The SHARED STORIES PROJECT
Welcome, everyone, to our Shared Stories Project. We have high hopes for this being a place where survivors of all identities will contribute and receive narratives of each other’s lived experiences. A common result of being a survivor of sexual violence is isolation. It’s what happened when we were harmed and we re-experience that isolation every time our stories are not listened to, rejected or denied. So, many thanks to our contributors and a warm welcome to our readers.
Companions in the Mirror: How My Novel Characters Are Allies in My Healing By Jendi Reiter
Creative writing has magical properties for me. It's a practice by which I transpose the inner truths of my experience into a new key, to discover their underlying patterns and real emotions, disentangled from autobiographical "facts" and the old beliefs that my brain has proliferated around them. For Peter, the main character of my new novel Origin Story, writing a gay superhero comic book is how he finally cracks the code of his repressed memories.
CHILDHOOD ABUSE
I SURVIVED, SO CAN YOU! By James
I was born in a beautiful little town in Belfast, Northern Ireland. The first nine years of my life were wonderful. However, in beginning in 1967, my childhood was abruptly changed forever.
Often, when I would go to play at my best friend’s house, his older brother would be home hiding in the shadows waiting for his opportunity to abuse me. I remember being there and hearing a door locking, knowing I was in trouble. I would get this sinking feeling in my gut, dreading what was in store for me. My friend would hold me down while his brother attacked me.
Shattered Dolls By Aleasha Carroll
It was a cold night, Annie was in the backseat of her parents' beat up car, the seats are ripped, and the headliner is falling from the interior roof. Annie’s mom turned around and said “stay here Annie, mom and dad will be right back.” They get out of the vehicle. Annie grabs her blanket and snuggles into her pillow. Annie is afraid, it’s dark and she’s alone but this happens a lot. Mom and Dad drive to someone’s house in the middle of the night and leave her in the car.
And What About Me by John P.
Your parents burned you with hot iron
your home was no home
and your friends are no friends.
I CLOSE MY EYES By Sonja C.
I close my eyes……and turn towards the sun. I lift my chin up and up a little bit more. The sun pours through my closed lids. It’s so bright – a landscape of blazing orange, so intense, it almost pushes me back. I stand tall and still, the warm rays washing all over me. My face, neck, shoulders, arms and chest doused in light.
Things I don’t talk about By R.L.P
Sunday church days
Shamed for hours and ashamed of the hours that came after
I am Responsible for my Life By Anna Cruz
I am 43-year-old Latina woman. I was born here in MA and raised in Puerto Rico & for the first 17 years of my life I was sexually molested by my mother’s father. That experience had a profound impact in my life. I often wonder how different my life would’ve been if that didn’t happen. The fact that the molestation came from my grandfather, a man who was well respected in the community really put a lot of confusion on my mind growing up. Building up the courage to expose the acts and not get the support needed from my mother and family just added to the trauma.
My Diagnosis Seen and Unseen by Jerri Harrell
This time I wasn’t set free. I was held like a prisoner. It would only take a few minutes. As a grown woman, I couldn’t stand getting my titties squeezed, squashed, and pressed in that damn machine. I knew the drill; remove all clothes above waist, put on patient gown, or gowns if I wanted my ass covered in the back, sit and sit and sit in waiting room until name called. Waiting meant I was exposed. The people in the waiting room would see me and see through me.
From Broken to Beyond Surviving by Rachel Grant
I was a five-year old, middle-class kid, growing up in Oklahoma with an acre out my backdoor when my grandfather came to live with our family. As an innate nurturer, I would help my mom and dad take care of him by doing simple things like bringing him a bowl of cereal, keeping him company, and reading to him. We spent hours on our front porch swing talking, laughing, and watching the people in the park across the street. He was my friend and a quiet companion.
Thriving Survivor by Elaine Crocker
Hi, my name is Elaine. I am honored to share my story with you. I was a victim of molestation and rape, I am a survivor and I am thriving. For many years, this is something that I would not talk about because of fear and shame. How sad it is that victims of sexual assault feel ashamed. My knowledge of how victims were treated stemmed from grown up conversations that I overheard and t.v. shows that said, what was she wearing or not wearing; did she scream, fight, try to get away; did she tease him; what was she doing there?
Final Call by Donna Jenson
The end took two years. By end I mean the closing and locking of the door on my relationship with my father, or as I referred to him back then – my terrorist. It came in just under the wire. Our father was full of prostrate cancer when my little brother (all of 35 years old) outted me to our mother. There was a flurry of exchanges, some filled with tears, some with pure rage; an emotional seismic shifting of a nuclear family that would never recover.
After All These Years by Rosie McMahan
The main reason I went to see Lenny was to discover if I would feel afraid of him. I had just been with his mother, my Aunt Anna, and his brothers and sisters - all five of them - at his father’s funeral services and he wasn’t there. Too many wounded people in consequence to Lenny’s wounded behavior many years ago. I was one of them, one of the girls he molested throughout much of my childhood into adolescence.
The Day I was BRAVE by Janyne McConnaughey
Settling into my chair at my desk, I stared at the book contract in front of me. This was different. It was a “telling” far beyond telling my friends or even publishing a blog. Signing this book contract felt like a forward step in owning the story which I had denied and repressed for over sixty years. There was no going back to hiding once I signed the contract, sealed it in an envelope, and mailed it to the publisher.
