Share Your Truth
Survivors of sexual and gender-based violence deserve to be believed, heard, validated, and supported.
We want to be very clear, there is no "right" way to be a survivor, each survivor's healing journey is their own. Survivors don't owe anyone their stories. Yet, we know society often fails to listen and hear our voices. That's why we've created this page. To allow survivors a safe space to share their truths.
If you choose to share your story, we believe you.
If you choose to share some of your story, we believe you.
If you choose not to share your story, we believe you.
No matter what, we believe you.
If you would like to publicly share your truth, please do so by filling out the form below. We will post all submissions anonymously (unless specified).
We want to be very clear, there is no "right" way to be a survivor, each survivor's healing journey is their own. Survivors don't owe anyone their stories. Yet, we know society often fails to listen and hear our voices. That's why we've created this page. To allow survivors a safe space to share their truths.
If you choose to share your story, we believe you.
If you choose to share some of your story, we believe you.
If you choose not to share your story, we believe you.
No matter what, we believe you.
If you would like to publicly share your truth, please do so by filling out the form below. We will post all submissions anonymously (unless specified).
"Dear Survivors, Supporters, and Strangers,
There are countless copies of this story spread across private journals scattered around my bed. It’s the same story I write, over and over again in the middle of the night, and every time I have to remind myself that this is reality and not another nightmare. It is at that late night hour that my mind is viciously haunted by him, and I can not help but wonder if I ever cross his mind. Do you ever think of me, or is the memory of my screams and shudders even too intense for you to recall? I pray that I am not just another “incident” of yours. I pray that I am and always be your only prey. Did you know that a few minutes of your guilty pleasure would later consume days, weeks, months and maybe even years of my life?
I am not sure how your version of the story of the incident reads, but quite frankly, I do not care. I am almost certain that any statement of yours would be a lie. If your story is ever released, I am more likely to believe that pigs can fly before I believe your words. I do not wish to ever read anything that could potentially describe you as the charming, generous and compassionate young man that your privileged upbringing has engrained in your mind that you are. I do not wish to ever hear your name spoken again unless it is to hear the news that you are behind bars. But, we both know that this fantasy of mine is merely a dream. You are far too privileged with too much potential to ever endure the punishment you deserve. It’s okay, though, because I know you will suffer in the end. I thank you for forcing this heavy cross upon me that I must now carry for the remainder of my life. My muscles are stronger than ever, and my endurance will not be defeated.
It seems that the night of September 18, 2015 was not an important day to you. Well, I will now tell you what that date means to me. One night flipped my life, tumbled it around, and smashed it against a wall. Since then, I have only been trying to form it back to its natural shape. One night of innocent, safe fun with a few friends led to one of the biggest threats of my life. And the catalyst was you.
Friday, September 18, 2015, I walked with a few close friends to another friend’s house in Clifton, following a small concert at a coffee shop. I thought the most dangerous part of my night was making the journey across the urban neighborhood. Little did my innocent eyes know that I would be in most danger under your gaze. I saw you sitting deep in the couch, watching me from across the room. But the only reason i noticed you was because you were the only stranger in the room. I incorrectly assumed that my friend would never invite a criminal into his living room. I kindly introduced myself, wondering why you were sitting by yourself, and which one of the other kids brought you along. I guess you mistook my offer to be friends as an offer to intrude me.
You were so charismatic that I did not even notice that my friends had moved to another room next door to play guitar and sing. I thought I surely was safe with my best friends just around the corner. It must have been when I stood up to join my friends that you managed to poison my glass with your drug. And, somehow, between trying to join my friends in the next room and looking for a chair to sit in, you took control of me. You slipped me things to affect my decision making skills, and I was clueless.
How did I get to the dark kitchen? How did you manage to push me through the back door to the balcony? How were you able to control so much of my body without me even knowing? I mistook your twisted smile for a friendly laugh. Before I knew it, you had trapped me between your body and the railing of the balcony. In a mere second, my body no longer belonged to me. You stole myself from me. You stole me. You viciously ripped part of me away from myself that I can never get back.
I saw a chair on the balcony, and I saw it as a sign of relief because finally I could sit down. You saw the chair as a tool to further manipulate me. I will never understand how your demented mind assumed that me collapsing for safety in a chair gave you the permission to remove my clothing. I was exhausted of fighting your grasp, and I had no choice but to allow you to have the control you demanded. In those next few minutes, you hurt me in the most sensitive ways. You forced me into such a frantic state that I did not even recognize that my jacket was missing; My underwear was flung somewhere I could not see; Your body, pinning me down, contaminated my mouth with a part of you I did not ask for; Your impure fingers were causing the blood on my thighs. I have no understanding of how you mistook my frozen body as enjoyment.
One of my most precious memories is seeing the shadow of my friend through the kitchen window in that moment. My body jerked, and my eyes illuminated with hope. I am blessed by the grace of God that my friend happened to turn around and see me. The look in her eyes scared me more than the strange man currently digging inside me. She saved me. I am grateful beyond belief that she looked out that kitchen window at that moment.
It was not until several friends came running full force towards me that I began to recognize the scope of the situation. I was bombarded with questions, and I did not have any answers. Waterfalls of tears stormed my eyes. Earthquakes were happening in my body as I could not stop trembling of fear. My body, my clothing, my hair all looked as if I was in combat. Even though my friends had demanded he leave the house, he insisted on trying to come back to see me because “we were having fun” and he “really liked me.” He said he just wanted to get my snapchat. Because to him, I’m not worthy enough to ask for my number and take me on a real date.
My two girl friends and I were then driven home to Morgens on campus. I returned to our apartment, hoping to sleep and not have to think about the turmoil I just experienced. I wanted it to go away. I thought that if I acted like it didn’t happen, then no one else would know either. The past couple hours would just vanish like a bad nightmare.
Shortly after, I was awoken because there some people in the lobby that wanted to see me. I made the way downstairs to be greeted by police officers. I am now thankful for my friends who took this action, although at the moment, I was hysterically upset. Nobody wants to be stared at by every passing person as they are in a distraught state, explaining one of the worst nights of their life to a group of strange cops. Finally, at about 6am, we had finished reporting to both the City of Cincinnati officers and the UCPD officers. I consistently denied the offer to go to the hospital. I was scared. Well, scared is an understatement; Every cell in my body was terrified to the core, and I used every ounce of energy to stick to my right to not go to the hospital. At first, I succeeded.
A few hours later, I gave in. I allowed to be taken to the hospital, and once again, I recounted the events of the previous night. So, I followed the steps of reporting to police, being checked-in at the hospital, reporting to Title IX, etc. I have told this story so many times that I have lost the emotion behind it. The words are now just a script.
In those following weeks and months, I talked to doctors, cops, teachers, therapists, friends, even detectives downtown. Scheduling appointments is complicated. People are busy. Classes are difficult. Retelling the story hurts. I had no transportation to the offices I needed to go to for the meetings off campus. So, the city case was dropped. The school case was dropped. Title IX was dropped. A couple months later, I moved to Los Angeles for a co-op, and the night of September 18, 2015 was never mentioned again.
Just because the incident has not been spoken of since does not mean that it does not affect me still. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of it. Somedays, I’m scared to go out with friends. I often choose to not approach a male because what if he mistakes my outgoing personality as permission to violate me. I can’t listen to the music from that night without quivering. I will never live in the area of clifton where the incident occurred. I can never visit my friend’s house, so we must always hang out somewhere else. I refuse to walk down Wheeler St. past the first block. I am weary of any person who looks at me for longer than a passing second. This is how it affects my daily life. I am certain my friends all have similar reactions as well.
I am most saddened that I lost my favorite dress last night. My sundress, jacket, and shoes were thrown in a bag and sent to the lab to be inspected, and I never put them on again. It may seem silly, but I had traveled around Europe with this specific dress, and it had worn through a large part of my life, even traveling back to the United States from Ireland. It held so many memories within the threads of the fabric, but unfortunately, the most memorable one was the last time it was worn. My heart aches thinking that it could have been sold to a new owner, and someone new is wearing a dress that is disturbed.
People seem to think I am strong and that I have overcome this obstacle. The remainder of the semester, I never walked anywhere on campus without a friend. A couple months following the incident, I was walking up Main Street on campus, late to pick up an elementary school student that I mentored. Just past the CRC, I felt his distasteful eyes looking towards me. I saw him walking towards me, winking and head nodding at me as he passed. I thought I was safe on my own campus, and then, in that moment, I realized that there is a predator, a criminal, a gruesome human being, within inches of me in the heart of my own school campus.
It disgusts me that he continues to roam my campus. I know he is not the only predator out there. I pray that he has not made other girls feel the same way I do. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t doubt that there are many many more students like me. I know the statistics “1 in 4 girls will be assaulted, etc.” but what about the 1 in 4 students who are committing the crimes.
My rapist still walks my campus. I am ashamed that he dulled my sparkle. But, I will lift my head higher than him. I am stronger than him because I have self control. I respect other people and their bodies, and I work to lift others up and not bring them down. Me, you, and all other survivors are more than victims. We are survivors, but we are more than that, too. We are warriors. We have been through a warzone and fought one of the toughest battles. We are still here today, standing strong and embracing the future because the past does not define us. We learn from it, and we use our experiences to aid others. Most importantly, we keep fighting. We keep on keeping on. Even if your rapist still walks the streets, he is not free from his past until he accepts his actions. His heart is not free, and he will always be indebted to you. We are warriors, we are survivors, and do not be ashamed by something you could not control. My rapist violated me, but he has nothing of mine.
With love and hope,
A Fellow 3rd Year Bearcat"
There are countless copies of this story spread across private journals scattered around my bed. It’s the same story I write, over and over again in the middle of the night, and every time I have to remind myself that this is reality and not another nightmare. It is at that late night hour that my mind is viciously haunted by him, and I can not help but wonder if I ever cross his mind. Do you ever think of me, or is the memory of my screams and shudders even too intense for you to recall? I pray that I am not just another “incident” of yours. I pray that I am and always be your only prey. Did you know that a few minutes of your guilty pleasure would later consume days, weeks, months and maybe even years of my life?
I am not sure how your version of the story of the incident reads, but quite frankly, I do not care. I am almost certain that any statement of yours would be a lie. If your story is ever released, I am more likely to believe that pigs can fly before I believe your words. I do not wish to ever read anything that could potentially describe you as the charming, generous and compassionate young man that your privileged upbringing has engrained in your mind that you are. I do not wish to ever hear your name spoken again unless it is to hear the news that you are behind bars. But, we both know that this fantasy of mine is merely a dream. You are far too privileged with too much potential to ever endure the punishment you deserve. It’s okay, though, because I know you will suffer in the end. I thank you for forcing this heavy cross upon me that I must now carry for the remainder of my life. My muscles are stronger than ever, and my endurance will not be defeated.
It seems that the night of September 18, 2015 was not an important day to you. Well, I will now tell you what that date means to me. One night flipped my life, tumbled it around, and smashed it against a wall. Since then, I have only been trying to form it back to its natural shape. One night of innocent, safe fun with a few friends led to one of the biggest threats of my life. And the catalyst was you.
Friday, September 18, 2015, I walked with a few close friends to another friend’s house in Clifton, following a small concert at a coffee shop. I thought the most dangerous part of my night was making the journey across the urban neighborhood. Little did my innocent eyes know that I would be in most danger under your gaze. I saw you sitting deep in the couch, watching me from across the room. But the only reason i noticed you was because you were the only stranger in the room. I incorrectly assumed that my friend would never invite a criminal into his living room. I kindly introduced myself, wondering why you were sitting by yourself, and which one of the other kids brought you along. I guess you mistook my offer to be friends as an offer to intrude me.
You were so charismatic that I did not even notice that my friends had moved to another room next door to play guitar and sing. I thought I surely was safe with my best friends just around the corner. It must have been when I stood up to join my friends that you managed to poison my glass with your drug. And, somehow, between trying to join my friends in the next room and looking for a chair to sit in, you took control of me. You slipped me things to affect my decision making skills, and I was clueless.
How did I get to the dark kitchen? How did you manage to push me through the back door to the balcony? How were you able to control so much of my body without me even knowing? I mistook your twisted smile for a friendly laugh. Before I knew it, you had trapped me between your body and the railing of the balcony. In a mere second, my body no longer belonged to me. You stole myself from me. You stole me. You viciously ripped part of me away from myself that I can never get back.
I saw a chair on the balcony, and I saw it as a sign of relief because finally I could sit down. You saw the chair as a tool to further manipulate me. I will never understand how your demented mind assumed that me collapsing for safety in a chair gave you the permission to remove my clothing. I was exhausted of fighting your grasp, and I had no choice but to allow you to have the control you demanded. In those next few minutes, you hurt me in the most sensitive ways. You forced me into such a frantic state that I did not even recognize that my jacket was missing; My underwear was flung somewhere I could not see; Your body, pinning me down, contaminated my mouth with a part of you I did not ask for; Your impure fingers were causing the blood on my thighs. I have no understanding of how you mistook my frozen body as enjoyment.
One of my most precious memories is seeing the shadow of my friend through the kitchen window in that moment. My body jerked, and my eyes illuminated with hope. I am blessed by the grace of God that my friend happened to turn around and see me. The look in her eyes scared me more than the strange man currently digging inside me. She saved me. I am grateful beyond belief that she looked out that kitchen window at that moment.
It was not until several friends came running full force towards me that I began to recognize the scope of the situation. I was bombarded with questions, and I did not have any answers. Waterfalls of tears stormed my eyes. Earthquakes were happening in my body as I could not stop trembling of fear. My body, my clothing, my hair all looked as if I was in combat. Even though my friends had demanded he leave the house, he insisted on trying to come back to see me because “we were having fun” and he “really liked me.” He said he just wanted to get my snapchat. Because to him, I’m not worthy enough to ask for my number and take me on a real date.
My two girl friends and I were then driven home to Morgens on campus. I returned to our apartment, hoping to sleep and not have to think about the turmoil I just experienced. I wanted it to go away. I thought that if I acted like it didn’t happen, then no one else would know either. The past couple hours would just vanish like a bad nightmare.
Shortly after, I was awoken because there some people in the lobby that wanted to see me. I made the way downstairs to be greeted by police officers. I am now thankful for my friends who took this action, although at the moment, I was hysterically upset. Nobody wants to be stared at by every passing person as they are in a distraught state, explaining one of the worst nights of their life to a group of strange cops. Finally, at about 6am, we had finished reporting to both the City of Cincinnati officers and the UCPD officers. I consistently denied the offer to go to the hospital. I was scared. Well, scared is an understatement; Every cell in my body was terrified to the core, and I used every ounce of energy to stick to my right to not go to the hospital. At first, I succeeded.
A few hours later, I gave in. I allowed to be taken to the hospital, and once again, I recounted the events of the previous night. So, I followed the steps of reporting to police, being checked-in at the hospital, reporting to Title IX, etc. I have told this story so many times that I have lost the emotion behind it. The words are now just a script.
In those following weeks and months, I talked to doctors, cops, teachers, therapists, friends, even detectives downtown. Scheduling appointments is complicated. People are busy. Classes are difficult. Retelling the story hurts. I had no transportation to the offices I needed to go to for the meetings off campus. So, the city case was dropped. The school case was dropped. Title IX was dropped. A couple months later, I moved to Los Angeles for a co-op, and the night of September 18, 2015 was never mentioned again.
Just because the incident has not been spoken of since does not mean that it does not affect me still. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of it. Somedays, I’m scared to go out with friends. I often choose to not approach a male because what if he mistakes my outgoing personality as permission to violate me. I can’t listen to the music from that night without quivering. I will never live in the area of clifton where the incident occurred. I can never visit my friend’s house, so we must always hang out somewhere else. I refuse to walk down Wheeler St. past the first block. I am weary of any person who looks at me for longer than a passing second. This is how it affects my daily life. I am certain my friends all have similar reactions as well.
I am most saddened that I lost my favorite dress last night. My sundress, jacket, and shoes were thrown in a bag and sent to the lab to be inspected, and I never put them on again. It may seem silly, but I had traveled around Europe with this specific dress, and it had worn through a large part of my life, even traveling back to the United States from Ireland. It held so many memories within the threads of the fabric, but unfortunately, the most memorable one was the last time it was worn. My heart aches thinking that it could have been sold to a new owner, and someone new is wearing a dress that is disturbed.
People seem to think I am strong and that I have overcome this obstacle. The remainder of the semester, I never walked anywhere on campus without a friend. A couple months following the incident, I was walking up Main Street on campus, late to pick up an elementary school student that I mentored. Just past the CRC, I felt his distasteful eyes looking towards me. I saw him walking towards me, winking and head nodding at me as he passed. I thought I was safe on my own campus, and then, in that moment, I realized that there is a predator, a criminal, a gruesome human being, within inches of me in the heart of my own school campus.
It disgusts me that he continues to roam my campus. I know he is not the only predator out there. I pray that he has not made other girls feel the same way I do. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t doubt that there are many many more students like me. I know the statistics “1 in 4 girls will be assaulted, etc.” but what about the 1 in 4 students who are committing the crimes.
My rapist still walks my campus. I am ashamed that he dulled my sparkle. But, I will lift my head higher than him. I am stronger than him because I have self control. I respect other people and their bodies, and I work to lift others up and not bring them down. Me, you, and all other survivors are more than victims. We are survivors, but we are more than that, too. We are warriors. We have been through a warzone and fought one of the toughest battles. We are still here today, standing strong and embracing the future because the past does not define us. We learn from it, and we use our experiences to aid others. Most importantly, we keep fighting. We keep on keeping on. Even if your rapist still walks the streets, he is not free from his past until he accepts his actions. His heart is not free, and he will always be indebted to you. We are warriors, we are survivors, and do not be ashamed by something you could not control. My rapist violated me, but he has nothing of mine.
With love and hope,
A Fellow 3rd Year Bearcat"
"I did everything you're supposed to do: I went to the hospital, I reached out the Title IX, and I spoke to the police.
They don't tell you how traumatizing it is to be examined by a complete stranger in a freezing hospital room and have to answer questions like "Do you want to pursue criminal charges?" when all you want to do is go home and forget it ever happened.
They don't tell you how to react when the detectives hear every detail of your rape only to turn around and say that because you don't meet any of the three criteria required for the complete and utter violation you experience to be categorized as rape, no report can be filed and the person who did this to you can continue on with his life believing that what he did was okay.
They don't talk about what it's like to distrust yourself so much that you over-explain your behavior and feelings and thoughts to anyone and everyone who will listen in the hope that one of them will validate what you're feeling or thinking because you can't do it for yourself.
On September 6th, it will have been a year since my rape. It was a long road to get to where I am today, and if it weren't for my family, friends, and the 5 beautiful, inspiring women I met during group therapy at CAPS, I'm not sure where I would be. They validated me, they built me up when I couldn't do it for myself, they LISTENED to me. As an alumna of UC and more importantly as a survivor of sexual assault, I am proud to support Students for Survivors."
They don't tell you how traumatizing it is to be examined by a complete stranger in a freezing hospital room and have to answer questions like "Do you want to pursue criminal charges?" when all you want to do is go home and forget it ever happened.
They don't tell you how to react when the detectives hear every detail of your rape only to turn around and say that because you don't meet any of the three criteria required for the complete and utter violation you experience to be categorized as rape, no report can be filed and the person who did this to you can continue on with his life believing that what he did was okay.
They don't talk about what it's like to distrust yourself so much that you over-explain your behavior and feelings and thoughts to anyone and everyone who will listen in the hope that one of them will validate what you're feeling or thinking because you can't do it for yourself.
On September 6th, it will have been a year since my rape. It was a long road to get to where I am today, and if it weren't for my family, friends, and the 5 beautiful, inspiring women I met during group therapy at CAPS, I'm not sure where I would be. They validated me, they built me up when I couldn't do it for myself, they LISTENED to me. As an alumna of UC and more importantly as a survivor of sexual assault, I am proud to support Students for Survivors."
