It was considered normal and the weight was on us to keep our mouths shut to protect the guilty.

This is my story of abuse and domestic violence. For the first time ever, I'm the one telling it.

I'm afraid to not be the person everyone thought I was, the person I thought I was. I'm afraid to be someone else, even if I don't want to be who I am now.

It feels as if my life is falling apart. I don’t know what to do next.

This new era may be scary, you may need to leave some old friends behind, but it's okay. You'll find your way.

Will I one day not be afraid to speak up and be myself? Or maybe this is who I am. Should I stop being ashamed of who I really am?

I blamed myself too. For all of it. I blamed myself for not being good enough to make him want to stop being mean to me in the ways I'd asked him to.

I have survived countless panic attacks and sadness I once thought was insurmountable. I want to show people that what happened to me in the past does not mean I don’t deserve better in the future.

It was my 18th birthday. In my country, that’s our legal drinking age. I went out with a group of friends. Anyone who knows me will tell you I make friends easily, mainly male friends.

This is my story of abuse and domestic violence. For the first time ever, I'm the one telling it.

The sun felt like a cynical joke. I tried to call my best friend, and when she finally answered, she told me she had to go because her boyfriend brought her breakfast and a smoothie. I hung up and laughed. It could have made me angry, but I no longer had that kind of rage to spend.

I am exactly as competent as I was then. I am exactly as intelligent as I was then. I am exactly as ambitious as I was then. The only thing that's changed is my public image.

I don’t have the tools to break it down. So I just sit and fester. Stare. At the granite grey rectangles. Forever in my point of view.

This is a piece of my story; I desperately don’t want it to be the whole story. This is not supposed to be what defines me in the end. I hope it doesn’t.

For me, that foggy numbness has subsided into anger, but it feels like that anger still isn’t enough to counteract the notion of being swept under the carpet again.

I’m not sure if sex will ever be uncomplicated, but I do know that virginity didn’t make me more or less lovely in the eyes of God. I know that it’s okay to not want things, to give life to your wishes by saying them out loud.

They say I shouldn’t care anymore now that I have a husband. My husband is my partner, not my savior. Abuse is abuse and you can't just put a bandaid on it.

It feels as if my life is falling apart. I don’t know what to do next.

I am safe. It was not my fault. I am allowed to rest. I am allowed to not be okay. Not everyone deserves to know the full extent of my pain.

The aftermath? While what happened wasn’t the worst case scenario, I still feel anxious, embarrassed, and untrusting of others. I still remember every inch of that house.

The road forward is not an easy one, and there will be certain trials and low points ahead. But I promise you, it is worth it. You are worth it.

I haven’t experienced it yet but I know now how it should feel when you’re not settling.

I haven’t experienced it yet but I know now how it should feel when you’re not settling.

I felt like I was on the edge of something important as we drove for hours, singing loudly, going nowhere. And we were indeed that—going nowhere.