as I did, and struggling with the disbelief that he of all people could do such a thing. I still can’t wrap my brain around it, but with the details my daughter has given me (she’s 9), there’s no way that I can’t take this seriously. And as much as I can’t imagine him to be capable of doing this to her, I want him dead. I want him to suffer in the most unimaginable ways. I want him to beg for the mercy of death and deny him that bliss til his soul is utterly obliterated. I want him to be at the helpless mercy of some big-ass Bubba in prison. So much suffering I want for him and yet none of it, even if he were to go through it all, none of it would really satisfy me.
I haven’t yet been able to go to the cops about this. We’re currently homeless but that is hopefully going to change soon. And I have already promised my daughter that this is going to be investigated as soon as we’re settled in a home. I’m scared shitless because I know this is going to be a very hard process. I’m scared about so much where this is concerned. But if she’s telling me the truth about this (no, I’m not calling her a liar — that statement is more to do with the inability to wrap my brain around the possibility that he could be capable of such vileness) then she deserves every ounce of justice she can get for what he did to her.
**I say “allegedly” as her claims have not been investigated or proven yet. I don’t want to believe that my ex could be capable of such a thing, but if he really did do it….well…..I already went into descriptions of what I wish upon him.
Believe your daughter. Protect her. Be strong for her. She will NEVER FORGET how you handle this situation. It gives me chills on my scalp to say this to you as I too am a parent and I know the gravity of this responsibility, how suffocating it can be, but really. You will never regret defending her. You WILL regret not defending her. I promise you.
Believe me, this is going to be dealt with. As hard as it is to wrap my head around it, I’m taking it very seriously. And whenever she and I talk about it, I make sure she knows that I’m not disregarding what she’s told me. She knows that it’s going to be investigated and handled.
My situation is complicated, housing-wise. It’s very close to being resolved — we should be in an apartment in the next couple of weeks finally (we came up on a waiting list) but the reason I’ve had to wait is because where we’re currently staying is over an hour away from where I go to work. This apartment will put us back to being in the same place where we’ve gotten otherwise established. Plus, at the time my daughter told me was right on the heels of getting rear-ended by a guy that was texting while driving and my car was totaled.
I’m a single mom and already had a shit-ton on my plate to deal with even before this came up, hence why I’m having to wait til this apartment gets finalized. Because at least having the issue of our homelessness resolved will free up the vast majority of what I’ve been having to carry us through so I can better have the ability to tackle this.
We have not seen my ex since he left in 2013. We were keeping in contact until my daughter told me about this because, up until she told me about this, she and my boys — who never knew that anything had happened — still considered him “daddy”. We’re on one side of the country and he’s way over on the other, so we thankfully don’t have to worry about him dropping by. But please rest assured that I’m not letting this go. As we get closer to getting our own place, I’m gearing up for this next nightmare that we have to tackle and preparing myself for how hard this is going to be.
I wish it weren’t true, but the kinds of things she told me, to my knowledge, aren’t things she should really be able to know about otherwise unless it really had been done to her, which nauseates the hell out of me to even think about it. But, like I said, don’t worry: I’m not letting it go and I’m going to make sure she gets every ounce of justice we can possibly squeeze out. As in, I hope he becomes somebody’s bitch in prison for a VERY long time, minimum.
Do not wait for anything!!!!!! Go to the cops now!!!!! You will regret it later if you do not go now!!!!!!! I undrstand being homeless is tough, but you are sending her the wrong message by waiting!!!!!! Her health and safett is more important than ANYTHING ELSE!!!!!!
Your local domestic abuse shelter or rape crisis center might be able to help with housing – especially if it is a result of leaving him to protect your daughter. I used to work for one and we would have housed you and your daughter in a heart beat.
Please don’t wait. Being homeless is hard but not as what yr daughter has already gone through. Believe her. Tell her you believe her. SHOW her you believe her and report it right now. The man you thought you knew was a lie.
Her name was Dana. A kid in my class. I’ve never told anyone.
Her name was Carolyn. My aunt. A nun.
There were more. Blurred faces in my memory that I cannot see.
I don’t want to know. I can’t handle knowing anymore than I already do.
His name is Tony. He started babysitting after his sister got married. Yes, I told and he was arrested. From what I was told, he had to undergo counseling. The Air Force moved his family a few months later.
34 years later and I hope to God that he has not hurt anymore children.
His name was Robert, he’s my cousin.
His sister and another cousin knew what he was doing but would just laugh when I was alone with him.
My parents never knew and I still have to see him at family functions.
HER name was Katie. She was only a little older than me and she raped me. I didn’t know what I was doing. Someone had to be doing something terrible to her too for her to know what to do to me. It was all swept under the rug. I’m now a pediatrician and unfortunately see children of both genders molested/raped by both genders. We have to support our children to speak up without adding to their shame.
Thank you for commenting. Due to your and other comments like yours, I adjusted the title and hashtag of the piece to be gender-inclusive. Thank you again!
Thank you. I am so proud of all who are speaking up against the people who hurt them. I beg everyone to not bury their “secret” in shame. You don’t have to tell everyone but make sure you find counseling. It is so important in the healing process. Find your voice and don’t let those people continue to have power over you. You have the power to re-claim your lives and take back what they took from you. You are stronger than you think because you’ve lived with the secret for so long. Don’t be afraid of opening up to someone, like a therapist. They are there to help you.
His name is Scott. A family member. I was 9. He was 14.
He died last week. A very tragic death. Run over by an excavator. Seriously!
My family doesn’t know. They will never know. They will forever idiolize him.
His name was James, but I called him Pawpaw.
their names were Eric and Kevin and a female babysitter, shameful…
For them, not for you. {{{hugs}}}
Tim. His name was Tim
He was my uncle, we saw them at Christmas and Easter and Thanksgiving. It started when I was 5 and when I was 12 I guess I got to old for his taste. There were others. Christmas carols make me sick. I am healing now in my 30’s, it’s been almost a decade since I sent that bastard to jail
I’m glad you sent him to jail. I’m sorry about the Christmas carols. Makes sense though. {{{hugs}}}
A very powerful piece. The statistics are overwhelming. So many, and so many afraid to tell.
His name, when I was 5, was Gerad. He was my neighbor. We were very close with his family. His daughter was 3 years younger than I was. I didn’t tell for many years, because he threatened to kill me if I did. When I told (I was 14), my mother blamed me, told me I “looked for it”.
His name, when I was 17, was Dad. It was one time, and it strained our relationship for quite a while. He cried afterwards and apologized profusely, promised it would never happen again. Nobody was told about that, until..
His name was Papa. He was my father. He touched my 7 year old daughter. He is in jail now, and will be for a long time. His wife, the same mother who blamed me for being molested at age 5, turned her back on us when he was arrested. It’s been 5.5 years since my daughter told us, 5.5 years since his arrest, 5.5 years since we had any contact with my mother or my sister. I have no regrets about them not being in my life – after what they did, they don’t deserve to be.
I haven’t forgiven, maybe some day I will.
His name was Randolph “Fuzzy” Lint.
His name was Ryan
The first guy, his name was Richard. I was 5 and he was in his 30’s. The second guy was Frank. I was still 5 and he was in his 50’s. Richard was a family friend and roommate. Frank was our landlord. Both times the judge said I knew way too much about sex, and gave the guys a slap on the wrist. And my mom glossed over the whole thing. But it made me strong. The incidences would not affect my life!
his name was daddy, aka Gary.
#CallHimOut
Sigh.
Sigh, sigh, SIGH.
I SO want to like this, to be supportive of this. And I am, at heart. I am. Your journey is heartrending. And your bravery is beyond measure. I applaud you for standing up.
And yet.
And yet.
And yet the rage burns in me like acid. The same rage I feel at ANY segregationalist political message. i.e.: “More babies are kjlled by abortion than Jews were killed by Hitler.” i.e.: “Black lives matter.” i.e.: “Gun control means hitting what I shoot at.”
Fuck off.
I drank the alcohol SHE served me willingly. And then I lost contol of my body. Twenty years later I can still feel her tying my limbs to the metal posts. Twenty five years later I can still feel her ritually cutting my throat.
But forty years later I can feel the teenage boy pulling my pants down. Forty years later I can still feel the blood trickling down the inside of my legs. “This is what you will do to girls when you are older,” he panted into my ear, his breath sharp and sour with alcohol.
Like HELL.
Sexual assault is a crime of violence. A crime of hate and anger and even, I guess, stupidity and, like suicide, anger turned inside out.
But it is NOT A CRIME OF GENDER.
It Is NOT A CRIME of male vs. Female.
It is NOT A CRIME of race.
It isa crime. It is a heinous crime that knows no boundaries.
One in five boys will be raped by adulthood. And not all perpetrators will be male.
Please do not make the grievous mistake of suggesting otherwise.
I feel for you, very much. I have already changed the title, hashtag, and ending of the post to be inclusive. I only wrote from my own personal experience. So sorry for what you went through. Horrible.
His name was Haydn. He was my brother, 6 years my senior.
I froze too & have carried the shame of that ever since. Now I realise the shame is his alone. I was not complicit in this act. My silence was not consent.
Kristin you’re exactly right, it wasnt a passive event that just happened to me, it was done to me. I am blameless. Thank you so much for writing this.
God, you just gave me chills. Thank you for leaving this comment. xo
Thankyou for creating this platform, allowing us to step out of the shadows & be brave x
Thank you for being the voice of strength and courage for so many. I’m sorry you were put in a position where you were hurting.
XOXOXXOXOX
Larry Feaster. He was married to my cousin. I was 15, he was at least twice that. Ended up coaching his girls’ sports teams. I still wonder to this day how many other girls he has traumatized because no one in my family thought it necessary to file a formal complaint, press charges, beat his ass….whatever it would take to stop him. Years of avoiding him at family functions and my cousin FINALLY divorced him. He’s a POS.
Yes he is.
After reading all these horrific accounts I feel that I was one of the lucky ones and was just date raped by a guy and one of his friends. But then again it was my virginity that was lost and I was barely 16 –I have carried this with me for almost 30 years before I was brave enough to find A good therapist . The names were Marc and Brad and I don’t think I was their only victim I never told anyone. I SHOULD HAVE TOLD!!!!!!!
You were not lucky. That is horrible. So sorry that happened to you. {{{hugs}}}
Martin. My uncle. 5 years older than me. I hated when new pretty girls started school. He would make me pretend to be them so he could act out whatever fantasy he had about them. And I “let” him. Thank you for clarifying that and the shame I felt. I feel less alone. 23 years after the LAST incident, I finally told my mom “Martin molested me from when I was 5-12. He destroyed me before I ever had a chance”. The next week she took a family pic at a reunion I couldn’t bring myself to go to, with him by her side. She hung it in the same frame as me and my children. She never asked me anything. Now I finally know she wouldn’t have tried to save me. Please kill me now. Make it go away forever. Please….
You are stronger than you know so please don’t give up.
You are strong and beautiful and must hold your head high! Seek counseling and allow yourself to heal!!!! Hugs to you Felicia!
I don’t know his name.
I didn’t tell anyone. I was afraid that mom would be mad at me. I was 7.
I don’t know his name either.
I was 13.
Jason… his name was Jason
Jeff. His name was Jeff. And I was a virgin.
Rat bastard had his friends rip my clothes off me and lock me in a room. All the while laughing.
I still see him from time to time.
Fuck you Jeff.
My molesters name was Gary also, guess it’s just a bad guy name. I was molested from the age of 8 until I was 10. I now have memory issues because I learned how to just forget as a coping mechanism, now I have not learned to shut it off.
Her name was Ellen.
I had 2, Eddie (my dad) and Buddy (my adopted Grandfather) My dad would touch me and make me “sit on him” in front of my Mom and told her he would kill us if she tried to stop it. I was 3 when he died of heart disease. My grandfather wasnt family but we treated him like he was. Starting from when I was around 9-10, he would reach under my shirt and trace my bra. He never actually touched me but I know it wasnt right. He started kissing me and would put his hand on my thigh. When I was 17 I went for a visit and he lay on top of my. I was so scared I didnt know what to do and he just kissed my neck and then said I was too young. When I left I had to hug both my Grandparents and he jiggle my breasts against him. That was the last thing he ever did to me. I was ashamed because our body is programmed to respond to sex but I knew it was wrong. Not long after all that he died. I never got to say anything about it and I wouldnt dare tell anyone else. Its pointless but I hate the feelings I have. My happy childhood times where at their house until it became tainted. Even now it feels weird to talk about it.
It is weird to talk about it because it’s weird that he DID IT. It’s HIM, not you. I hope you know that. xo
I am 50. I’ve never written his name. It was Dan.
Thank you.
#callhimout
I’d never written Gary’s name either. xo
I am calling out Jamie, Chris Sanford and James “Jim” Murray. It all started when i was 3 years old. The first two abuse situations happened at the babysitters house. Jamie was the first boy to abuse me. My Mother found out I never went back there. Again, when I was 7 and 8 years old, by a teenager name Chris Sanford. This abuse went on for years. I had an emotional breakdown when i was 13, I was flooded by terrible memories from my childhood. The first signs of PTSD. I started counseling but since money was tight, I couldn’t get the help i needed. My mom took me to church where i spoke to the pastor and accepted Jesus as my Saviour. A young teenager having difficulties at school. I was taken out of public school. I’ve worked full time since i was 15 years old. I went through a really rough time of PTSD that hadn’t been properly diagnosed as well as Major Depressive Disorder. I started going back to church more regularly when i was introduced to this married couple who said they do a therapy prayer thing. I would go over to this married couples house, and began opening up about my entire life to them. This was Oct 2011. I only spoke to the wife and prayed with her. Then one day her husband came into the picture. These were Deacons at the church i attended. They took me in and treated me really good. Until 2013 everything was cool until the Husband started coming on to me saying really inappropriate things that freaked me out. I immediately met with the pastor told him what was said. (I was living there at the time) The pastor suggested i move out (Which I was already doing.) So i continued looking for places to live, with not much luck. I had reached my emotional breaking point. I wanted to tell his wife she would never believe me. I just wanted to die. So the pastor came over i broke down and confessed everything with all 3 of them in the same room. So upset I could hardly utter a sound. I was immediately attacked by the wife while the husband sat there and denied it. The pastor just sat there and never said a word didn’t defend me anything. I finally find my own apartment and this couple kept in touch with me they claimed they “cared” and the scared little girl inside me couldn’t say no. Things blew over but a year later the husband started to get physical towards me. I again went to the pastor. Told him I had evidence on my phone, since no one ever believes me. Pastor said I will listen to the recordings if he denies it. dont put up walls but distance myself and never be alone with Jim. Well that never happened. The pastor said he had to think of how he would confront him. Things continued to get worse and escalated. Months went by. I just started to accept things were what they were and it’s always gonna be like this. Leaving me voicemails. Showing up at my place unannounced. Leaving notes on my vehicle. Until the night of Sept 18th 2014. The wife left the living room and Jim turned to me and said we have a real problem. The pastor called today and said people at church are talking. Saying I’ve been touching you inappropriatly. He denied it to the pastor. He said I have to tell my wife. She will want to cut all ties. To this day I have no idea what lie he fed her. The next day Sept 19th 2014, I was sat down I couldn’t talk, move, etc. Just like all the times he touched me I froze. The wife said I don’t know how you confuse fatherly love with something sexual. That was the last day I saw them. I was told no contact, Jim contunued to reach out to me but it had to be a secret. I didn’t go back to that church after Jim pleading with me to not stop coming. I was so hurt, so betrayed. The one place I go for restoration only to be damaged more. The pastor never reached out to me. Others in the church thought it was odd that I just stopped coming. Jim was still a leader in the church no actions were taken. The youth pastor reached out to me. I broke down and told her everything she wished i would have told her sooner. She listened to the recordings on my phone and was so sick… She confronted the Pastor and he finally listened asked Jim to step down from all his leadership roles. Since then alot of people have left that church including the couple in this story, Most of the people that left took sides with the couple. Who from what I’ve heard are gossiping about me. But I have been going to therapy since Dec 2014 and continue to work through these awful memories. Of my childhood and recent years. I am 24 now, there is so much shame associated with this. I keep telling my counselor I’m adult and still dealing with abuse that i endured as a kid. I keep being reassured that it’s not my fault etc etc. God is my witness. I know he loves me and believes me. I know he has plans for me. He may even use my testimonies to help others. If you have read up to this point I thank you. There are times I feel so alone but I know I’m not the only one who’s been forced to keep secrets. If you are still keeping that secret it’s time to #CallHimOut. Do it for yourself!!! You are not alone. Jesus loves you, he sees your pain, he wants you to give it to him Call on Him. He will set you Free! (Charges have not been filed on these 3 individuals these are the ones i chose to name. There are others who have hurt me similar but i have forgiven them) I pray that through the power of The Holy Spirit I will be able to do the same with these 3. I will never get back what i lost. All I can do is take it one day at a time.
starting to regret coming clean… i bet they don’t regret what they did…
I believe this is a normal response. I have had fleeting moments of the same, followed be “EF THAT, NOT MY FAULT.” xo
Taryn, I am a pastor and I am so sorry this happened to you. It is horrible when church people take advantage of their positions of power to hurt people and then other church people protect them and sell the victim down the river. I promise you, I have never done that and will never do that. God bless you and may you find healing and peace.
Taryn don’t regret telling us your story. We don’t judge you and are only here to offer support and unconditional acceptance. Allow yourself to feel a little lighter for having shared with us and getting out of your body a little every time you share. I care and I am pretty certain that pretty much everyone on this site cares as well. Be gentle with yourself. There will come a day when you won’t relive it when you tell your story, it will just be a memory of something horrid that happened to a long time ago. Reach out if you need help.
thanks for calling them out, and in detail.. your voice and your truth are so important Taryn
Brandon. His name was Brandon. I was 7…
Gene. My significantly older brother. He’s now married with kids and is a pastor who denies what he did to me. Protecting his reputation and his paycheck. He used to hide behind a lot of talk about how child abusers/molesters etc should be hung up and shot. It’s all a big show a big game of pretend that I refuse to play any more.
His name was Gene, my mother’s name was Carol.
She was present and allowed her bf Gene to abuse me. Sometimes she participated. It was between the ages of 7 and 14. I was tied up and raped multiple times. She told dad and others that I wanted it, that she was trying to teach me about sex. That was 30 years ago. I still haven’t been able to forgive her.
I wouldn’t forgive her either. She doesn’t deserve the title of “mother.” I’m so very sorry that happened to you. Hugs.
My father used the excuse he was trying to “teach me” how to stand up for myself, to tell a boy NO. Thankfully my abuse was no where near as intense as yours. Messed up parents with screwed up thought processes. So sorry you had to deal with this. So sorry no one stood up for you.
Yes! In the “name of education”. This is what was said to me at 13.
I understand this completely. This is exactly how I feel. Exactly. I’ve never found anyone who explains the shame as you just did. Thank you.
His name was Justin. And Brandon. Older brothers. 5 years. I never told our parents.
Fucking sucks.
Thank you.
The first guy, I don’t remember his name. It was a party. We flirted. He thought his gave him the right to come into the bed when I was sleeping and touch me, as it had been a co-ed sleepover with the boys in the next room. I’ve always hated sleeping on the top bunk since and it wasn’t til I made this connection I knew why.
The second. His name was Adrian. A charming asshole. He made me feel like a goddess, so he could gaslight and mold me into someone who’d serve his wants blindly. When guilt didn’t work for sex, he used force.
I’m still afraid to post this on Facebook, because Adrian is so charming, a perfect textbook sociopath. We still have people who are his friends who think he’s amazing. I’m about a few drinks away from using #callthemout as a litmus test and doing it. Call his ass out. And all the friends who want to jump on me can follow those who were on the Duggar Apology Train out the door.
Don. Motherfucking Don, my mom’s fiance, that piece of shit. I’m happy to report he died a painful death of lung cancer. How sad is it that someone’s awful death makes me smile? It’s relief to know he’s not still walking around this world. I too am a hypervigilant mommy to two very young girls.
too many to name
yep froze
need therapy and essential oils inner child and sara to release i guess
thanks for writing
His name was Doug.
Rat bastard.
His name was Ken Gough. I was 8 & in shock I laid there, his breath stinking from stale beer. I still cannot stand beer or its smell.
His name was Michael Anderson and I was 13. I let him do what he wanted, it was easier to just let him. I told my friends but no one else. They made me see the school counsellor, but I refused to talk about it because although I claimed it rape, I never believed it was.
His name was Russell, he was my first serious relationship. I was 19, he was 32, and knowing my history, he used my weakness to control me. He crushed what little self esteem I had left. I was finally convinced to leave him by a man who taught me not all relationships had to be horrible, but then he shut off emotionally to me & kept me hanging for 7 years while he “tried to work himself out”.
Somehow, my beautiful loving husband convinced me to love again & I have not once regretted it. He is truly amazing. But he has to deal with the repercussions of my guilt and shame as I now suffer from severe anxiety and depression.
His name was Ryan and every kid on the street had the same summer, except my sister. Once he’d done it to me I protected her. He babysat us all. #callthemout
Kirk.. His name is Kirk. #callhim out. Step-brother Kirk. Creep.
His name is David and he is my uncle. I’m still waiting for him to die….
But I did want to add something else. Through my own battle with shame I came to realize that I was embarrassed and humiliated because my body betrayed me by actually enjoying what was being done to me. So if it was enjoyable then why was I upset and did I have a right to be?? Through years of counseling I have learned that the answer to that question is YES! My body was merely responding in an instinctual way and in no way represented my true feelings about what was being done to me. This part of the experience can be so damaging because even when the abuse comes out the victim will rarely speak of it because of shame. I don’t know if this is what you were referring to in your piece but I wanted to put it out there in case either you or someone else is facing it.
Also, it doesn’t matter what acts were performed on you or how many times…what matters is the meaning you associate with the experience. For me it all falls back on worth. My parents knew he was a molester but didn’t protect me so I must not have been worth it. See how that works? I think if you could identify the meaning you associated with the experience it would give you direction in dealing with it and bring a lot of healing.
I hope this didn’t come across too preachy. Thank you for being so brave to begin the dialogue on a topi often shied away from.
I have always felt shame for saying yes. Like I am a truly horrible person. People know it happened but they don’t know I said yes. I was 8.
His name was Kenny. #callthemout
Sheldon.
His name was Sheldon.
I was 4 when it started, and it continued until I hit puberty. Guess I got too old for him.
I vividly remember him telling me I was disgusting, ugly, and no one would ever love me. I was lucky he wanted to give me any attention at all.
I have scars carved into my arm because I believed him when he told me I was worthless.
Sometimes I still believe him.
Lonnie…his name is Lonnie. He is my brother. I too experienced the sleeping, waking to find his fingers up inside me…and freezing. This started when I was very very young and went on for around 8 years. I never told anyone. My brain couldn’t even wrap itself around what was happening to me or why. I used to put up booby traps on my bedroom door that would make a lot of noise when the door was opened. My mom never knew why I did that, but she made me stop. When I was a teenager I caught him almost raping another little girl in our garage. I screamed at him. He chased me down and strangled me until just before I blacked out. Later, I caught him looking in at me through a window as I stepped out of the shower. I told my dad. He told ME to tell him off. I couldn’t do it because of the shame and fear that gripped me. As a result, two things continue to cause problems in my life: I have a hard time believing I matter or that I’m worth defending for any reason. And the second is: my husband can’t reach out to hold me at night without announcing it first. Otherwise it causes me to freeze up all over again, even though I know it’s my own husband of 34 years.
And Memory…her name is Memory. She is a cousin. Our parents thought nothing of leaving us alone in the bathtub for hours at a time. I was 6. She was 12. My heart still gets that gut-level-sick-pounding even thinking of it.
#callhimout
#callherout
Chris. His fucking name is Chris.
Justin. His fucking name is Justin.
#callhimout
They called him Dobie. He was 17 and I was 10. He is my mom’s half brother.
His name is Les. He is my grandfather, who told my mom, “Dobie hurt [girl cousin]” but didn’t elaborate, and let my mom put me to bed in that room connected to his.
Their names are mom and dad, who, while they always believed me, didn’t think it was worth the trouble to defend my honor beyond a couple of phone calls to Les (see above).
His name is Howard, who is my grandmother’s husband. I was 19-20 and was living with them. He never touched me, but he leered and made comments about how small my waist was and stood outside the bathroom door and asked if I needed “help in there.”
His name I forgot. I was 28 or 29. I had kissed him and gone back to his place, but he tried taking it way farther than I was willing to allow and ultimately masturbated onto the back of my shirt and into my hair.
I never hashtag. But….. #CallThemOut
I wasn’t a child so I hope it’s ok for me to post. My shame revolves around me not fighting back.
Simon. His name was Simon.
#callthemout
Charlotte you don’t have to be a child to be victimized by someone. Many people don’t fight back because they are frozen by fear, disbelief, shock, etc. You could call it “The Deer in the Headlights” reaction.
I don’t know your situation but my bet is they were stronger than you so fighting back might not have been safe for you. Your body acted instinctually to keep you safe. You have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of! Simon, that ass hole that hurt you is the one that should be ashamed and Full of self-loathing!
I was so nervous and ashamed I cried when my abuser’s adult daughter asked me what had happened, and she promised it wouldn’t happen again. And it didn’t. But two or three times was quite enough.
I buried it so deep, I hardly remembered it until I was in high school and even then, I waved it off as no big deal for YEARS before hearing accounts like this and realizing I’d been molested. I felt like it had been some kind of misunderstanding, that it couldn’t have actually happened that way. I finally approached my mom about it (this was when I was in COLLEGE) and she was totally horrified. She hadn’t even known about it. And I don’t think she fully believed me. My parents not even being aware, not even knowing they needed to protect me? That haunts me. No little girl should have to go through that.
I couldn’t post about this on Facebook. I can’t hardly talk about it, though I even announced it at a poetry reading, and have told my husband about it in detail. Even with that, I’m still afraid no one would believe me. I’m friends with some of the man’s family, including the daughter who I believe protected me, (even if she never told my parents).
Sometimes I feel foolish- I draw a lot of blanks when it came to the “incidents”. I know there was touching, I know there was kissing (awful, wet, gross kissing) but I don’t know how much further it went. I guess I’m frightened of being told it wasn’t “really” molestation or something, of people minimizing it.
My abuser is dead now. I went to his funeral when I was about 8 years old. He abused me when I was 5. His name was Lou.
I’ve forgiven him.
I can’t carry it around forever. And if I have a child I will protect them with my whole being.
My stepfather did exactly what Josh Duggar did. He touched me while I was sleeping, twice that I know of. Who knows how many other times? The first time, I woke up feeling the elastic of my underwear snap a teeny bit. The second time, I felt something through the covers, woke up, and he was in my room “getting the cats” who were sleeping on my bed.
I never told my mom. I told my best friend. Years later, I told my now ex-boyfriend and then much later, my now husband. My husband wanted to kill him. I had to convince him that it would destroy my mom. It would, in every way.
Recently, I told a therapist. It felt somewhat relieving to tell someone else.
He is never around anyone he could do this to again. If that ever happened, I’d have to speak up.
He permanently harmed me, just as Josh Duggar harmed his own sisters. Everyone sticking up for him makes me sick.
Glen.
neighbor and close friend of family – his name was George Wilson, went by Jack, from 4 until 12. and he taught Bill – teen neighbor, what to do to girls. I thought I was a damaged person, not good enough for real relationship later, took a long time. did not tell anyone until 18, told my boyfriend who later married me – still married. then my sister. she drove around his new subdivision and we wrote down all addresses for 4 blocks around, mailed a warning to all just a couple weeks before Halloween. let them all know what he had done. my sister said he tried to get her too, but she was older and got away from him. she wished she had known as she would have helped me. found out later he did that to others too. horrible man. my mom did not believe me when I finally told her – we were invited to one of his daughter’s wedding and I totally freaked – refused to go (found out he put them through it too, daughters – and told them he was training them to be a good wife, just like he said later to me – scumbag). this wedding was a long time later as they were younger. shame hit all over again then. dad wanted to kill him (as did my husband), but I said why destroy your own life and end up in prison. that would have made it so much worse. if things can get worse than that. they broke off friendship with him and his wife. don’t know what was said. don’t care. was super protective of my own children and grandchildren. still am. cannot help it. I am older now, not sure if he is living or not. but I do know he passed his actions on to his own daughters and son… that part is horrible too. they are probably grandparents now. I hope the cycle was broken… we watched dennis the menace every week as a family – hearing the name George Wilson was very difficult, but I made it through. his name was George – Jack -Wilson, and later Bill too. #callthemout
I feel the same. What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger.
My wish for everyone who doesn’t see this, who doesn’t understand the strength it takes to live with this, finds the strength that lies within them. Dig; it IS in there.
From someone who knows.
I also remember hearing some scary statistic about how abused children become abusers. I vowed that I would not be part of that statistic.
I think about how I look at my own children with loving eyes and feeling that I was doing something wrong. I feel that innocently looking loving at my children was also something that was stolen from me.
HER name was Becky… I never let anyone call me Becky because of that bitch. I was three…
David. Donald. Ronnie. John. Chris. Mikey. From age 8 to 16. Why didn’t I call them out sooner? How many others did my silence allow to suffer?
I too deal with the feelings that go along with my silence possibly (probably) allowing this to continue for others. So much guilt I feel.
Family secret… his name was Uncle Danny; he’s now dead. That’s all I can put out there.
Another family secret revealed involving my daughter and niece while in my youngest sister’s care. They were 9 and 10 years old. I spoke out along with my other sister. CPS and the law were involved. Prosecutor said they had a strong case and then they didn’t and it was dropped due to lack of evidence.
My younger sister was negligent. Her husband was a former county sheriff. Our mother defends our younger sister. It tore our family apart. We learned from our younger sister years later that her husband paid to make the case go away. Her reason for not telling was that he threatened harm to her and their son. She has never apologized to this day to the girls for her part in it. It’s as if they pretend nothing happened. I will never forgive her. She’s been removed from our lives. No justice for the girls and while they both received counseling, it’s definitely affected their relationships.
He died a few years ago of cancer and I hope it was a slow and painful death! If I’d known what the outcome of the case would’ve been, I’d probably be in prison. I don’t feel any differently having put this in writing, but thank you for opening up this discussion. His name was Don!
and now I’m crying. (((Hugs))) right back! Thank you.
Her name was Charlotte.
I was 5, and she was raised as my older sister, after her own parents gave up on raising her. I learned she received similar in order to do it to me. I’m 30 and still afraid… or embarrassed to tell my mother. I didn’t realise how much it still caused me to revert back to that level of shame until I saw her a few years ago at a funeral and she tried to hug me. I feel a lot of confusion about it all: I know what she did to me was wrong, but I feel sorry for her after learning of what she went through at the hands of her father.
I’ve never said her name out loud. I’ve always just told my counsellors it was an older male cousin because it’s too shameful to say it was a girl.
I feel like I should apologise for that, but I decided I’m going to stop apologising.
I was only 3 when it began, and 8 when it stopped. “If you tell, I’ll tell them it was your idea” and “If you tell, I’ll tell them you liked it.” I finally told when I was 17, and it was ignored. I suppressed it again until I had my own daughter, and she turned 3, and I couldn’t fathom someone hurting her. I told AGAIN. My family disowned me, I am no longer welcome at gatherings, I was told “Really, c’mon, how much older than you is she? A couple years?” That would make it ok??? Seven, dad. She’s 7 years older. And she’s sick. And she gets to come to Christmas and I don’t. Not that I want to anymore.
Her name is Amy, and she’s my half-sister. And Maria. She’s my cousin. Fuck my family, especially my parents who kept letting me get hurt, despite all the infections from “touching myself”.
I told my mother and she said, “Well, he knew you had been with a lot of guys and he probably assumed you were loose.” She and dad would go away for weekends and leave me alone with him in the house, I would sit in the front bay window all night, terrified, so if he came for me, someone would see. They didn’t care, ergo I was worthless. I have nightmares and it’s been over 25 years. Fuck you, Mike, and mom, fuck you, too. #callthemout
His name was Gary Gulliver.
This has inspired me to #CallThemOut. It started when i was 8, in the third grade, sitting in the back of the class at my desk. His name was #Jose. At 9, i was visiting my aunt and it was her older daughter, she was 16. At 10, it was my moms friends daughter. She was 13. At 12 it was my moms boyfriend at the time. His name was
#Starray.At 15-19, it was my step-dad. His name is Charles. At 17, it was my boyfriend. His name is #TJ. 20-22, it was my ex-fiance. His name is #Levi. I finally had the courage to tell my mom. I think she still blames me. She said i was too nice and im too pure and innocent. Maybe shes right.
He was my mother’s boyfriend. She made us call him Daddy. He abuse 4 of us 5 children. I told the babysitter when I was 8 after years of abuse. He went to prison for 1 year. When he got out, my mother brought him back into our home so he could abuse her children again. Her name is Mary-Lou. I cut her out of my life. His name is Guy. He is dead and is hopefully burning eternally in Hell.
How terrible that she let him back into your home after being in jail for this! Parents should be the protectors… So sorry for you. HUGS
Thanks for writing this. My abuse was done by a few different boys in my neighborhood when I was a child. I have no recollection of how long it went on because all I really remember is the first incident and then the day they were caught. I had counseling as a child but I felt so much guilt for “causing” others to get in trouble and “causing” my parents to be upset that it didn’t help much.
It wasn’t until college that I had more counseling encouraged by my then boyfriend, now husband. She told me that a lot of children feel guilt for things that they had no control over and I finally had my breakthrough where I let go of my guilt when one session she told me to imagine and visualise that 7 year old me and asked what I would say to her if I could and I just started bawling because I knew I would hug her and tell her it wasn’t her fault.
Their names were Jay, Alicia, Josh and Joy. #callthemout
Wow. Thank you for writing this and talking about it. I was 5 and I told my mother and it was swept under the rug never to be spoke of. It affected me greatly and I still feel shame when I know it wasn’t or couldn’t be my fault.
Uncle Stanley
You all are so brave. While I never had to endure this pain, my wonderful mother did. Her older brother molested her. Then a gynecologist molested her. She was a helicopter mom and she never let anyone change our diapers or even be in the same room while she changed our diapers. She told us what happened but still has yet to tell her family. Her brother gets drunk often and calls her to apologize and she just accepts it and moves forward. For once I would like to see her just go fucking nuts when he calls. For once I would like to see her fight back and tell him how awful he is. She’s so strong and I admire her but I know that since she never spoke of it, she does see sex as a bad thing. She does feel shame.
His name was John. There. I said it for her.
There are 2 “men” that took away pieces of me that I might not ever get back and even after all this time I’m fighting to get back.
The first one is my cousin Jerry Lynn. I was 14, a virgin and on my fucking period. He came in drunk while my sister and I were spending the night at our aunts house and woke me up with the television. He asked if I had a boyfriend and I said no. He grabbed my arm and said he would be my boyfriend the proceeded to lay me down flat and try to fondle my breasts. I told my dad a week later and all he said was don’t tell your grandma it’ll kill her. Nothing was done because my dad and ex step mom were partying with this asshole and he was supplying the weed and booze and they didn’t want the gravy train to stop.
The second was my first husband named Clark. I was forced to give him sex when he wanted it weather I was turned on or not because it “was my duty as a wife”. The first time it happened I told him I was dry and wasn’t even turned on and he said oh well that was my problem not his. That was only the beginning of it all.
I want these two to rot. Fucktards.
#CallThemOut – His name was Tio Julian. He was my uncle and my grandparent’s neighbor. He reeked of cigars. He would fondle my breasts and would press up against me and try to kiss me. I can smell his stench to this day…may he rot in hell.
Luke/grandpa.
The confused 4 year old in me thanks you for the opportunity to say this. No one has brought it up again and the 35 year old in me will kill anyone who touches my child inappropriately.
his name was sperm donor , always has been. 4-6 years. My real dad adopted me and was daddy. My family paid for all the things done to me.
I don’t remember my age of when it all started. I don’t even remember how it started. Some instances stand out more than others. I recall being in 1st grade and practically rubbing myself in class because it just felt good to do it. How the hell would I know that it felt good?! And at 6/7 years old?!
My brother Chris did things to me for a while. I recall situations where he had me put on my mother’s lingerie and heels. And I recall the moment when he tried to penitrate me with his penis and I told him to stop because it hurt. I do recall him trying to get me and my friend to play strip poker with him and that’s when I began to say no to it all.
I lost my virginity when I was 13 to one of his friends and he was in the next room. When he found out we had sex he called me a slut. I thought to myself, “you made me this way.”
I was very promiscuous and the sad part was as a young teen, I didn’t actually have feelings for any of these guys. I was taken advantage of on a regular basis sexually and I’ve had a couple situations of me blatantly saying no. I’ve also woken up to guys doing stuff to me and a drunken night with my pants/panties around my ankles.
To me….I was merely a sexual object.
I have never spoken about any of this to family. I’ve told friends in the past only to get the brush off and my husband knows but I don’t think he knows what to do or say. I don’t discuss it and I have cut all tied with my brother. I haven’t heard or seen him in years and prefer it to stay that way.
I was 5. It was the summer before kindergarten. A handful of kids outside, playing by a small river that ran thru the neighborhood. Two boys on bicycles showed up. They had the two youngest kids stay and sent all the other kids away. My best friend Davy and I were the two left behind. The boys threatened to throw us in the river if we told.
I don’t know their names….
…I still can’t write it. Almost 20 years later, and I still can’t. Because I still feel like I allowed it. I was 18 and he was 40 and my boss. But I was legally an adult, so it must be my fault, right?
Three years. Three years of allowing someone to break me, both at work and after.
Not your fault.
His name was Mike. My brother.
And it wasn’t just me . It was my childhood best friend, too. When I finally found/reconnected with her years after losing touch, I lost her again because of him. She couldn’t bear to be in my life because of it.
The worst parts?
1. He was busted and blamed me. The person who busted him believed him and yelled at me to go pray for forgiveness. He swore it was “just that once” and it would “never happen again”. Guess what? He lied on all counts.
2. The one time I -did- tell him no, he messed with our abusive, alcoholic father’s tools and then told him it was me. I got the shit beat out of me for that. Lesson learned.
3. I do not have proof, but I do have seriously reasonable suspicion that my parents actually knew and did nothing.
To this day, he has faced no censure, no repercussions for his actions. And while I am no longer scared to #callhimout, I no longer give enough of a crap about him or anyone who thinks he walks on water to deal with the drama.
Over 24 years have past, and I still panic if I’m touched while I’m sleeping.
Me, too. Hugs.
Eric. His name was Eric. I was between the ages of 11-13 and he was a bit older than me. He was the 1st guy I kissed, 1st guy I wasn’t related to that gave me a compliment. I blocked most of it out but it comes back to me in pieces. Still to this day can’t stand that name!
I don’t remember their first names, I was so young and they were just neighborhood kids who came to play all the time. My mom refers to them as the Clark boys. Found them with me in the basement doing things to me that I have yet to hear it all because it kills my mom to talk about it. 🙁 I don’t remember any of it, I was maybe 3 years old? I always wondered if because I don’t remember it if it has affected me mentally and emotionally as sexual abuse does. :/
one of my abusers was a Clark boy, too.
His name was Earl, it went on for five years from age 5-10. He was a babysitter’s nephew, a grown man, and Amish. He molested my brother too. Molestation is prevalent in the Amish community. I too still struggle with why I didn’t say anything, why I didn’t push him away. I thought it was my fault, and I was ashamed, and I was afraid. i did have the opportunity to confront him as an adult. I told him that I remembered everything he did to me, that I would never forget, and that he should stay as far away from me and my children as he could for his own safety. I refused to send my daughters to babysitters because of the fear of it happening to them, and to this day I am enraged beyond to the point of doing something criminal when I think about someone touching my granddaughters. I would hurt them, I would make sure they never hurt another little child. Educate yourselves. Please visit the Darkness to Light Stewards of Children website to learn how you can prevent child sexual abuse.
http://www.d2l.org/site/c.4dICIJOkGcISE/b.6243681/k.86C/Child_Sexual_Abuse_Prevention_Training.htm
His name was Tom. #callhimout
Josh, Brice, Mark and Pete
I won’t make excuses for them. It was wrong and twisted.
His name is Earl. It started when I was 5 and ended when I was 10. He is Amish and was my babysitter’s adult nephew. I too ask myself why I didn’t say anything, but I know I was afraid, and ashamed. When I became a teenager my shame turned to rage and I started talking about it. When I was an adult I had the chance to confront him face-to-face and tell him that I remembered everything, that I would never forget, and that I would tell everyone I knew about him and what he really was. I never sent my children to babysitters for fear it would happen to them, and now I have granddaughters and I think I might kill anyone who tried to touch them. Please educate yourselves on how to recognize the signs of child abuse. It could save another child from suffering. Visit Darkness to LIght Stewards of Children to find training resources. It’s important, and something anyone who has children in their lives should do. http://www.d2l.org/site/c.4dICIJOkGcISE/b.6243681/k.86C/Child_Sexual_Abuse_Prevention_Training.htm
He is my brother and was 11 when he raped me at age 9. I told my mother immediately and nothing was done. My family still pressures me to stay quiet. This is not family. They are all complicit. Their denial and unwillingness to face the truth and defend me has been more destructive than the act itself.
Thank you for such a brave and honest look at how he feels to be the victim of child molestation. I too was molested by a family member – a cousin my parents thought they could trust to watch me. For years, I have struggled with the shame and trying to find some reason and justification of why it happened – why I let him and why didn’t I realize it was so wrong? Logically, I know I was just a little girl. He was an adult-ish, he was my family so he wouldn’t hurt me. He used that to gain my trust and keep his secret – which wasn’t kept long. This screwed up my view about sex for most of life. Apart me stayed that little girl that believed I had to do what I was supposed and it was expected. All the men I’ve been with (except for my husband), I slept with them for the simple fact that they wanted me. Sometimes yes I did too .. but that never mattered. I did what they wanted me. I never really told anyone no. As a matter of fact, when I was about 14, my world fell apart. My family going through a bunch of drama and I remembered what the bastard did. I thought it was a dream, I thought it was all in my head until my mom confirmed it. Do you know what response was? I had sweet boyfriend at the time. He went with his family for Christmas break while he was gone and not knowing how to deal with it – I slept with over 7 different guys and one was his best friend over and over again. I crushed the poor kid’s heart. Who does that? I did. It was the only way to feel safe. Why did I feel safe? Because he manipulated my trust and love and tied it with a disgusting act. It took years to get over it and honestly it still bothers me now. I just take it one day at a time.
His name was Scott Hayworth from OK. This is his shame, not mine.
Nicholas stimac. He is my cousin. I was 13, he was 23. It was at my other cousins wedding. I told my parents, but they didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. I refused to invite him to my wedding years later, and I got yelled at by my parents.
Stay strong everyone…it’s not your fault.
Travis Pyatt… my ex step brother 10 years older than me… I was 4 or 5 thr first time… I still remember laying there on his bed telling him it hurt…. I remember telling my mom that evening when she asked about the blood in my underwear…. I remember the family portrait taken a few days later that hung in our home everyday after that…. and I remember every time he raped me after that day! Til at 15 I finally got the courage to say no!
Robert (Bob) baker…. he was married to my mom’s little sister…. he would grope me every summer… then when they separated he would tell her I could see their son…. oh yeah he got full custody of his son… with already being charged with molesting his own daughters many years prior… I never did tell til I was 15 about him but the one time I was asked if he had ever touched me it was followed after “Bob is a very nice guy isn’t he? Has he ever touched your privates?” I responded no….
As for Travis….
My mother denied that it happened the first time…. I grew up in shame and disgust thinking that I had to let him touch me… I was made to love him and hide the ugly truth. And I am done hiding behind their ugly mistakes! It’s not my secret to hold for them!
His name was Ed, and he was the “kindly” older neighbor. I was 4, and I was already convinced (because of the way they treated me) that **I** would be blamed if I told them, so I didn’t confront them about it until I was in my 30s, at which point she said “Oh, someone called to tell me that he ‘wasn’t a nice man,’ but I didn’t want to listen to gossip.” Yeah, thanks for that.
Reading this breaks my heart all over again for my little girl. It breaks my heart how so many of you had no advocate to give you a voice when you were so young, and innocent.
In my minds eye, it doesn’t matter who it is. His name was Christopher, he was my nephew. He was 14 and my baby girl was 4. He molested my baby. It happened at my mother’s house while she was baby sitting all her grand babies. She caught him in the act and called me immediately. I called the authorities and took him to turn his self in. I wanted to make sure that he paid for what he had done to my baby. He is 27 now and still in jail. He will never know her or see her again. He’s not worth knowing her. She is a healthy, happy, beautiful young woman of 17, who is strong and determined. She has been to therapy since it happened and has a very strong support system eithin our family. It has given her the strength and courage she needs.
She also went through the shame and guilt of feeling like her cousin was in jail because of her, but now she knows it was his actions that put him there.
It was difficult on the whole family, strained the relationship between my mom, my sister, and myself. But I would do it again in a heartbeat. It doesn’t matter who it is… #callhimout
My abusers name is John Miller. He was my father. He started fondling me from before I can remember. As I got to be about four or five he would lay on top of me and make himself cum. He would wipe me off with a red rag. One day there was a big case in the news about child molestation. My mom and her coworkers all thought it would be a good idea to ask their kids if they have ever been touched. My mom asked me and I finally told her.. yes my daddy. She didn’t want to believe it to be true, but two hours later she called the police. I never saw him again. He served seven years in prison and lives in Missouri now.
Thank God for my mother. She will always be my hero.
Of all the sad tales on here, yours made me burst out in tears. Happy tears for you. So many of us, who have never told, dreamnt that what your Mom did would be the same outcome for us if we told. I worried what telling on a family member would “do” or that it would make OTHERS upset– how, at 9 years old, could that be more important than what DID HAPPEN TO ME?? His name was Bob. I went to his funeral and during the prayer, said my own prayer that he would rot in hell.
Mine was David. My uncle on my dad’s side. I don’t remember much of it, I remember 2 incidents. One where I knew what was going to happen when he locked the door and feeling me to keep quiet when I screamed and tried to leave. I also remember being at the mall parking lot or something with him and a few of his friends, he blatantly told his friends about me, I don’t remember the exact words but I remember the smiles on their faces. I was about 4 or 5 and I believe he was 14 or 15. I eventually told my mom about the “game” we played sometimes, which I also don’t remember doing but she told me that’s what I called it whenever the subject came up. My mother pressed charges while my dad was away over seas, although from what she told me, he was so angry that she was afraid he might’ve killed my uncle when he got back. My uncle David was put into Juvie for a year I think, not to sure on the time. I am now 24, my uncle David died a few years ago from having diabetes and not taking care of himself like he should’ve. I never visited him or came to see him on his death bed. Stuff like that does affect you for life, although my mind blocked out what happened, I will never forget the fear I had and even though I still am a sexually active person, and do enjoy sex, I still always felt awkward and sometimes randomly still do with my own fiance, when I am touched a certain way, especially my first consenting sexual encounter. This matter needs to have more awareness especially for teenage and preteen boys. I hope my story helped anyone reading this.
His name is Cory…and as an adult it was Larry. The first stole a piece of my childhood, the second marred the joy of being pregnant. They proved me naive to think in both those instances, I would be safe….
His name was..”Luis”…he would often go down stimulating not even there yet clitoris…i wasn’t even 10 yrs old..he would often share me with my cousin who would rub his penis against me…till he orgasamed.
I finally told my mom when I was 40 ish about my cousin when accusations came up from his adopted daughters..I never told her about “Luis” …Luis was dead, he was her husband…my father.
I was 6. I forgot about it for many years and remembered after a traumatic experience many years later.
I had no clue what was happening. When I see Forrest Gump as a young boy, I’m reminded of myself at that age.
Not a clue, just a cloud.
I carry shame.
I don’t feel hate.
I don’t know his name.
I remember the moment, the fondling.
He was an elderly, catholic doctor (or priest?) who came to my grammar school.
I vaguely remember telling mom. She got on the phone. Don’t tell your father.
I can’t remember anything else.
Maybe if I did, I could heal. Fears would leave me. I can rid myself of taboos. The haunting would leave me. I can finally feel free, safe.
I was 6.
His name I don’t recall because I was far too young. I remember his hand going up my thigh. He was my cousin.
A year or so later, my female babysitter in a closet.
Kent. Is name Is Kent.
Brian. His name is Brian.
Two unknown men in broad daylight in the middle of town six months apart.
Thank goodness I’m not addicted to drugs amd selling myself on the street. Strong, supportive family. Loving parents. It was never my fault.
An 8 year old girl told me nonchalantly she missed her brother in who was in jail. I told her he probably missed her too. In the same nonchalant tone she told me he was in jail for raping her. The first thing that came out of my mouth was that it was not her fault. After our conversation, I went into fetal position in my kitchen pantry and sobbed. Then, I called my Grandmother.
The abuse needs to stop. Now.
Father, step father, babysitters son and his friend all between the ages of 4 to 6 years old. First 2 are dead which is too bad because I’d sure like the chance to confront them about it now that I really understand what happened. I have no idea where the babysitters son and his friend are. I don’t even know the friends name. Jerry, Dan, and Nikki.
His name is George, he is my uncle he didn’t abuse me directly. But he was abusing my sisters & cousins he was setting his sights on me next and my sisters spoke out. They were disowned by my father and kicked out of the house @ age 17 & 12. I was 7. His actions destroyed our family. My father helped even if he never was the abuser.
His name is Chris, I was 11 he was 15.
I still haven’t told. I feel like after all these years, I’m protecting him, protecting his wife and his kids.
But really, I’m protecting myself. Because after all these years, I’m certain that my family would side with him. He has too much to loose, you see – the wife, the family, the house, the job. I’m already gone, the damage is done, who would believe me, after all these years.
And yes – I still have to see him a few times a year at family gatherings. I have to give his kids presents at Christmas. I have to make small talk with his wife.
I was 5 when it started. I’m 43 now, and still blame myself.
Melvin
Grampa
#callhimout
Thank you!
Ricky. Vince.
Ricky showed my brother and his best friend the fun game.
I blame myself for all of it. I let them. I wanted everyone to like me.
Dennis. His name was Dennis. All I care to share.
They were my the biological teenage sons of the foster family my brother and I lived with.
Their names were Scott and Kevin.
I was 6 years old and I wasn’t the only child they abused. They sexually abused at least one other foster girl while I lived there.
Thank you for this post.
Their names are Zachary and Jim. They still have not paid for their deeds.
I forgive them but feel guilt every day for being too scared to come forward when I had the chance.
I worry they’ve hurt others because of me.
his name is Rick
His name is Jason
His name is Tom
#callhimout
Thank you for sharing
My sister was 15 years older than me, and he was her husband. His name was Robert, and he took away my essence…the person that I was on my way to becoming.
For over 30 years, I hid. I still can’t go home to visit without having flashbacks, so I stay far away.
I actually wrote him a letter when I was in my 20’s, kind of trying to pry an apology and explanation from him. He never acknowledged it.
He is dead from cancer now. My sister left him when I was in my 20’s and she died suddenly from a brain bleed some years later.
I never got the courage to ask her if she knew about it when it was going on. I didn’t want to hear that maybe she did, and pretended not to notice.
I am 40 (almost) years old. I suffer from depression and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I have 3 children, a most awesome husband and 3 wonderful step children. Life is absolutely wonderful.
It wasn’t always.
Mine started shortly after my step mother left with my baby sister. My father took me aside and told me it was my fault that she left and it was my responsibility to take care of things now. I was 10… almost 11.
It would go on for almost 3 years.
George Kristopher Watkins.
He took my life from me. He destroyed me. He caused me to live in fear, guilt and shame.
I heard he died in his sleep at 56. I finally quit looking over my shoulder.
I ended up in a horrible marriage but had two beautiful children. After 10 years I got divorced. I found out that the woman my ex was living with, her son had been molesting my 5/6 yr old daughter. It lasted 10 months.
The destruction of me was complete. My worst nightmare had come true.
3 years of therapy and finding God has helped me in ways I never thought possible. My daughter does not talk… The therapist is there for her also. The “kid” is rotting in jail at the moment.
His name was Justin.
I pressed the charges that no one would press against my abuser. I never got to face him… I don’t know if I ever could have… but the good Lord took that decision away years ago now.
I still suffer PTSD and bouts of depression… but my life is FINALLY absolutely wonderful. Day one of the rest of my life.
Joe. Sheldon. Don.
Those were their names.
Mike Taylor. Employee of the US Department of Justice. Friend of the family.
Their names are Julio Cesar Pinto, Javier Pinto, Miguel Pinto, and I forgot the other one’s name.
Relations as they appear: Father, cousin, cousin, manager at a hotel we lived at.
Father started and ended it. Everyone else was in between.
Started at 18, ended at 12 years…
Months** sorry…
My previous callout was on my father. After reading more comments, I realized. I had been victimized many more times, but focused on the one that hurt most.. My dad.
Age 12, guy at the carnival groped my crotch twice while connecting and disconnecting my seatbelt for the ride. I was disoriented for hours.
Age 12. Most of the whole 6th grade – boys groped me inappropriately as I walked thru the hallways.
Age 14. Raped by a “boyfriend”, Jimbo Hayes, in my back yard. Lost my virginity, lied to my parents about what happened. What was the point in telling? I was so afraid I was pregnant after that. I heard he died a horrible death because he did this to many girls.
Age 15. Attempted Rape. Family friend. Mike Blakely. I think he’s dead too.
Age 15, mustache man in a bergundy 1976 Monte Carlo, followed me home from school offering rides all the time. Stalker.
Age 15, Rick or Randy, my brother’s friend.. Voyeur, used to watch me outside my bedroom window.
I got married at age 16 (married 2.5yrs), again at 20 (married 13 yrs, had 2 boys), and again at 34 ( currently married almost 16 yrs, we have a boy and girl). I have been seeking the protection and comfort of a man for many years. I hope I can make this marriage last until my end. I am 50 Yrs old.
Christian.
Thank you everyone for sharing !
Nick, Larry, Bryon, Bas, Mike
Thank you, for writing this.
So much strength in this post & in these comments.
Greg. Greg Fiorentino.
jim Nolan
Donald mills
Bleu Christiansen
2 unknown
My best friends 20 year old brother
The “best” man at the wedding.
Al Tranter
Oscar mills
#callthemout
His name was Andrew.
His name was Rodney.
Doug. His name was Doug.
I understand the shame all too well myself and I applaud you for giving us a safe place share without judgement. Hugs to you and those who have lived our story too.
Curtis. I was seven. He was in his twenties. I didn’t say anything to my parents until I was 23.
I’m 44 and I’m really just starting to see how it has had a massive impact on my life despite telling myself that I only suffered one incident of fondling.
Curtis. Bill’s brother Curtis molested me when I was seven years old.
His name was Lonnie and he was my older cousin.
#CallThemOut
His name was Rob. Uncle Rob. He was everyone’s favorite so most don’t believe he did it. My mother believes (b/c I think she suspected when it was happening but she liked him too). Now she tells me it made me a better person, so much more empathetic and understanding. She’s a very small part of my life these days.
My father….
My dad’s b-friend….(I blocked his name out)
My aunts friend….(didn’t know his name)
My cousin Roger….
And I never mentioned it until now I never thought about it until now….
His name was Jessie. And the offer for my brother to beat his ass and then forget it ever happened will NEVER erase what happened. It did stop me from then becoming a victim years later to adam and then again to john.
I cannot believe I am doing this. But I am tired of being the one who lives in shame, as I did nothing wrong. So, for the first time in my life, I will #callhimout publicly ….
I was eight when it started. And around 18 when it stopped. He was my uncle by marriage. I told my family, including his wife, when I was around 14. I was told to keep it quiet. I was told I misinterpreted his advances (sure, him watching porn while I sat on his lap and he fondled me was clearly my misunderstanding). I was never protected. And when I became a mother at around 31, I decided to walk away from family for good. I’d like to say that has made my life better, but the past still haunts me. At least my son will not grow up with these complicit, child molester protecting, faux Christian hypocrites.
His name is Jim. And I’m scared to death to write his last name. Because that’s how shaming the victim works.
In the article, the author claimed “He didn’t even rape me.” If there was penetration of ANY KIND, whether it was an extension of his body ie finger, hand, penis, mouth, nose, toe, any part of his body used to penetrate another person’s anatomy, or by the use of a foreign object or instrument without that persons’ LEGAL AGE OF CONSENT, IT IS RAPE!
I was molested then raped by several different men as a young child, I did tell and it was blamed on me, for at seven I was way to pretty and acted sexy! One of them was a grandfather and I was made let him feel me to see what big muscles I had, I don’t have muscles on my chest or crotch. It is a shame that when it was a family member it is too often swept under the rug. After telling my mother I overheard her telling my dad that I was going to cause some man to get in trouble when he raped me after I had enticed him!! I was 7!! I didn’t tell again until after I was an adult and he tried again, I refused and told him if he ever even ask me again I would kill him. I rarely think about it anymore and I have a good life, I have a bit of trouble with trust but its all good now.
His name was Jed. Or as I was made to call him, dad. The fondling started when I was 7 and ended when I was 14. He also made me touch/give him oral. Then when i was 15 he took me out into the desert where he raped me, he told my mom he was going to have “the talk” with me. I didn’t tell until about a year ago. My mom didn’t believe me until my sister confessed to her about it. She supposedly confronted him. She hasn’t told me what he said but she is sweeping it under the rug because she is afraid to be alone. I didn’t want to tell her because I knew she would pick him. She always does. I have cut off my sister because she told me that “if mom commits suicide its your fault for telling her” I told my husband on a drunken night, he has been the most supportive and loving person. I am truly thankful for him.
#callthemout
His name was Jeremy. I was pregnant when it happened. I called the police. Nothing ever happened. There was no proof. Just he said versus she said. It also didn’t help that we were “friends”.
His name was John.
He was my moms boyfriend. I was 8 years old. My grandmother caught him and saved me. My mom didn’t believe me and still doesn’t till this day. He was never prosecuted.
The next time was Kevin I was 15 and he forced me to give him oral sex and took my virginity and then told people I was a whore. I never told anyone that the sex was not consensual.
The next time I was 23 and I was drugged and was rapped. I only remember bits and pieces. I reported it and had a rape kit done. The officer had the audacity to ask me if the only reason I was reporting it was because I had a boyfriend and I didn’t want him to know that I possibly cheated on him.
#callthemout
My abuser was my grandfather. I called him papaw. When I told my parents my mother said to me “it’s not like he raped you”. #callthemout
He was Thomas Edward Jacobs, now deceased. He was the first, he was my sperm donor and I was just 21/2 years old.
I talk about what happened to me. Not randomly, but there are times when people joke inappropriately or situations arise (Duggars) where its time for us to stand up and say, I was a VICTIM. And it takes many years and something within you to be able to say, I am no longer that victim. Most people react with the comment “Oh, you are a survivor”. NO….I am not a “survivor”. I thrive. I live. I have joy. I have had struggles that people who have not lived through this will never understand. It took me from the time I was 7 until I was 25 to uncondition myself from the “grooming” Thats more than surviving. That we can do this my friends is a F****** Accomplishment. Something to be proud of, not ashamed of. The people who do this are not sick, they are not horny hormonal teens. They are attracted to children. They know what they are doing is wrong. We do not need to forgive them to be free of what they have done to us(That was the theme of the counseling I went to as a child)
I understand calling them out….but I won’t. They have been called out. They don’t deserve to be named here. They are nothing. They will not get immortality on the internet from me.
I am overwhelmed by the comments on this page. You have done SO much for so many people with this post. Thank you for this.
And I wasn’t a child. I was a young woman, 27, who let the wrong man into my apartment after a date.
And I never told anyone, except the hospital, when I finally took myself there.
And his name was Jose.
I swear it is like reading my own story. Almost every word. Sadly, I’m still stuck in the supposed shame and fear of repercussions and fallout if I named him publicly. Crying as I type this…”A”…his name was “A”.
Thank you for being brave enough to speak out for those of us not quite there yet.
His name was Wayne. He was the brother of a missionary from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. He was a guest at my friend’s house. His brother went on to rape my friend several years later, but that’s her story. Wayne. He was 30. I was 14. He was married and had children. He did not rape me. But he touched me. He had no right, even if at 14 he thought I was consenting. I couldn’t. I was 14. WAYNE. You son of a bitch.
Ernie. My god damn fucking stepfather. I was 9. It went on for years. My mother was in the house the many times it happened. We were in the one bathroom in the house. WTF did she think was going on in there?
His name was Josh. Or Joshua as he might prefer now.
Gordon. My brother. And I never told anyone. I was too afraid and ashamed. And I was able to “forget” for the rest of my youth and young adult life. But it has crept into my adult life and reared its ugly head and changed me in ways that I didn’t want to be changed! These victims need a voice! Our society must do better at prevention!
Norman. I didn’t even realize it until after he died. #callthemout
Kristen and everyone here, you are amazing! Kristen, for giving a voice to the suffering that so many have sadly had to (and continue to) endure and everyone here for having the courage to #CallThemOut
I am so overwhelmed by all of the comments on here. Thank you all for your bravery.
Their names were Brian, John and Eric and all together they took advantage of a 12 year old girl who didn’t know any better.
Nikki. Her name was Nikki.
The others’ names I never knew. But they were friends of my father. So fuck Nikki. Fuck those men. And Fuck My Dad.
My whole childhood was abuse. It started with my dad. He even pimped out my sister and I. Then as an adolescent it was my brother and cousin. In college I was raped by a male stripper and got into an inappropriate relationship with a professor. Later I was assaulted by male friend. 4 years ago I left an abusive marriage of 17 years. Have not begun to be be brave enough to date again. It is the only period of my life I have not been abused. I am stronger everyday. My counselor is male and he is helping me see not all men are horrible. I name them Bill, Natt, Jeff, ???, Michael, Kirk, Roger.
His name was Chris and he was the son of my mom’s best friend. I have never told anyone, not even my mother. After reading this I think I just might. My mom was molested by her father as a young girl so I know she would not hide it. Looking back I think if had told it would have torn my community apart if it had gotten out. Small towns suck! I still see him occasionally to this day and I always shiver at his sight.
#callthemout
Doctor…..his name was doctor! When I finally reported him to the police they said too much time had gone by to prosecute him and that he was probably deceased. So I am happy a man is dead. But I have told my children and a granddaughter that no one should touch you inappropriately, even a person in a position of authority or a relative. NO ONE!
Dentist. His name was Dr. Faraday.
#callthemout
It wasn’t like the abuse many of you have endured. He nibbled my earlobes to “distract” me from the dental work to be done. I remember being so glad when I got my ears pierced so that he couldn’t do it anymore. He did! Asshole! My mom was never allowed in the back with me. Later I learned that my high school best friend went to the same dentist and he ran his hand up her leg and into her shorts. When I told my mom as a teenager, that’s when she realized how bad it had been. I guess I didn’t have the right words as a young kid.
was my oldest sister, and i think i liked it. She is dead now, her demons were too close. it haunts to me think of what happened to her, what it was that made it okay for her to do it to others. she was not evil, nor confused. however i know she was never told that to violate someone, while they are unaware, is wrong no matter whose mind you f$#& with and the enjoyment that follows. The victim is not always the one who hurts the most.
As I read this with tears rolling down my checks and short breath…..I thought I was the only one.
I was 15,he was 18. He was going in the Marines,he raped me on a family trip,he held me down as he had his way. I couldn’t move,iI couldn’t say a word….I’m still mad at myself for not saying anything. I told my mom a few weeks after,she kept bugging me as I cry every night,she just held me and cried too. She wanted to confirnt him and put him in jail,I begged her not to. Rembering him say “they’ll never brlive you,I’m going to be Marine now and your just a girl.”
Hecame home after his first tour and got the neve to confront him,he had no idea what I was talking about. It’s been years now and I don’t hug him or even look at him.
Still feel the shame and don’t even feel like a woman.
He was my brother,andrew Callthebastardout#
I managed to post this article on my FB page, but couldn’t bring myself to call him out there. I was ages 8 to 11. He’s a family member and it is the family’s worst kept secret, there are at least 6 of us survivors – at least that have spoken about it. He was mentally disabled, so we as children, were supposed to know better. I will carry it for life and it will have an impact on every relationship I have, FOR LIFE.
Roy. His name is Roy.
I saw that article and i felt sad and angry and … so many emotions.
D was his name and he was my father. It start from 8 – 15.
Every time i tried to talk about this no one believed me . I am now 25 and still i have nightmares ,but i dont blame myself. I know that it wasnt my fault but i still feel so bad t know that no one believed me and they accused me as a liar. Even though they had seen that ..they’d seen the signs. I still see him every day although i had no actual relationship with him. For me he will always a rapist and i’ll hope to die .
The most difficult is that thanks to him i cant live my life bcz i dont trust other people.Every time i tried to be in a relationship i felt terrified .. he stole so many things from me ,a part of my soul and no one or anything caan replace it.
His name was Mike. He is the biological father of my daughter.
His name was Donald Jensen. I was 12 and he was 51.
Gerald.
Richard.
Ryan.
Gary.
#CallThemOut
Fuck. That was empowering.
seems I have blocked names at the moment of the childhood incidences. Cannot recall anything except we were supposed to go to mcdonalds for Ronald McDonald magic show. I’m not ready to call some out from preteen years I’ve moved past it and re established connections to them both and I don’t know why. The others I will call out late teens: Angie, Jason R., Michael or John and older Jason. I always thought the freezing up was my compliance and consent. As a younger preteen I thought ptetending to be asleep meant they didn’t really do it but they teased me about it. a friends stepdad would massage my neck and shoulders while telling me I was beautiful with beautiful hair and skin and I was very unsettled by it, I’m glad now nothing escalated there bc my friend kept us both away from him. His name was Paul. I am disgusted I let it happen so much.
This is also my story, but I never told anyone either. He was th nephew of neighbors and stopped living with them shortly after, and I’ve never seen him again. Thank goodness.
His name was Marc.
His name is Mike.
I was 12. My parents tried to get me therapy but after a couple sessions the therapist told them he couldn’t help because I hadn’t realized myself as a victim. I never said no and the way he groomed me I felt like I was a quietly consenting participant. Mike served 2 or 3 years. Now he has a beautiful wife and new baby. Now I’m 26 and have a a beautiful 3 year old who will never be the attacker or the victim
My brother. He took turns practicing kissing on the mouth with me and my sister. We must have been about 6 and 11 at the time and he was 17 or 18. I mean long make-out kissing. I didn’t even think to tell my mother, nor did my sister. We had no idea it was abuse. Eventually, I brought it up when my older daughter was about the same age as I was. I’ve heard that this is common for memories to come back when a victims child hits the same age. I told my sister and she remembered it too. I think he did more to her. He eventually moved away after I confronted him and I haven’t heard from him in over 15 years. Sadly, I thought he was a great brother and I miss the ‘good’ side of him. How sad is that?
His name was Ray — my uncle (by marriage). He gave me all sorts of compliments, made me feel pretty and loved. For years I thought it was my fault because I actually enjoyed it. I was 13 and my aunt was pregnant with his child, so I guess he needed a sexual outlet. A few months after the baby was born, I found a love letter he’d written to my aunt, realized that everything he’d said to me was a lie, and I told him never to touch me again. He didn’t.
I’m now married to someone with the same first name as my abuser. He’s nothing at all like him in any other way, and he does his best to remove my bad associations with his first name.
His name was Ben.
#CallThemOut
I don’t know if this fits. I was at a curious age and had been looking through some of my dad’s Playboys. I was 8. He was 7. My best friend’s brother. We both wanted to know what the other’s parts felt like. It was nothing more than groping and dry jumping. But I asked him. I always felt guilty after that night. They lived across the street and I ran home the next morning saying I’d had a nightmare. I felt guilt and regret. I wished I hadn’t done any of it. But I couldn’t take it back. I kept my secret for 4 years. When the truth came out, he was sent away and I got no punishment. I always felt awful for that. We were equally curious. I had quite literally asked him for it. I had touched him all the same. Why would he get punished and not me? My parents believed I was innocent and wished I had told them when it happened so he could’ve been dealt with back then. I just can’t forgive myself. This was a mutual decision. I remember that. I was not coerced. I was not tricked. I had already been touching myself and wanted to know the feeling of someone else.
Thank you….
Just.. thank you.
I’ve struggled for years with what happened to me, at the hands of my brother. I still haven’t been able to speak of it publicly, even through my own blog. I’m not to that point yet. I was also abused by my ex-husband, but seeing how my family shamed me after that, I knew better than to speak up about their first born.
But you give me hope. Maybe someday.
Billy Joe Harrington-bio gpa
Roger Harrington-uncle
Geraldawayne- cousin
Chris
Mark
I’m still on therapy and have panic attacks as well as PTSD. Billy Joe is dead while the others live normal lives, far away from me.
#callthemout
I was 8. His name is brother. His name is Brendan. And I hate him.
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Reece.
Even his name makes me sick.
We dated for 8 weeks, but long before that he was manipulating me and trying to play to my emotions. Tried to isolate me from my friends and family. Told me he would marry me while we were making out once so I’d reluctantly let him touch me. When I told him later that I didn’t want to do that kind of stuff, he said okay… until he wanted to do it again. So he convinced me. And I went along with it like an idiot because I didn’t know what to do. Then eventually he was over me naked and asked if I wanted to go all the way, and he knew I didn’t really want to, and I said nothing because I felt so worthless and he did it anyway. Years later I started seeing a counselor because my pastor was seeing emotional symptoms of abuse… and she explained to me that what he did was date rape and that he’d been emotionally abusing me that entire time.
Fuck you, Reece. I hope everyone in your life starts to see you for the snake you are.
#callthemout
Posting on the encouragement of a friend. This is still hard to do
8 years old
Jeff
Cory
Unknown boy
10 years old
Crystal
Years of silence. Months of flashbacks when I finally remembered. Nightmares every night for a long time. I still have an occasional bad dream.
Chuck… He was my sisters husband. I stuck a kitchen knife in his side, and don’t regret it for a moment. #callthemout
Their names are Sister
Cathy her name is Cathy
Lisa her name is Lisa
Her name was Lydia
Wait, I need to call someone else out, for a different reason.
His name was Peter. I was 13. He was 22.
We were working on the same project together, and when we could get away we’d go out back where there was a big comfy rock and we’d sit and talk. He sat near me, but never close enough to touch me. He never touched me. We talked and laughed for hours.
I never realized that it was possible to be treated with respect until he showed me that. I took that lesson with me and hung onto it for dear life. He has no idea how much self respect he gave me.
I never said thank you.
His name was Paul. He was my mom’s bf’s brother and he was in his thirties and I was 8. I just recently able to tell my mom and her responsewas that she ccouldn’t do anything cause I didn’t tell her. I’m trying to forgive but its hard when you can’t talk about it. Thank you for sharing your story.
His name was Jose.
Eric. Eric J. Wagner was that fuckers name. Blonde asshole from Ohio. Rich bitch. He’s now living or was living in Chicago with his wife. I’m sick over the fact that she clearly does not know and she may not have children with his disgusting ass. Sodomized and molested me without so much as a second thought. Too bad for me I woke up in the middle of it and was paralyzed. Out of fear or what he may have put in my drink ill never know. But I was paralyzed and on my left side. His friends knew he would let girls pass out and do this. Sick fucks. I know you will all burn in hell.
Tom. Or Mr. S. He was my teacher.
Mike. His name is Mike….he is my cousin and my family blamed ME. Go figure.
Fuck you Mike. #callthemout
Mary, her name is Mary
I was 7 and she was 15.
I could never call her out as my mother would have been mortified that the childminder she left me with had treated me as such.
Thank you for sharing Kristen. (and changing the title and hashtag)
Now I have to decide if there is any benefit to be gained in posting on my wall. (I’m not sure we’ve reached a point in society where it is ok for a man to be a victim yet.)
It’s about time though, isn’t it? Hugs to you.
You weren’t a man then, you were a child.
Steve, a victim is a victim, there are no rules. In your case, a child was the victim.
You should do what is best for you. You can post or not, you can pass it on as though it’s just an interesting link or you can say that it applies to you as well. You can exclude people from the post if you need to. You can sleep on it and decide later.
Take care of yourself and do what you think will be best for you.
I “let” him cuz he wasn’t my “real” daddy, and I wanted us to stop moving around; I wanted my sisters to get to grow up in the same town all through school. I thought I could “protect” them from being lonely and friendless like I always was. I didn’t tell, and I didn’t “save” them either. His name is Chuck #callhimout and someone else MARRIED him AFTER he did that to us.
The worst guilt is not in hiding the name. The worst guilt, the hardest to make peace with, that still makes me feel like an outsider especially from all of you here, is that sometimes, it did feel good. It didn’t physically hurt. It made me feel wanted, special, loved. Twister? Oh, yes, but it still is there. And that is my truth that has never been made public.
I have gotten MANY private messages from people saying the same. This is TOTALLY NORMAL as your body is biologically programmed to respond to touch. It DOES NOT mean you wanted it. You’re amazing for saying this here. Someone else will see it and know they’re not alone.
You aren’t the only one.!
Jack Gatrost was my piano teacher. He put his hands up my shirt and down my pants while I sat at the piano every Saturday for five years. He’s nothing but mush and bones in the ground now.
His name was Chuck and his name was Karl. They were my older half brothers. Also, a neighborhood boy but I don’t remember his name. Why is it so often there are others after the initial creep? Do they somehow brand us for other perverts?
His name was… I don’t remember. He was an old man neighbor who used to let me play his electric organ and play with the hula doll that would shake her skirt when you moved her. I was 3 or 4.
His name was Newt Payson. He was my stepfather, and then “family friend” when he and my mom divorced. He came to visit and slept in my bed, my mom’s idea. When I woke her up to tell her what he had done she excused it with “he must have thought you were me” and sent me back to the bed with him. I was 10.
His name was Guy Payson. My former step brother. I didn’t bother telling. I was 12. He was in his late 20s.
His name was… I don’t remember. He came to visit with my former step brother and they introduced me to hashish. He slept in my bed, with my mom’s knowledge. This time I just thought that’s what men do. I was 13.
His name was Vernon Hall. He was my friend’s 20 something cousin. He offered me a ride to the movie I was going to but then took me to his house. He gave me some kind of sweet tasting alcohol. A lot of it. I thought I was just a slut and asked him not to tell his cousin, my friend. My friend showed up and caught me there. Drove me home with the silent treatment. Confirming that I was just a slut. I had just turned 15.
I don’t forgive them. Any of them. Maybe someday I can do it, for me. But not yet. I’m a middle aged soccer mom with 4 girls. I don’t give a shit when anyone thinks I’m overly protective of them.
#CallThemOut
#CallThemOut
#CALL. THEM. THE FUCK. OUT!
He was a late teen or maybe in his early twenties.
I was six or maybe seven.
His name was Ken and he lived next door.
I learned much later that most of the girls living nearby had experienced his unwanted attention.
Only a few told a parent.
No parent did anything to stop him from doing it again.
He went away to live in a country far away.
He left a shadow of shame in my life.
Hazel, the name of the main character in the novel I’m writing is named Hazel. She shares a similar history to yours. I hope you’ll do a fist pump when you read her journey, especially the part about how she handles her abuser. 😉 xo
I don’t know either man’s name. I was 6 the first time and 13 the second time. Two different, unnamed men. One was an acquaintance of my family; they let him stay overnight to avoid getting a DUI and he showed his appreciation by molesting me. The second was a complete stranger in a public restroom; he got in because the restroom door was down a long, dark hall so no one in the store could see which bathroom he went into.
My grandmother got molested as a child and the reason she never said “no” was because she was a love-starved child and he offered her a sick form of love. To survive, she took it because what else can a 9-15 year old girl do back in the depression with no parents to care for her? Only a foster father who showed her a sick love and a foster mother who looked the other way. Children need love to survive yet she carried the guilt for “letting him” and “encouraging him” her whole life. We told her it wasn’t her fault that he only offered a sick form of love or that she needed any love to survive. It was HIS fault for offering that sick kind of love; for taking advantage of her young need for love and care. How sad that she kept that guilt inside her to her dying day.
It was my babysitter’s daughter, Missy. I told my babysitter, Sandy, and she made me stick out my tongue as she held a knife to it and told me if I ever said anything about it again she would cut my tongue off. I was 4 years old. I never told.
When I was separated from my first husband, he raped me. He said that he would press assault charges on me if I told because as he was trying to attack me, I kicked him in the chest with both of my feet. I didn’t know what to do…I never told. His name was Robert.
Last year I was raped by a stranger after a roofie was slipped into my drink. There was video of him taking me outside the bar slumped over his shoulder, stumbling, with no shoes on. I woke up at his house, ran to the neighbors with barely any clothes on and called the police. I refused to be a victim and pressed charges. The State’s Attorney dropped the case because he wasn’t sure could win the case with “no witnesses”! Yeah, because rapes always have witnesses!! His name was Jerry Caballa.
His name is Raymond.
He was our babysitter and he harmed my sister too.
I hate that name!!!
Their names are
#bus driver when I was 4
#bob babysitters husband at 5-8
# Harry my friends uncle next door 9-14
# Jim my friends other uncle 9-14
# Alan my friends brother 9-14
#chris my pastors son rape 11 yrs old (I had a crush on him and felt so guilty he was 16)
#
#rusty a friend of my moms she wanted me to date- date rape 16
# Javier attempted rape at work 35 I reported him only got fired
# stranger who sexually assaulted me at work for the census 35
I never really received counseling, but I’m a counselor and I now work with children who have been sexually abused. I help them learn it’s not their fault and that No means no and no one should ever touch them. I teach them to be safe always tell if they feel uncomfortable with someone and not to touch others and become an offender, which happens a lot with these young kids.
His name was Elton & he was my mom’s 2nd husband. It started when I was 10, then ended when I was 11 & got my first period. I think he was afraid I’d get pregnant. Little did I know he was doing some of the same things to my little sister at the same time. She was 7. When I finally told my mom, she didn’t leave right away & never reported it or sought counseling for us. She was terrified my dad would take us away. To this day, I still can’t be alone w/any man old enough to be my father or older without having a panic attack.
My Uncle Robert when I was 9.
My best friends brothers friend Jose when I was 13.
You are brave for sharing this. I’m not as brave. My mother did this to me, her only daughter, for nine years before I told.
Her name was Dana #CallThemOut
His name is Wayne. My older cousin. I was probably 10 or 11 at the time, and I never told anyone because I was so ashamed and embarrassed. Now I am a 37 year old alcoholic because I never dealt with it. Burn in hell wayne!!!
Wayne and Dwayne (they’re twins) I was 9 they were 17.
His name was Richard but I called him grandpa. I didn’t tell till he was dead. It’s still a big family secret. I want to stand on a picnic table at the family reunion and shout it out when they all remember him fondly. Like nobody remembers that in addition to molesting little girls he was a violent drunken asshole. One of my aunts posted pictures of him on Facebook today. He’s been dead over 30 years. And I wasn’t the only one… Thank you for writing this. For giving us a voice.
It happened over many months. I don’t remember her name but she was my baby sitter when I was 6.
His name was Papa. There were several occasions over a few years.
He was my grade six teacher and wanted to show me his sausage.
His name was Gary Alexander and he date raped me in high school. I said No but he said no way. He was an.athlete, people hated me there and didn’t believe me.
His name was Mike and he was an actor. He attacked me but no one believed me.
I am calling them out now.
#callthemout
#Call them out
Age 6-7? My abusers name is Michael. He was the kid across the street, and, I thought, my friend. Under my bunkbed. Even now, 30+ years later and I want to shrink in to a ball and hide. Same question – Why didn’t I tell him no? Or scream for my mom?
Age 8-9? My abusers name is locked too deep. I just remember her being a brunette. About my age. She introduced me to the “touching” game. She said, It was okay because it felt good. LIAR!
All these years later, and I’m still hiding. This is the first time I’ve spoken these truths out loud.
I am not my fear. I am not my shame. I am ME!
I cant believe how long the replys to this blog are! I had no idea there are so many of us….sad really…
Here goes;
Bob, Sam, JT, Karl, Ernie, from 7 to 14 years old. 3 are my brothers, one a neighbor boy, 1 was a suposed friend.
Only one rape but the memory rears its ugly head at every family gathering. I confronted the rapist once about v what he did and he said he had no recollection of it. It happened during a bad time in his life when he was drinking alot. I call bullshit! You know your sister, drunk or sober. Liar! Then tried to ‘share’ by telling me that our oldest brother raped him when they were teens. So he knew how felt. Again BULLSHIT!
He was my ‘first’. I feel ruined by it.
I am in my late 50’s now. It has tainted all my relationships. I can’t tell any one in the family. Believe it or not, I don’t want to cause trouble. My husband knows and he is a wonderfully supportive spouse.
I have PTSD. My oldest son wants to know why. Even though he is grown I don’t want to tell him. I am afraid of having him confront his uncles. Funny, my son just happens to look exactly like my brother did at his age. Sometimes I see him and for a split second, cringe.
He is nothing like my brother. I just make sure to stress to both my sons how very important it is to respect woman. At all times. In all situations. Always!
Maybe one day……I’ll confront the others….. Its been 50 years……maybe…
Thank you for your post. I dont feel so alone now.
Jeff.
Wayne.
Ray.
His name was James “Doug” Douglas Shaw.
He watched me grow up.
He worked for my father.
He was older than my father.
He promised me he’d give me a job when I turned 16.
He kept that promise.
He is currently serving 265 years in Corcoran Prison for 6 counts of lewd and lascivious acts on a minor under 14 with priors.
I did not testify.
#callhimout
Curtis… My entire childhood.
Brian… Drugged and raped at 22.
#callthemout
His name was Eddie. I wrote this 5 years ago. I’m 60 now.
I was molested when I was six (6) years old. They called him my uncle, I tried not to call him at all. He was married to my aunt and he was a pastor and pervert.
Funny how that works, isn’t it? You wouldn’t think those two words should go together, but they did. I was six (6) years old.
Truth is, I can’t remember a lot of what he did. The mind is a wonderful thing, it blocks out what we can’t handle, until the day comes when it thinks we can. Then the flashbacks start.
I told my mother the last time he touched me. Finally. I remember the last time vividly. He was so bold. I was sitting on the back steps of my aunt’s house, and I could see my mother and my aunt clearly. They were standing in the kitchen at the stove, just inside the screen door; I could even hear their voices. Then he was sitting beside me. “You are so special. This is just between us, because you are so special to me. We won’t tell anybody. This is just between us.” All the while, his hands were going where no child should be touched and I was staring, speechless, at my mother and aunt, willing them to see me.
But they didn’t.
That was the last straw. He went too far that time, and I had figured it out. I wasn’t special and he wasn’t my friend. So I told my mother, who told my father, then told my aunt, who asked my uncle, who denied it and she refused to believe it and it was over. For them.
What a child does is so simple. He was not my friend and I never wanted to see him again – not ever. Not even in my memory. He didn’t exist and it didn’t happen. OK, it did happen, but a child’s mind can’t process the emotions involved in this process.
Why would anyone want to awaken the “sexuality” of a 6-year old child? It is still unfathomable to me, even as the 55-year old woman who lives with that child on a daily basis. She still has questions and although I have many answers, she still refuses to be silenced. She is so angry.
I remember the first time he gave me money. I had left my purse on the train and was crying, so he gave me money and I stopped crying. Mistake #1.
There was a pond at this house and he had a small, motorless boat. He would take me out in that boat to fish. Mistake #2.
He tapped pine trees for turpentine. He took me out to the trees to show me what gum was made out of. What child wouldn’t want to know that? Especially one who wasn’t allowed to chew gum! Yes, he knew that already, so that one would surely be a draw. Mistake #3.
Then there was the man my grandmother married. He liked little girls, too, but I was older then and ran, crying, yelling at him to stop, as he chased me around his house grabbing me and laughing as I huddled and wept. My grandmother was a widow for 30+ years, then married him. She was an ordained minister who could preach the fire down from heaven, but she didn’t recognize that spirit.
Is it any wonder that my pain, shame, anger, frustration, and bitterness manifested itself in ovarian cancer? Yes, I told my mother and she took care of it, but we never spoke of it again.
What could she say? My mother wouldn’t even say the word “pregnant.” A woman was “expecting,” or “in the family way,” or “PG,” but we were never to say pregnant. My older brother and sister (by 9 and 6 years, respectively) didn’t even know she was pregnant with my younger brother or me, they just saw her leave for the hospital and come home with a baby. That’s the way it was back then. These things weren’t discussed.
Well, they are being discussed now. By lots of us. We’re talking and we’re talking loud! We’re screaming from the mountain tops that it happened to us and it can happen to your children too if you don’t pay attention! SOMEBODY HAS TO TALK ABOUT IT!
I have prayed with countless women over recent years and have found an inordinate number of them have been through the same thing. Many have never told anyone, not even their mother or father. Their husbands don’t know and their children don’t know. Nobody knows, but them and God. How can this be?
This can be easily, because our society doesn’t want to hear it. It is the original “don’t ask-don’t tell” policy. The problem is that when you don’t tell, the perp/perv finds other children and the cycle is repeated over and over and over again.
My mother called me when my aunt’s husband died. She told me what happened and that he was gone. I think I asked a few questions, then she asked me if I was OK. I was very pregnant with my first child and I was absolutely NOT OK! When I said that I guessed I was, she replied that I was being very quiet. I remember standing in my office at Tomlinson College with the phone in my hand, wondering how to answer her. I finally said, very softly, “Mother, I’m trying to figure out how I should feel, because all I really feel is relieved that I will never have to see him again.”
My dad told me about his funeral. They preached him into heaven and declared him officially a saint for his many years of faithfulness in pastoral ministry. My mother told me about how many women came out of the woodwork, admitting that he had molested them as children; older women told of their affairs with him – yes, while he was their pastor. Once he was gone, they didn’t have to fear his denial.
I don’t care what he did or didn’t do. I don’t care what anyone else thinks or says about him. I don’t care about how many good deeds he did in his lifetime – HE WAS NOT A GOOD MAN! HE WAS A PEDOPHILE!!
I understand that some will read this and feel sorry for me. Don’t, please. God has used this as a foundation of ministry to those who have been molested; they will tell me, they will listen to me, when they will not trust another.
I also understand that some will think I should get over it. I can’t and I won’t. I’ve found a measure of peace, but my anger fuels my drive to make a difference in the lives of children today. I can’t change what happened to me and so many others, but I will NOT stand by quietly and let it happen to countless others! It is pandemic in our world and I am compelled to say so – LOUDLY!
Still others will think I shouldn’t talk about it – especially in such a public forum. I have learned that many of these have either been molested or have family members who are pedophiles and I make it harder for them to live in denial. Their denial will cost a child their childhood – count on it! Still others deal with their guilt for knowing and not saying anything or helping. It’s a wicked web, I’m tellin’ ‘ya!
The truth is that there are days that I would LOVE to go to that fantasy land where my childhood was perfect and I was never touched by any man until my wedding day, when I gave myself willingly – for the first time – to a man I could trust with both my heart and my body. It’s a beautiful place, where bad men/women don’t exist and children are free to laugh and play without fear or harm – but it isn’t real.
Not yet…
#callthemout His name was Eddie.
Thank you for your strength and courage. I too am coming to a place where God is using my horrible past filled with every type of abuse there is to help others. At least it can now be used for more than causing me misery and pain. May God bless you.
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I cant believe the amount of names on jere, that alone hurts. I want to say jow sorry I am to all of u ou for your pain. I know it was hard for you to write, i hope it helped to do so. I send you much love and hugs. It is not out faul, yes, our. I was five. My mother was raising us on her own. She relied on help from anywhere she could get it, mostly the church we went to. HIS name was PASTOR JAMES OSGOOD. I will never forget that name as long as i live. I never told anyone, until five years ago, after t h e passing of my mother. I could not tell her, she would have never forgiven herself. At the time, i just knew my mom needed the help. I was scared and ashamed. I told my husband after 30 yrs of being married. We seperated shortly after, not for that reason, but i felt that he didnt try to make me stay cus of that. I have yet to tell my siblings or my children. Recently reunited with my father, i dont know if i should tell him or not. God bless you all for your strength and i pray we can overcome. #CallThemOut
Their names were Chris and David, they were our neighbors. They were brothers. One was 12, the other was 15. I was 7-8 years old.
Thank you for this.
His Name is Xander. He was my older brother. i was in 3rd grade and he was in the 8th grade. i thought it was a game, i trusted him. i never knew why it had to be kept secret. not until much later. then i pretended it never happened. never told anyone until i was in my 20’s. we still don’t talk about it. i still pretend it never happened, whenever he’s around. i still blame myself even though i know it wasn’t my fault. #callhimout
I love, love, LOVE this with all of my heart and soul. I am not a victim, but I am the parent of a victim. Her abuser was my father (emphasis on “was” – he is dead to me now). She is only 10 and can’t call him out here but I hope that one day she can. I hope that she feels empowered enough. He is in prison, and will never, ever have contact with her again. We chose not to cover it up. We love her too much to do that. My huge family was normal – like, boring normal. But I called him out to everyone – EVERYONE. How can you go through your whole life as boring/normal and end up like this?? It’s terrifying to me. I trust no one now. It scares me. Thank you so much for sharing your story. You have no idea what it means to me, as a parent, to see a survivor step up the plate like this. I hope my daughter can be as strong as you later in life.
I don’t know the name of the first one – but it wasn’t his fault, really. The adults at the daycare where my brother and I stayed played porn for the kids and then told us to act it out. He went down on me because he was told to. I was three.
They tried doing that to my brother, who was two, and I bit the women and my mom moved us to another daycare. The daughter – older, about 14 to 15 – took children behind a mattress leaning against the wall and molested them. I went numerous times – trying to protect my brother and other children. We were there for two weeks. We went back to the first daycare for another year or so.
I grew to like it – because shame at that age when other children are doing it just doesn’t work. And if everyone else is doing it, it must be okay, right? The nightmares went on and on. Mom knew something was wrong, but we didn’t talk. The shame was so horrible.
She pulled us out and we started to be latchkey kids. So young, but it was okay, back then.
Then it was me. Me. I was eight and I molested my brother. I molested the two neighbor girls. I’ll never forget. I realized it was wrong when I got caught. I didn’t know it was wrong, but I KNEW it was wrong. If that makes sense? I was so messed up. So screwed up. We moved.
I found those girls and apologized. I couldn’t make it better, I wanted to make it right. They swept it under the table, said it didn’t matter. But it DOES. IT DOES MATTER. IT WAS WRONG!!! And how do you make that right?
Then, I tried being homosexual, tried messing with my sexuality. Tried being a boy for a while. Because my cousin started molesting me at age 12 – when I started looking like a girl with girl parts. He touched me at family gatherings. Would come to my house and get into my room at night and touch me there.
I’m a super vigilant mom. I’m so messed up, when my kids reached a certain age, I couldn’t let them touch me, because I didn’t know what was appropriate touching and what wasn’t. That age range is so messed up for me. The oldest boy would stand over me to hug me when I sat in a chair and I would freeze, and force myself to not fight him off. Because I really did fight at the beginning, until they tied me down.
My cousin got called out at his work for molesting a girl. But he still works there. Is a manager.
I’m sick that I did that. Sick that I know both sides and sick that I ever did it. I never even liked it. I thought it was expected of me.
I still won’t let my husband go down on me. It’s been 30 years since then. I. Can’t. Forget.
The boy who went down on me and who they paired me with, killed himself not long ago.
I understand why.
I am sorry – it is horrible that happened to you. I can totally get things feeling normal, because what else would you know at that point? I never molested anyone, but if I’m being completely honest, I will say that I coerced same-age peers into inappropriate situations. As an adult, I *think* I know where the line between appropriate and inappropriate lies, but my abuse distorts it. I was absolutely freaked out when I had my son…afraid to even change his diaper because someone may think I’m molesting him. That’s crazy, right? I didn’t even have a single sexual thought in my head, but afraid of somehow unknowingly crossing the line. I tried to breastfeed for literally a minute, but couldn’t because of the same issue. I was so afraid of doing something wrong. Thankfully I eventually got comfortable in my role as mom and am ok with showing affection. I wish you the same luck.
Oh, your comment made me feel a ton better. I couldn’t breast feed either. I feel the same about diaper changing and bathing. I won’t even wash the kids after they’re old enough to imitate my hand motions – they can wash themselves at like 14 months. Thank you for the kind words. And how we feel isn’t crazy. The crazy shit are the motherfuckers doing this to little kids, women, men, it’s sick. SICK.
Prayers for you and yours, S. Thank you for saying something that made me feel less alone. <3
Adam. I was 9 years old. He was 14.
Eric. I was 16 years old. He was 18.
Greg. I was 18 years old. He was 17.
I’m turning 40 this year and just now realizing the impact of these terrible experiences on my life.
#CallThemOut
Childhood
Joe (oral)
Ashley (oral)
Adolescence
Joe F (digital/oral)
Party guy (rape)
Halloween guy (rape)
Adulthood
“uncle” Lou (rape: 3 x)
cousin Jim (rape)
cousin Rick (rape)
Derek (rape)
cousin Mitchell (rape)
So I just turned 25 this year and sometimes I wish I was dead.
Please get help. I have been suicidal my whole life because of this stuff so I understand (several molestations and rapes from age 4-37). I finally got help this past year and it has brought me to a new place in life. You are worthy of a happy life. I had to realize that I wasn’t going to let my abusers go on with their lives and let them continue to take more from me by stealing my joy. By finding peace in our lives, we are standing up against them and reclaiming our lives. Remember, you are worthy of great things.
I’m so glad you’re NOT dead. Sharing your story helps others more than you know. My heart stings for you. I wish I could share some of the peace I’ve found with everyone here. There’s no forgetting, but there is a new life defined by you alone. Sending hugs…
His name was Eddy. My older cousin. Hate that stupid name! Still walking around pretending it didn’t happen. 30 years I kept that secret. I got brave and told my husband. Finally finding some peace through counseling. #callthemout
His name is Keith. Disgusting Keith
his name is Robert- and if anyone ever touched my kids, I’d stake them to the corner of a busy intersection, naked and bleeding, with a sign announcing it. My mother never pressed charges and said she would “leave it up to me when I was 18.” It started when I was 3- it ended when I was 7. How can you not save your child?
it was a female cousin named Monica. Looking back I was so young and that’s what I feel lead to my eating disorders. As an adult, I finally had the courage to tell my parents and my sister. Sister is older and says it happens and I should leave it alone. My mom wanted to know who but I couldn’t say for fear of being told I was a liar, and I told my dad last week and he said to keep it buried and put cement over it. My husband is the only person who understands my pain and who supports me with whatever I chose to do. I’ve thought of confronting her but I can’t bring myself to call her.
I was 4-5. I have kept the secret for 30 years. I have only just started to address the issue in counseling, but I still feel too ashamed and insecure to say his name. I am frightened that I am not remembering right, but I believe it was my uncle. And that he involved my male cousin, who was 5 year older than me. I have told only a few friends, but I am scared for people to know. And while, as an adult with the ability to logic and reason, I know it is wrong to think so, I feel guilty for “going along” with it. I am constantly making excuses for him. I am sure there are reasons. There must be. I still know him, he’s not a bad man. There must have been something else going on that would drive him to that. I’m still very confused. And I’m so emotionally worn out from the pain.
His name was Henry Trueworthy Horne III… and Daddy. I was 5.
Her name was Irene, and she was his sister, and a nurse. He called her instead of the doctor, and she “patched me up”. I wet the bed for the next 5 years. I still “leak”.
His Name was Ernest, and he was my brother. I was 12.
Her name was Katherine, and she was my mother. When I told her about my brother, she sent me to confession.
His name was Joe, and he was my uncle.
His name was Charlie, and he was my uncle.
Their names were uncle. I don’t remember more.
I don’t remember being younger than 15.
They stole my entire childhood.
<3 my heart aches for you. Always remember, you are a survivor and can do great things.
His name was John. He was my dad.
Rick, his name is Rick and the man I called dad. Started when I was 11 and lasted until I was 16. He tore me down emotionally, said my mom hated me and stole my innocence. I was terrified of him. He came in when I slept and I just pretended to be asleep. He said I wanted it. That it was my fault. He even told the judge that I’m the dirty slut that wanted it. Well I’m saying once and for all I NEVER FUCKING WANTED IT!!! To this day I have problems being intimate and letting my husband love me. I HATE YOU RICK!!!
Michael. His name is Michael. He raped more people than I could list. Some were reported and the police just said “he’s being a boy!” I was four years old, it happened almost everyday for more than five months. I shamed by my family and told to never tell anyone and just pretend it didn’t happen. The most recent crime on his very long record…he beat up his mom.
Terry, between the ages of 2-12. Thank you for your post. I am sure there are many out there who think they are alone in this, The silence can be deafening. There is help and it is NEVER too late to CALL THEM OUT!
His name… Is me. I was 16 she was 14 I think. It wasn’t sex – but I think still considered rape. I was spooning her and kissed her neck one late night at a family reunion. She laid there frozen – I thought at the time “surely she’d say no if she wanted me to stop.” Only in retrospect was I able to look clearly and see that she was frozen in fear, not timidness. I haven’t seen her since. I don’t know how to get ahold of her to beg for forgiveness, or what I’d say if I did.
I haven’t told a soul that. How can I? Its not me anymore. I’m not that person that raped a 14 year old. But if I tried to tell anyone… Might they treat me as if I were? Can we ever be forgiven for these acts? Is an honest change in character enough?
Yes you can be forgiven. That’s why Jesus died. He died for me and you, so we can be forgiven. God can forgive the worst of sinners if they repent (turn their back on sin and turn toward God). You can change and it sounds like you have changed. But the deepest life change happens when we surrender to God and he changes us. This is not easy to hear for many, because so many people were abused by someone in the church, a pastor or so-called Christian and understandably they want nothing to do with God – but these abusers and those who stood by in silence were not Christian. You know a true Christian by their fruit – their character and deeds. Among Christians there are also many wolves in sheep’s clothing (the Bible warns us about them). Thanks for speaking out. Read the pain here in these comments and understand what you have done, but also don’t be destroyed by lifelong guilt. In Jesus there is forgiveness and a new beginning.
I posted earlier and then after reading, realized more incidents actually fall under this.
I recently went into intense counseling 6 hours per day, 5 days a week, for 2 months because I was suicidal and attempted to hang myself but gave myself one last chance to get help. It worked!
4 years old….My baby sitters teenage daughter, Missy, molested me. I told her mom, Sandy, who held a knife to my tongue and told me if I told anyone, she would cut off my tongue. I never told.
10 years old….groped by a male family “friend”. I never told. His name was Mike
12 years old….found out an 18 year old friend of the family was coming in my room at night and masturbating as he watched me sleep and would touch me. I never told. His name was Rob
13 years old….a male at my school grabbed me in an empty hallway and shoved his hand down my shirt as I tried to get away. I never told. His name was Earnie
13 years old….another male student grabbed my crotch from behind me as I was standing on the bleachers at a crowded pep rally. I never told. His name was Joe
17 years old….a male coworker grabbed me in the back of the restaurant when no one else was around. As I tried to get away, he told me if he wanted to rape me, I wouldn’t be able to get away. I called the police and he was never charged because it was his word against mine (I don’t think the cop wanted to do the paperwork) His name was Juan
22 years old….i was raped by my husband. I was seperated from my first husband who raped me. He told me if I reported it, he would have me arrested for assault because I kicked him in the chest during the assault to get him off of me. I had two little kids and didn’t know that I wouldn’t get in trouble for kicking him, so I never told. We divorced. His name was Robert.
37 years old….I was raped by a stranger. I was having a drink with a female friend. Something was slipped into both of our drinks and we were seperated. The video at the bar shows a man leaving with me slumped over on him, barely walking with no shoes on. I woke up at his house and ran to a neighbors house barely clothed. They called the police. The States Attorney dropped charges because I couldn’t remember what happened and there wasn’t a witness to the rape! Like there ever is!!! His name is Jerry Caballa.
I was suicidal my whole life due to all this. I finally got the help I needed. Please get help! It is NOT YOUR FAULT!
–
It didn’t happen to me, it happened to my older brother. Our older cousin (male) that was a few years older than my brother, who used to baby sit us was the first one. I think my brother was in elementary school at the time. Second one was a neighborhood boy (older teen, I think) that molested quite a few boys in the neighborhood. The family of the teen was embarrassed and they moved away. Third one was a counselor at Utah Boys Ranch. A counselor that would not let my brother earn a “home pass” until he (my brother) performed sex acts on him. Side note Mike Ruoho, another counselor at Utah Boys Ranch that physically and emotionally abused my brother. The place is now called Westridge Acadamy, he still works there. Lord help those children.
I’m his younger sister. I didn’t know anything about this growing up. A few months ago (we are both in our mid-late 30’s now) he broke down and told me all of it. I’ve never seen a grown man, who is an ex-con (drug related, he’s been trying to block out emotions all his life) who is covered in prison tattoos sob like a child. I wanted to pick him up and hold him. You know what’s weird? I FEEL GUILTY. I wish it had happened to me instead. I think I would have been emotionally stronger and could have dealt with it. It ruined him. He self medicates himself with alcohol and pills.
I don’t wish death on them. I wish them a long and painful life in prison. Even in prison their is a hierarchy. Pedophiles and sex offenders are on the bottom. That would be true revenge.
His name is “Dad.” And his name is Jimmy.
#Callhimout
His name is Andrew and he’s my cousin. All grown up now with a wife and two kids. The older of the two is at the age I was when it happened.
It’s had bizarre lasting affects on me. I can’t watch any sort of sex scenes in movies. In fact, during kissing I have to change it or leave the room and I’m 21 years old with a husband and child. As I write this I can feel my cheeks getting red with that stupid embarrassment.
I’ve been in therapy since I was 6 – right after the secret was let out – and it hasn’t helped even a bit. All because I feel like it was my fault. At the time my dad was getting married to my step-mom and I wasn’t the center of his attention anymore so I took it from whoever gave it to me no matter what form it was in.
Thinking back on it I should have told him to go away and leave me alone. He took from me something I should have been the one to decide to give to someone else.
But no matter your story, the circumstances or who the abuser was. Do not let it define you or dictate how you live your life! If you need help in some form don’t be afraid to seek it! We have to stand together and help eachother.
Most of all we have to teach our children to speak out and to not be an abuser.
How helpful this was to me. His name was Ross. He was a relative, a cousin. I was 11 and too ashamed to tell. He has since passed away. I am almost 50 and still struggle with self esteem and confidence and learning to love myself. Thank you. This has been cathartic.
I was 7. He was the pastor’s son that lived down the block. His name is Caleb. #callthemout
I was 15, and going through what must have been a “phase”.. I only dated her for about 5 months and in that time I was physically, mentally, and sexually abused. I always blamed myself. I lost all my friends because of her. I hate what she did to me and I hope she feels like shit for doing the things she did to someone who only wanted to be loved. Sometimes I just wish she would have hit me so bad that I wouldn’t have let it get like it did..
Nakia. Her name was Nakia.
I was 16, and rather stupid if I do say so myself. He was 19. He had some xanax and beer and I thought it would make me look cool if I “partied” with him. We sat in my bedroom and throughout an hour or so he gave me at least 7 xanax and checked to make sure I really took them all. We drank the case of beer and I blacked out at some point. The next thing I can remember is waking up in a haze to him telling me he already came.. My pants were pulled down to my knees and seconds later he was passed out again.. I felt so sick, so shameful, so gross. I found out he had a girlfriend and I tried to tell her what happened but she just hated me and probably wouldn’t have believed me anyway. I’ve tried to open up and tell people but no one has ever seemed to take me seriously. I feel like it’s all my fault for wanting to make myself look cool. I’ll never forget what he did to me that night. I’ll never forgive him either. He’s tried contacting me since it happened..and it only made me hate him more. Sometimes I wish the pills would have killed me.
Alec. His name was Alec.
#CallThemOut
Charlie, his name is Charlie. I was 8 when he repeatedly raped me over the summer. He was 14.
He took my innocence, my self confidence and esteem and replaced them with deep rooted intimacy problems that lasted well into my 20s.
Fuck you Chuck, come near me or my family and I will cut your balls off myself.
His name was Justin. I had invited him over in college to hang out and drink with me and my roommate. We were left alone to talk. The next morning I woke up naked with bruises all over me. I don’t remember what happened but stayed with him for almost two years. He ended up cheating on me and I found my loving husband.
My younger brother, who “was just experimenting with his sexuality” with our foster sister. He was around the age of 12/13 and she was 6/7. Didn’t even know about it until my mother admitted it happened about a year ago. She had tried to commit suicide by jumping out a window while in our care and I always thought that it was due to being taken from her family. Now I wonder whether it was from him.
My other younger brother, who was acting out on being molested himself by a neighbor. He was touching our foster brother. He was sent to counseling and I am pretty sure that nothing was done about the foster brother. I didn’t realize he had done it and always thought he went to counseling due to his anger.
My dad, who never abused me but did cause serious psychological harm and is the reason why I constantly question whether I am good enough. He would tell his children everyday how worthless they are, how he hated us, how we asked for too much. He never attended a single sport event. He never kissed us goodnight. He always blamed my mom for everything and said the most horrible things to her while his children were there. He would tell his son he was fat, lazy, pos. He would tell his children that they were dumb. He yelled and screamed and got angry about everything. He was never happy. He always acted like his children were a burden upon him that he never wanted and even told us that.
Finally, my mom who brushed everything away as kids just experimenting sexually. Who encouraged us to test our limits of sexuality and left us alone together so that we could touch each other and experiment (encouraged by my younger brother who found the porn channel). I was around 6 and had no clue what we were doing to each other or how it would affect me as an adult. I feel dirty by it and know I would never leave my child alone with another child nor encourage it. My mom who never left my toxic father even after years of marriage counseling, therapy and her own children telling her to leave him. She will never leave him and I have told her the joy I will feel when he is finally dead.
Their names were Jody and Pete Shelton.
Nameless faces all of them. I was 4, I was 5, I was 7,I was 11,I was 13 , I told 3 on 3 of them on 3 occasions. I was a slow learner. Telling didn’t help.. Fuck them all.
#callthemout
His name was Ryan, he was my step brother.
His name was Michael, he was my brother
I was 5 and went til i was 13.
thank you from the bottom of my heart for your strength xx
I’ve buried this so deep I’m not even sure it happened anymore. But I know I told my brother. Who went to school and yelled at him. And I was so embarrassed that I lied and didn’t back my own brother up. I’m ashamed of that. Of it all really.
Patricia is not my real name.
Michael is his.
Two different Dave’s, and a Mike.
You are more brave and beautiful than anyone I have ever met in person. I’m relieved to see someone write exactly how I’ve felt for years, yet extremely sad over how many of us feel like it’s a page ripped out of our lives. No one here is responsible for the evil of another person. No one here has ever done anything to deserve being violated. No one here deserves to be silenced by fear, shame or violence. Everyone here deserves the power of bringing truth to light and a strong foundation of support to stand on. Fuck anyone who ever thinks there is an excuse or justifiable reason. Fuck anyone who tells a victim to “not make a scene” and “keep quiet so we don’t embarrass the family” So, for the first time in life………..My father and my cousins for 12 years- Myron, Randy, Tyler. #CallThemOut #NotFrozenInFearAnymore
Meagan Rose,
So for the first time ever…I believe you. You didn’t deserve or ask for it. You’re allowed to heal. <3
You are beautiful, powerful & enough just the way you are. ((Hugs))
mike a neighbor boy who was 15 and I was 11. “I knew when I was 11” he said. When I told my parents years later Mom said she had caught him with me alone before. I don’t remember that. Mike knew it was wrong…I wonder who did something to him.
Greg was my cousin. He tried to kiss me and touch me when I was 12-13 and I was able to get away. I told my mom
aunt after I had my own girls. I don’t like seeing him at family functions. I just ignore him. He acts like he doesn’t know why.
Joe was my best friends dad in high school. I was 16. He was near 50. I understand now that his attention was grooming which led to physical attention and then fondling. He said I was special. We would sneak around the house when I would spend the night. I liked the attention. But I knew it wasn’t right. I was so love starved at home and broken already I thought I was in love. He said he loved me. Bought me presents. His daughter told me he touched her at some point before this. I believed her. He’s an alcoholic narcissistic successful millionaire. I told friends in school. I thought it was an “affair” and partly my fault because I knew better.. The family eventually found out and knew something was weird abt him paying such attention to me. But his wife never stopped. The daughter used me to get him off of her I guess. She had to know. I am not afraid of him now. I understand now after therapy and loving friends what it all was and why. But I want to hurt him and call him out. He walks around like he did nothing wrong. Has grandkids…mike was young and probably abused too…greg was a horney teenager and I got away. But joe was a mother fucker and still is. I have a good life, God has blessed me and I’m healing. I have 2 daughters and if anyone hurts them like this…well the cycle stops with me. My mom was abused, my aunt…
#callhimout you motherfucking piece of shit.
Fondling led to sex btw. For years. Interesting I didn’t include that detail in first post. Finally stopped when I was in college. But I was imprinted to gravitate towards inappropriate relationships. Still fight that. But I am loved completely and unconditionally today. #notmyfault #healing
I can’t remember her or his name. I was 6 she was 9 and he was her father. I was a “victim” ever since.
We moved and then there was Colin. I was 9, he was my best friends neighbour. He was old. Him and his wife, who couldn’t have kids, used to have us sleep over. My friend was never touched but I told her and she spoke out. It wasn’t really dealt with but it wasn’t swept under the rug either. I was blamed “why didn’t you say anything” “why did you keep going over there” ect.
His name is Ryan Mitchel/ I was 13 and so was he. He was my boyfriend and best friend. We broke up and he become very abusive. Manipulated me into kissing and groping, telling me he was going to kill or burn himself. Spent hours on the phone pretending to scream in agony after “hurting” himself, he never actually did but I believed him. One day, when he was showing me around my new highschool, the one he already attended, during holidays he attacked me. Held me down, practically smothering me, groping me, I’m sure he would have raped me but he got a call from his mum and I was able to escape. He admitted to it over messages, where I “forgave” him. My mother found the messages, I was the “slut” again. His parents found out and so did the school. Nothing was done. I still had to work with him.
His Name is David O’scroft Jones. I was 15 he was in his 50’s. A friend and I slept at his house on her insistence (was her family friend). He got us completely paralytic drunk, got me as high as a kite, and abused and raped me. I eventually went to the police on the insistence of “friends”, he tried to bribe me to drop the charges and made up heinous lies about me (apparently I told him I was a 15 year old prostitute!). Again I was publically labeled the slut, my friends turned their backs on me and made it out as if I had wanted it and that it was consensual and tormented me for the rest of our school years. They then got up in court and lied, contradicting their police reports, but you can’t make the jury unhear things and my abuser was given a not guilty verdict.
My name is Rebecca and I am not a victim anymore. I am a survivor. I am not silent.
Twin cousins, Bill & Bob Zill, Erie, Pa. While playing hide n seek in the woods at their house. (Unfortunately more than once as we were such a close knit group back in the day. Either we were at their house or they were at ours every weekend.)
Can’t recall which one or was it both? They both looked exactly alike and like others I was so traumatized (I was 6 or 7, they were teens.) I also turned into a stone statue.
I couldn’t tel anyone, especially my mom. ; they were the sons of my moms closest sister.
I am 63 now and have never gotten over this. I truly believe this first experience with boys set me up for failure in my two marriages and the subsequent failure to have a ‘normal’ relationship with potential suitors, dates, lovers etc….
I hope their lives suk. And if I ever do see them again…. Trust me. I have no fear now and they WILL hear a lifetime litany of stuff I’ve saved to myself all this time.
Thank you for this opertunity to tell THE WORLD!!!!
Deb
His name was Michael. He was my boyfriend. I was 16. He manipulated me into thinking that this is what all couples did and it was expected of me as a girlfriend. If I said no, he would try again 5 minutes later – and my then 5 minutes later – and then 5 minutes later until I consented. Even now, 20 years later, I still sometimes have flashbacks when I am intimate with my husband. It stays with you.
His name was Seth
Her name was Stacy
Michael.
Leon and Charles are the abusers
Doug.
xo
I’m shocked and saddened by how many times the abuser is Daddy. To any man reading this, present and future daddies, you are supposed to be the one person your kids can TRUST. You are meant to PROTECT them, not lust after them and harm them! Keep your hands to yourself, your hormones in check and your eyes and thoughts pure! It’s a DECISION you can make, you are not a fucking animal. Get some spine, be a MAN! What kind of dad abuses his own daughter? What kind of man abuses a little girl?
Having said that, I want to say something about older brothers or family members who are teenagers (not adults) from the perspective of a man. As a teenager, my hormones threatened to overwhelm me at times. I burned with lust and curiosity. I had no sisters and was intensely interested in girls. I recall one incident of consensual undressing and touching with a similar age cousin, when we were about 6 or 7. It never occurred to me that this would be considered abuse, that she (or I) might carry this memory with us for the rest of our lives, as some kind of abuse or something shameful and harmful. As a teenager, I had opportunity once or twice with a little girl but never did anything, although I wanted to. There was nothing pure or noble about my thoughts, my conscience just wouldn’t let me touch her or do anything. I could just as easily have been one of these fuckers named in these comments who destroyed some girl’s innocence and deserves to rot in hell.
Personally, I think calling them out is great, but it is equally important to forgive and let go. You won’t forget, and you will never condone or justify what they did, but you need to forgive. Boys do stupid things when they are teenagers. Many adults regret decisions they made when they were teenagers or even young adults. People can change. By God’s grace, I changed when I became a dad and had a daughter of my own. Today I’m 40-something and would NEVER touch my daughter or her friends, or even look at them inappropriately. But I was equally capable of being an abuser as a teenager. And even if someone doesn’t change, you can still forgive. You don’t have to trust or condone or make any excuses. Letting go of the hate and bitterness doesn’t free the abuser or change the past, but it frees you and changes your future.
May you all find healing and freedom and forgiveness.
I was not abused…. My husband was 30 years ago, from ages 5-12. The female was the church secretary, where his dad was a minister for almost 30 years. She groomed him… would take him to McDonalds after church, volunteered to babysit when his parents would go out of town for church business. She was around age 30 when it started. Has never been married. At first, She would make him touch her. Then it led to her touching him. He said he knew it was wrong, and he was completely disgusted by her… but if he didnt do what she wanted, she said she would tell his dad what he had been doing to her. He didn’t want to be in trouble. This woman took my husband’s innocence, and poisoned his soul. He was and still is the love of my life, and I know without a doubt I am his. However, we had MAJOR marital problems, particularly being intimate. I would be so hurt and confused why my young, new hubby almost never wanted intimacy. Then the affairs started.
We had been married about
2 years when he told me about the sexual abuse. I was the only person he had ever told at that time. We divorced after 4 years. The next 2 years, we went our separate ways. He went into self destruct mode. Drinking, drugs, and whores was his life. I still loved him. He begged, pleaded for me to give him another chance. We went through extensive counseling…. Got to the root of our problem. In his mind, sex was dirty and nasty… and he had overwheming guilt that he desired it. In his mind, that was warped at such a young age, he did not see sex as an act of love. We worked through it, remarried… and we have just celebrated our 20th Anniversary.
My husband told his parents as I stood right by him, crying his eyes out. They did not understand what the big deal was!!! He was a guy, did he not enjoy it??
This monster that has caused so much grief to me and my husband is still somewhat of a “friend” to the family…. and was still active in the same church until about 5 years ago. She lives and works close by. He continues to see a therapist regularly bc he still has such hatred toward her…
His life was altered, but not ruined by his childhood sexual abuse. I couldn’t ask for a better husband and father to our 13 year old. He works 80 hours a week so I can stay home and take care of our daughter. We have very specific rules regarding the people we trust with our daughter. Some people don’t understand…
Carrie is her name
His name is peter
Uncle peter
He was a teenager
I was a young girl
Found out he did it to my cousin too
Now he had two daughters
Wow. All these people have gone through what I went through and for many years I felt so alone.
*My grandpa (from age 3 to 6)
*my 2 older brothers (age 3 to 14)
*Jesus, My brothers’ friend (age 3 to 12)
*Paul, Jesus’ brother, (age 6 to 9)
At the age of 16, I was raped by my friend Priscilla’s cousin at a party.
I kept this abuse inside of me, feeling like it was my fault.
My husband doesn’t know.
No more. #NotMyFault #CallThemOut
No more!
I hope you’ll find your voice to share with your husband. I recall that fear of sharing tiny bits here & there until it all came flooding out…we’re SO much stronger for the work we did together. I refused to be a hostage of others’ perversion anymore.
May you be liberated beyond your wildest dreams…
I was 10 he was 14. I froze I did not tell until I was 21. He is married with 2 kids a boy and a girl. Anthony in Ft. Lauderdale Fl. FUCK YOU
His name was William, my grandfather. I was ten at the time, and he molested me several times over the course of a year. It wasn’t until I was in my sophomore year that I told someone; a teacher. By then, however, it was too late. His actions had already taken their toll, and I flunked out of the school’s magnet program. I was sent to another high school, and I told no one else for a year. When I finally broke it to my mother, I begged her not to tell my family. They are the kinds of people that will always take his side. I am affected in many ways still, though I am now 25. I don’t think I will ever be sure how to open up and actually DEAL with it.
His name was Wayne and he was the babysitters son. I was 6 years old when it happened the first time… he was hiding in the bathroom and jumped out and scared me. I told my mom and she brushed it aside, told me it happened to her too and then gossiped about it to her friend. I lost my mom too. I never trusted her again. It had happened before with a man who lived down the block. I don’t remember his name I just remember sitting on his lap and my dad finding out and beating the shit out of me.
I’d share this on Facebook but I’m still ashamed
#CallThemOut
Mr. Jackson
he was a sick old bastard.. and i was just a lil gurl.. i have also felt the shame all my l ife.. because i too let him and i too was asked if it felt good.. your article here was really great and transforming.. thank you so much for sharing this… God bless
I was five years younger than them, with no one close to my age nearby to play with. So I went along with their ideas, because it meant I was part of the group
Tyler. Shaun. Steven. Brother. Cousin. Neighbor. Fuck you all. I hate seeing you, I hate having to play nice like nothing ever happened. You seem to have forgotten it. But I never will.
earl an uncle, I was 3. I still can’t stand to hear the name or the smell of pipes and it’s been 30 years. We lived in the same yard and later in life I found out that this is something he had done to girls in the family for years and they knew what he was capable of. I ran home in my blue shorts and red boots( I remember because I looked at them on my way) and told. We moved but nothing was done, other than while growing up my mom bring it up and calling me a slut and telling me it was my fault.
chris I was 15, it was my fault, because it went on for months . He was my boyfriend and I lied and went to his house. We have ended up alone, I told him no and tried to run but when he pinned I stugg at first but ended up freezing. I couldn’t tell my parents because I know they’d say it was my fault so he would threaten to come to my house if I didn’t go to his. He was abusive but nobody knew he was careful and he was popular so who would believe anyways?
and someone I trusted the year after but honestly wasn’t his fault because I was afraid to say no and froze.
I think about it and think the only common thread in all of it is me. My husband knows and asks if I would blame someone else if they were raped and I wouldn’t because I know they aren’t , but can’t apply that to myself. I get mad at myself for it still bothering me.
Biggest problem is I have a hard time trusting anyone around my daughter because I know it’s usually the people you trust because they have access to them.
#⃣ Callthemout
He was my babysitters brother, and he lived right down the street. Not only did I passed his house every. fucking. day., but my parents allowed her to continue babysitting me. In their house. His name was Chris Maguire, and I sincerely wish him death, or at the very least, a painful, lonely and miserable life.
***
He was the youngest son of a family friend (yet still older than me). His name was Jeffery Harriman.
***
My memories are fractured, but I think his name was Dad.
***
Yes, I’ve finally started therapy, only 25 years too late. :-/
Never too late to start therapy – may you redefine love, comfort & safety for yourself.
Sending heartfelt hugs your way…
neighbor Jimmy
Anonymous boys in gangway
Dean. Fuck you, Dean. 13 is NOT the perfect age for a man celebrating his 30th birthday. I was not your birthday present.
I was 7. He was 14. It was incest.
He should have known better.
It was never reported.
I had forgotten it all, save for nightmares and random flashbacks for years until I realized what it was in highschool.
What he tried to do to me before I escaped in fear.
I asked my parents if it had really happened. They confirmed it.
My dad told me I had no right to be depressed or upset, and that the family hasn’t been the same since then.
After that, throughout the years, family gatherings were filled with fear, hoping he isn’t there, and if he is, hoping to avoid him.
Cringing with discomfort when he hugged me before leaving like everyone else, as if nothing happened.
The one time I yelled at him to not touch me, everyone acted like I was a psycho.
I was the only one left with the pain. Everyone else ignored what happened for their own comfort.
Recently I wrote a diary entry, venting about this. How he’s so successful now, and how he’s married to this rich woman named Theresa, but he calls by my name, Lisa, how the family loves him oh so fucking much while I’ve been kicked out by my own parents onto the streets twice, and how he doesn’t deserve any of it.
My parents found this entry, and threatened to have me arrested. Siding with him, once again.
Because boys will be boys, and women overreact. Because attempting to rape me isn’t considered molestation in my parents’ eyes, and somehow at 7 it was my fault anyway.
I had to flee for my safety and become homeless for the 4th time this year.
His name.. his name is..
I can’t do it. The name I’ve been avoiding for years, the name that makes me cringe.
I can’t. Not yet. It still hurts too much.
If you’re anywhere near Dallas, TX…you have a home!! 😉
You deserved so much better. Not your fault. Not your shame. Focus now on what YOU want. You’re not alone as the “black sheep” in the family. So many of us face exclusion, painted smiles & walks on eggshells. I only found the strength to cut off those relationships in my mid-twenties, and I’m a pretty tough broad. Lol
You, my sister, are not alone! Journal away!
His name was Dad.
you took the word right out of my mouth. I shared this on FB but wasn’t brave enough to call them out. I guess they still hold something over me. One of them has since been convicted, some 30 years later, for the same thing. He continued the cycle. I wonder if I said something back then if I could of prevented the cycle. I guess that’s the shame I still carry.
Sean & Jerry Hogan. I call them out
#CallHimOut
You have no blame in his sickness! Please don’t carry that weight. Maybe you wouldn’t have even been believed back then. We all “know better” now, but we can’t be held responsible for anyone else’s actions.
You could not save yourself. You could not save the others. You survived & your only debt is to yourself.
You. Are. Enough. ((Hugs))
You are not alone. I needed to see this. There cannot be that many Sean and Jerry’s that are brothers in Ca. I dated Jerry for 4 miserable years of my life. He physically and emotionally abused me. He forced me to have two abortions and I have never told anyone. He said it was my fault for getting pregnant. The first abortion I sat in the room waiting for the nurse to come and I began shaking and crying. I asked the nurse to retrieve Jerry from the waiting area. When he came in the room, I begged for my unborn babies life. Begged and cried. All he had to say to me was, “shut up and quit crying or they won’t do it.” He walked out and left me there. The second time there were no words and I was numb. I knew what he expected of me and I felt I had no other choice. I have never forgotten those babies and would even try to find ways to punish myself physically for not having a voice. So we can add #babymurderer to #childmolester #callthemout
My name is Nicole Waldorf and mine was named Doug Huss.
Forty-Five years ago, when I was still a little twelve year old boy, a friend’s mother locked me in her bedroom with her, and tried to initiate sex. I was really scared and holding back tears. After a few minutes of running around the room and saying how my mom was expecting me home in a few minutes, she let me out, and admonished me that I was really missing out on a great opportunity for “Free Love”. I have blocked her first name from my memory, and I don’t want to use her last name. Her husband was a very important national Democratic / Liberal operative at the time, and I think my love of those policies at that time, contributed to my silence.
His name was Max(baby sitter)
His name was Robert Range Perez Jr (father)
His name was Jesse(first boyfriend)
The first time was on the couch with my baby sitter. I was maybe 7? My brother was on the other edge of the couch. He was 11. He took the blanket from me, and Max opened his up and invited me. I’ve never told my brother about it.. he’d never forgive himself.
My father was an alcoholic heroine addic. He came back in my life when I was 13, then he got drunk one weekend and drugged and molested me.
My first time having sex.. I told him “no”. I told him I wasn’t ready. He wanted to shower together. I kept saying I wasn’t ready to have sex. Then when he finally convinced me, he just picked me up and pinned me against the wall. It took me a long time to call that “rape”. I felt it disrespected those who had been truly severely raped. But it was. I was 15 and dreamt of my first time having roses and chocolate and soft lighting. How many times did I tell myself if I had only not gotten in the shower? Or if I had not gotten under the blanket with my baby sitter? Or if I hadn’t taken the pills my dad was screaming at me to take?
I don’t know what to say now.. it’s not your fault ladies. And I love you all deeply
Blessed be.
Her name was Jessica. My cousin. She was 15 and I was 11. She said she was going to show me how to be a man. It took me 15 years to really grasp what she’d done to me and how much her abuse affected the way I treated the women in my life.
He is my brother. From age 8-12. As it turns out, he was likely abused himself or at least that’s his excuse per my mother. It’s odd that for a long time even I didn’t consider it a big deal, we all just acted like it never happened in order to preserve our fucked up family dynamic. later of course I realized how screwed up my relationships were because of it. There was also a cousin (girl) but the details are hazy.
At 17 there was a guy I worked with at the mall who was somewhere in his early 20’s. He took me to a concert that was out of town. We were riding in an elevator when he pulled the stop button and cornered me. I got away and we didn’t talk the whole way home. I just saw his face on Facebook and it made me shudder still.
My first husband was an abusive alcoholic who beat and raped me on multiple occasions. Lots of therapy later I am ok but I still think about it all the time and how I lost something at age 8 that i could never get back and it set me up for f’d up relationships forever.
Kevin, Mike, Mark-Fuck you.
#callthemout #sodone
(((HUGS)))
You can’t go back, but you can go forward. Letting it out is the first step. Keep walking, and don’t look back.
AMEN! ((Hugs))
Bryan L. Harris of Northville, MI. Two of us are finally in the process of calling him out, roughly thirty years later. I shudder to think how many more victims he must have accumulated in that time.
Daniel Lopez (Sr.)
Husband of Bertha Lopez, who, last I heard, still runs a daycare in Reseda CA
You did nothing wrong.
You did not say “stop”, because you were young.
You did not say “stop”, because he wouldn’t have stopped.
You did not say “stop”, because he would be “done” in a minute and you could go about your day.
You did not say “stop”, because it wouldn’t have helped.
You did not say “stop” ,because you were too scared of what else he might have done.
You did not say “stop”, because he was bigger and more powerful than you.
You did not say “stop”, because he was a family member and no one would believe you.
You did not say “stop”, because you loved him anyway.
You did not say “stop” because you knew it was going to happen at some point, and might as well get it over with now.
Been there, done that. Confronted the person who at least had the decency to be ashamed. He was an alcoholic but that was no excuse.
((((HUGS))) for you, honey. Be strong.
Sam, his name was Sam.
He was a grown up who should of known better, because I was drunk teenager is NOT an excuse or reason.
May they all rot in hell.
I was 5 years old and my moms 14 year old cousin told her he would watch me so my usually super protective parents let me go play in the yard out of their view. He told me if I was good and did as he said and if I stayed quiet he would show me his magical birdie and let me play with it. My dad walked out just in time to find me crying and spitting and to see him zip his pants and run.
I was just 5 years old when my parents told me that ladies do not allow themselves to be in those situations.
When I was 13 we were at a cookout with all of my dads extended family. There were skinny much prettier girls running around in skimpy bathing suites and I was wearing a denim skirt with leggings trying to hide with my book. I had glasses and braces and was nothing to look at but he singled me out. He was nice at first but got angry when I wouldn’t go walk with him. He was 19.
This time I didn’t tell anyone. Ladies do not allow themselves into those situations.
I didn’t tell when my period was late or 2 months later when I miscarried alone.
Because I was afraid that my parents would blame me.
At 18 I told my grandmother who didn’t act concerned and told me that I was wrong about being pregnant. Cause it wouldn’t have been possible. But I knew better.
At 20 I finally told my mom and she didn’t believe me. She said I was just trying to get attention.
Now I’m 23 and married and I still wake up some nights screaming and begging. And my husband gently reminds me that I’m safe and that it was never my fault.
I went all of my child hood being told that girls shouldn’t allow themselves to be put in those situations.
But I call bull!!
I was just a child!
They were both older and stronger than me!
Men should be held accountable!
The victim should never be the one to be ashamed.
My Little Mermaid t shirt did not ask for it.
My knee length denim skirt and baggy shirt did not ask for it.
It was JOSH and then ZACH who did wrong, not ME.
#callthemout
#stopvictimshaming
That made me cry! Why did adults think we could process the emotional damage on our own?! Just because we’ve found some normalcy doesn’t mean those feelings of vulnerability don’t creep up in the most unexpected places.
You WERE the victim. You ARE a survivor. You get to make the rules now. I’m 34 & so vividly remember my struggle at 23. Your courage to share is far beyond my strength at your age – BRAVO! If you do the work, I promise you’ll get even stronger. It takes a heroicly patient partner to ride this lifelong rollercoaster with us, and we deserve to be cherished.
You are beautiful…
His name is Jeremy and he is my younger brother. It started with him stealing my underwear when he was in elementary school, then he would try to spy on me. I told my parents. It just embarrassed them. He went to counseling and it stopped for a while. We went on a family vacation when I was senior in high school and we were all in one hotel room. I woke up to him touching me and I started screaming. He claimed he didn’t do anything, that I probably was dreaming and wanted him to touch me. I moved out after graduation. Nothing was ever talked about. Fast forward 7 years later…his girlfriend contacted me to tell me she found child porn on his computer and that he had made a blog site about me and was part of online incest forums. I was back to living at home and he was away at college. I told my mom…told her something had to be done, we couldn’t keep sweeping it under the rug. They confronted him, he went to counseling, graduated college and moved back home. I moved out before he came back because I couldn’t stand to be in the same house with him. I started going to counseling. He got caught for the stuff on his computer…he will be in federal prison until 2020. The extended family knows why he is there…but they still don’t know about the things that involve me. My parents always said their kids would have a place in their home unless they became a threat to another member of the family. Well he was a threat to me! Why did they protect him when they should have been protecting me?
I was sexually abused at a very young age I don’t even know how old I was. I remember a woman coming into the room I was sleeping in and getting into the bed with me naked. I remember details other than that. I believe she was a friend of my parents.
Later in grade school there was a boy who lived down the street molested me. He was about a year younger than me. Later I found out that he had been molested by someone at his school. I don’t blame him he was a victim too. I learned that children who are sexually abused will then abuse other children. This happened to me.
There were two brothers who lived across the street that were messing around with me.
Later when I was in middle school there was this high school boy that showed up at a home with the older brother of the kids that I was babysitting and we were all playing hide and seek. This was a game that the kids and I played often. I hid in a large closet and this high school boy was hiding in there too. He began groping me and reaching into my pants and up my shirt. He scared me I didn’t say or do anything. After that every time I saw him I had this deep hatred for him.
After these incidents in my life I because promiscuous, I would let boys touch me but, would never “go all the way”.
Fast forward to a grown woman I married a man who I believed to be a man of honor. I caught him one night when I came home from school molesting my daughter his biological daughter. I walked in on it saw him touching her. All I could say was “this doesn’t look good” I was seething with anger. He was so scared by my calmness. The next morning I called the police I went to the station and made a statement about what I witnessed. That day he was arrested. He is now serving 10 yrs to life sentence. His first parole hearing came this month. He was denied! My daughter decided then to make a statement to the parole board. She is now 22yrs old, she was 13 when I put him in jail and afraid to make a statement. This time she was empowered to tell him how his actions affected her life. She declared that every time he comes up for parole she will be there to testify against him. For my daughter I write this post.
Vicki
Geoff
Wilbur and his brother
Jason
Finally Bryan
#call them out
As a human being…a woman….I am so proud of this article, and the subsequent conversations. Be brave sisters and brothers…know that none of us are alone in our daily struggles and fight for individual safety, independence and peace. I am heartbroken reading all the comments, but strengthened knowing none of us is alone. I hope everyone else who reads this will feel supported and strengthened.
Together we are one. Together we are fortified. Together we are bold.
Wayne. May your vile soul rot excruciatingly slowly and with great agony in hell. And know that while you might have caused damage to a helpless child, the grown woman I became is strong, powerful and untouchable, so you failed miserably and pathetically. #callhimout