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This collection of experiences, shared by people of all genders and backgrounds from all over the world, demonstrates how the issues of sexual assault, harassment, and "slut" shaming affect many of our lives in deep, often dangerous ways. Use these stories to expand your understanding and share them with anyone in your life who could benefit from this insight. Reproduction in whole or in part is prohibited without consent.
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Ever since that night my whole reputation was ruined, people just add on more and more lies all the time and spread more rumors, most of which aren’t true.
This entry includes a description of sexual assault.
I was always a quiet girl growing up. I had lots of friends all through primary school and moving into secondary school. I had never kissed a boy and to be quite honest, I didn’t really talk to any boys either. The first year of secondary school I had my two best friends and I was liked by most people. There were a few people that I didn’t talk to, not because we didn’t like each other, just because we were different and that was okay. In the February of my first year of secondary school, my 12-year-old cousin, the same age as me, took her own life as a result of bullying. I didn’t know she was being bullied, we were in different schools and we didn’t talk much after we had both started our new schools. I felt so guilty because I should’ve been there for her but I wasn’t. I just felt like I wanted to be alone all the time so I turned away from everyone including my two best friends. That was a hard time, I really had nobody except for my family. I think I just needed that time to adjust to what had happened.
When we came back to school at the start of 2nd year I fell into a new group of friends, they were girls I had known since primary school but I began to get closer with them. Everything was fine then, I started to go out more and hang around town. I was well known in town and friends with everybody. That was until January of 2018 in second year. I was 13 at the time and a friend of mine asked me to go to a boy's house with her because some of the boys we knew were having a small house party while one boy's parents were out of town. I agreed to go because I knew all the boys, too, and I thought it would be some fun. I told her I wasn’t drinking any alcohol because I never had before and did not plan to do it anytime soon. When we were walking to the house my cousin's death was brought up and I started crying and couldn’t stop, I still felt so so guilty. She told me it wasn’t my fault and that I couldn’t keep thinking like that. When we got to the house all boys were wondering why I was crying but I didn’t want to tell all them why because that’s just not me, I hate attention. I acted like I was fine. I went into the bathroom to clean myself up and get some tissue, one of the boys followed me in, he was being so nice and making sure I was okay. Then we both went back into the room with everyone else. I did what I hadn’t planned to do and drank because I didn’t want to be called boring. That same boy kept giving me alcohol the whole night but I didn’t want to refuse it and be called innocent or dry. My friend was really drunk, and one of the boys took her upstairs and left her in a bed to sleep. I started crying again because all I wanted was my friend but the boys told me not to go into the room because she was trying to sleep. Instead I went into another room and in there on the bed was the boy that had been making sure I was okay the whole night and being really nice to me. He told me I could lie down in the bed for a while to sober up. I can’t really remember all the details of what went on in that room but I do remember him telling me to pull down my pants and that’s when he started to finger me, it hurt a lot I had never done anything like it before. I told him to stop because I didn’t like it and it was too sore. He stopped but then he told me because he had fingered me that I had to do something in return. I was crying, all I wanted to do was leave but he wouldn’t let me and he wouldn’t let anyone else come into the room. I started calling one of the other boys but he told him to go away and said that he was looking after me. He asked me if I wanted to have sex and I said no, but then he told me I had to give me a blowjob, I said no because I didn’t know how to do it, I thought he’d listen but then he started pushing my head down on his dick. I felt sick, it was choking me. I kept crying, he wouldn’t let go of my head. I didn’t want to do it, he finally let me get up. I ran out of the room and straight into the bathroom where I started to get sick. I couldn’t stop crying. I woke my friend and told her we had to go home right now. We both went downstairs and put our shoes on. That boy walked down the stairs and grabbed my arm, he told me I couldn’t tell anyone what had happened. I agreed because I didn’t want anybody to find out either.
Over the next few days everyone found out and he started rumors that I came onto him and that I begged to give him a blowjob and started telling everyone I didn’t know how to give head and that it was the worst blowjob ever. That’s when it all started, people started calling me a stupid slut and all the boys started telling me to learn how to give head and teasing that I could practice on them. I felt so ashamed. I literally started to hate myself so, so much. Ever since that night my whole reputation was ruined, people just add on more and more lies all the time and spread more rumors, most of which aren’t true. I was called a slut and a whore so much that I just gave up and I started to act really reckless with boys, I lost all my respect for myself because I wasn’t getting it from anyone else, I gave up trying. I lost all my friends apart from one. Still to this day I can’t leave my house without being called a slut. I get slagged for everything I do. People had been spreading rumors for months that I was pregnant and that’s the reason I stopped leaving my house, but it was really because I felt so shitty about myself. I lost my virginity this year but everyone had been saying I lost it a long time before I did. I’m trying my best to change, not for other people but for myself, I want to be able to respect myself again and believe that I deserve respect from other people. I don’t know what to do anymore though because nobody ever believes me, because I’m the girl in the situation. I don’t think I’ve ever done anything with a boy that I didn’t feel pressured into but I just do it because I don’t know any other way.
I am now 32 years old and it still goes on. I am very lucky to have such a great family and good friends who believe in me.
This entry includes references to rape.
When I was 16 I was bullied and mobbed, which led to self-harm and a forced placement within a panic room. After my second period in a panic room, I luckily quickly recovered. A boyfriend when I was 21 raped me, and forced me to do sexual things I didn't like at all. I was brainwashed. He also was cheating on me with other girls. Later he took it to the next level by slut shaming me via email and via Instagram. I am now 32 years old and it still goes on. I am very lucky to have such a great family and good friends who believe in me. I took major steps by removing my account via Facebook. With my story I want to make other girls aware that this is also not only in the USA, but in The Netherlands, a very common way of mobbing girls and women.
“Going to school was a nightmare. Someone had saved the photo and begun texting it around the school.”
When I was in 9th grade I was on a video chat with a boy I liked. He had asked to see my boobs so I showed him. Without my knowledge he had taken a screenshot of my webcam. I'm not sure how the picture got to where it did, but shortly after I was contact by a boy a few years older than me that I did not know. He threatened that he had a photo of me that he was going to spread around but I did not believe him, so I blocked him, but was again added by another boy and a girl I did not know. They sent me the screenshot my of webcam and threatened to spread it around if I didn't meet up with them. I had a boyfriend by this time, the boy said I had to give him a blowjob and make my boyfriend have sex with the girl. I blocked them both because I was so scared and they had harassed me for days. It has quieted down for a week or so. My school was let out early due to a leak and I lived across the street so myself and a few friends went to my house and sat in my basement. I logged into Facebook on my computer (I did not have a cell phone) and saw a post that was made 3 hours ago. I was tagged in the screenshot photo of my webcam, the post was public and showing on my own timeline for all my friends and family to see. I reported the post immediately and untagged myself. I had a bunch of inbox messages from friends warning me of the post. I was mortified so I ignored them all. Then, minutes later, there was a knock on my door. It was my childhood friend's mother. I have known the entire family since I was only 6 years old and was very close to the whole family. I nearly threw up when she told me why she was at my house. She had seen the post and was unable to get ahold of me so she drove across town to come to my house to warn me. She had gone onto all her kids and her husband's facebook to report the photo. The next day going to school was a nightmare. Everyone had gotten out early the day before, so many people had seen the photo. Someone had saved the photo and had begun texting it around the school. I tracked it back to the person who saved it, which was mortifying because I had to come face to face with so many people who had seen a private photo of me to ask them who sent them it. The guy who saved the photo was very apologetic and deleted it but it was already too late. The next few weeks were hard but thankfully living in a big city in a large school, the gossip faded and someone else became the new news. But that month in my life still haunts me 10 years later.
This entry includes a description of sexual assault.
I was always a quiet girl growing up. I had lots of friends all through primary school and moving into secondary school. I had never kissed a boy and to be quite honest, I didn’t really talk to any boys either. The first year of secondary school I had my two best friends and I was liked by most people. There were a few people that I didn’t talk to, not because we didn’t like each other, just because we were different and that was okay. In the February of my first year of secondary school, my 12-year-old cousin, the same age as me, took her own life as a result of bullying. I didn’t know she was being bullied, we were in different schools and we didn’t talk much after we had both started our new schools. I felt so guilty because I should’ve been there for her but I wasn’t. I just felt like I wanted to be alone all the time so I turned away from everyone including my two best friends. That was a hard time, I really had nobody except for my family. I think I just needed that time to adjust to what had happened.
When we came back to school at the start of 2nd year I fell into a new group of friends, they were girls I had known since primary school but I began to get closer with them. Everything was fine then, I started to go out more and hang around town. I was well known in town and friends with everybody. That was until January of 2018 in second year. I was 13 at the time and a friend of mine asked me to go to a boy's house with her because some of the boys we knew were having a small house party while one boy's parents were out of town. I agreed to go because I knew all the boys, too, and I thought it would be some fun. I told her I wasn’t drinking any alcohol because I never had before and did not plan to do it anytime soon. When we were walking to the house my cousin's death was brought up and I started crying and couldn’t stop, I still felt so so guilty. She told me it wasn’t my fault and that I couldn’t keep thinking like that. When we got to the house all boys were wondering why I was crying but I didn’t want to tell all them why because that’s just not me, I hate attention. I acted like I was fine. I went into the bathroom to clean myself up and get some tissue, one of the boys followed me in, he was being so nice and making sure I was okay. Then we both went back into the room with everyone else. I did what I hadn’t planned to do and drank because I didn’t want to be called boring. That same boy kept giving me alcohol the whole night but I didn’t want to refuse it and be called innocent or dry. My friend was really drunk, and one of the boys took her upstairs and left her in a bed to sleep. I started crying again because all I wanted was my friend but the boys told me not to go into the room because she was trying to sleep. Instead I went into another room and in there on the bed was the boy that had been making sure I was okay the whole night and being really nice to me. He told me I could lie down in the bed for a while to sober up. I can’t really remember all the details of what went on in that room but I do remember him telling me to pull down my pants and that’s when he started to finger me, it hurt a lot I had never done anything like it before. I told him to stop because I didn’t like it and it was too sore. He stopped but then he told me because he had fingered me that I had to do something in return. I was crying, all I wanted to do was leave but he wouldn’t let me and he wouldn’t let anyone else come into the room. I started calling one of the other boys but he told him to go away and said that he was looking after me. He asked me if I wanted to have sex and I said no, but then he told me I had to give me a blowjob, I said no because I didn’t know how to do it, I thought he’d listen but then he started pushing my head down on his dick. I felt sick, it was choking me. I kept crying, he wouldn’t let go of my head. I didn’t want to do it, he finally let me get up. I ran out of the room and straight into the bathroom where I started to get sick. I couldn’t stop crying. I woke my friend and told her we had to go home right now. We both went downstairs and put our shoes on. That boy walked down the stairs and grabbed my arm, he told me I couldn’t tell anyone what had happened. I agreed because I didn’t want anybody to find out either.
Over the next few days everyone found out and he started rumors that I came onto him and that I begged to give him a blowjob and started telling everyone I didn’t know how to give head and that it was the worst blowjob ever. That’s when it all started, people started calling me a stupid slut and all the boys started telling me to learn how to give head and teasing that I could practice on them. I felt so ashamed. I literally started to hate myself so, so much. Ever since that night my whole reputation was ruined, people just add on more and more lies all the time and spread more rumors, most of which aren’t true. I was called a slut and a whore so much that I just gave up and I started to act really reckless with boys, I lost all my respect for myself because I wasn’t getting it from anyone else, I gave up trying. I lost all my friends apart from one. Still to this day I can’t leave my house without being called a slut. I get slagged for everything I do. People had been spreading rumors for months that I was pregnant and that’s the reason I stopped leaving my house, but it was really because I felt so shitty about myself. I lost my virginity this year but everyone had been saying I lost it a long time before I did. I’m trying my best to change, not for other people but for myself, I want to be able to respect myself again and believe that I deserve respect from other people. I don’t know what to do anymore though because nobody ever believes me, because I’m the girl in the situation. I don’t think I’ve ever done anything with a boy that I didn’t feel pressured into but I just do it because I don’t know any other way.
I am now 32 years old and it still goes on. I am very lucky to have such a great family and good friends who believe in me.
This entry includes references to rape.
When I was 16 I was bullied and mobbed, which led to self-harm and a forced placement within a panic room. After my second period in a panic room, I luckily quickly recovered. A boyfriend when I was 21 raped me, and forced me to do sexual things I didn't like at all. I was brainwashed. He also was cheating on me with other girls. Later he took it to the next level by slut shaming me via email and via Instagram. I am now 32 years old and it still goes on. I am very lucky to have such a great family and good friends who believe in me. I took major steps by removing my account via Facebook. With my story I want to make other girls aware that this is also not only in the USA, but in The Netherlands, a very common way of mobbing girls and women.
“Going to school was a nightmare. Someone had saved the photo and begun texting it around the school.”
When I was in 9th grade I was on a video chat with a boy I liked. He had asked to see my boobs so I showed him. Without my knowledge he had taken a screenshot of my webcam. I'm not sure how the picture got to where it did, but shortly after I was contact by a boy a few years older than me that I did not know. He threatened that he had a photo of me that he was going to spread around but I did not believe him, so I blocked him, but was again added by another boy and a girl I did not know. They sent me the screenshot my of webcam and threatened to spread it around if I didn't meet up with them. I had a boyfriend by this time, the boy said I had to give him a blowjob and make my boyfriend have sex with the girl. I blocked them both because I was so scared and they had harassed me for days. It has quieted down for a week or so. My school was let out early due to a leak and I lived across the street so myself and a few friends went to my house and sat in my basement. I logged into Facebook on my computer (I did not have a cell phone) and saw a post that was made 3 hours ago. I was tagged in the screenshot photo of my webcam, the post was public and showing on my own timeline for all my friends and family to see. I reported the post immediately and untagged myself. I had a bunch of inbox messages from friends warning me of the post. I was mortified so I ignored them all. Then, minutes later, there was a knock on my door. It was my childhood friend's mother. I have known the entire family since I was only 6 years old and was very close to the whole family. I nearly threw up when she told me why she was at my house. She had seen the post and was unable to get ahold of me so she drove across town to come to my house to warn me. She had gone onto all her kids and her husband's facebook to report the photo. The next day going to school was a nightmare. Everyone had gotten out early the day before, so many people had seen the photo. Someone had saved the photo and had begun texting it around the school. I tracked it back to the person who saved it, which was mortifying because I had to come face to face with so many people who had seen a private photo of me to ask them who sent them it. The guy who saved the photo was very apologetic and deleted it but it was already too late. The next few weeks were hard but thankfully living in a big city in a large school, the gossip faded and someone else became the new news. But that month in my life still haunts me 10 years later.
I met a boy in 6th grade who stood up for me until no one wanted to be his friend, so then he became two different people - one when we were alone and one around others.
This entry includes references to rape and self-harm.
When I was in 5th grade, my 'friend' told my whole grade I wanted to sleep with two guys. This wasn't true, but it didn't matter. I met a boy in 6th grade who stood up for me until no one wanted to be his friend, so then he became two different people - one when we were alone and one around others. He threatened to rape me in the girl's bathroom at least five times, but thankfully never did. After 8th grade, he had his friends pull an 8-hour "prank" on me: They threatened to kill me if I didn't sleep with them. I ended up overdosing on July 5, 2015. But now, in 11th grade, the 'slut'-shaming for me is over. - Adrianna, Tennessee
There is never an excuse for rape and it is ridiculous that people still have to be taught this.
I've recently started researching sexism and slut-shaming for an assignment at school and it has got me thinking about all the times I've been sexually assaulted and not even realized it was actually sexual assault. When I was 15 I started going to parties and drinking lots with my friends. I used to have all these guys that I was friends with and even some I had never met before grab my ass and tell me how much they would like to fuck me. I didn't really have a problem with it and they were usually drunk and high, so I never really told them to get off or stop. I would also occasionally hook up with these guys so I just figured what the point in telling them to stop if I'm just going to hook up with some of them anyway. One day I went to a small party at my friend's house, it was only close friends so I didn't think anything would happen. I went to this party and got the drunkest I had ever been. I was falling all over the place and even vomited a few times. At one point I went outside with two of my guy friends for a smoke, when we were on our way back inside one grabbed me and pushed me against the shed we were standing behind and started kissing me, I went along with it at first I didn't think there was any harm. At this point, we were the only two outside. He kept telling me that he wanted me to suck his dick. When I said no he grabbed my hand and pushed it down to his dick and told me that a hand job "would be okay." I ended up just pushing him off and going back inside. When I told my best friend and the other guy I was outside with they kept an eye on me all night and made sure this guy didn't try anything again. On the following Monday, everyone at school knew cause he told everyone. I wasn't ever explicitly called a slut or whore but I was labelled by some people as reckless and a little too "friendly". Some people have even said that I will end up getting raped because I've been known to not be able to control the amount I drink. As crazy as it sounds I have started to believe that its true; not because I'm too "friendly" or reckless but because boys these days think that a drunken yes is still consent even if they know that you wouldn't say the same thing if you were sober, and some just can't understand that no means no. Something needs to be done in order to help both men and women because I shouldn't have to be taught by my friends and family that if I don't control myself someone will rape me. Boys should always be taught that no means no and that even if a girl drunkenly says yes it is still not consenting. There is never an excuse for rape and it is ridiculous that people still have to be taught this. - Isabelle
I still have scar tissue from all of it.
This entry includes descriptions of sexual assault and suicide.
This was my junior year of high school. I had a tight group of friends that I deeply trusted. I have struggled with depression for as long as I can remember and I finally opened up to them about it. Some time later I fought with my best friend in the group and she and the other girls turned against me and started spreading rumors. I had kissed a boy we knew and it was a mistake and I regretted it and they started telling everyone how much I messed around with guys. And no matter what I did or said, they found a way that it was slutty. I started dating a guy and they said it was only because he was hot. I wore tall boots over unripped jeans and a flannel shirt and they told me I looked like a whore in front of our entire friend group. During this time I was emotionally manipulated and then physically forced to give a guy a blowjob, and I was told by this boy that it was my fault, and while those girls never found out about the sexual assault, their continued comments and the rumors they spread combined with the sexual assault almost led me to kill myself. I still have scar tissue from all of it.
I wish sometimes that I had never developed physically the way I did. Maybe I wouldn't hate myself.
The minute I developed curves, I became proud that I was becoming a woman. However, now that I'm 15 and with G-cup breasts, I'm starting to think that all I'm destined for is sexual harassment from peers and older men alike, as well as occasional sexual assault. Am I only destined to be sexualized and slut-shamed? As soon as I moved to my current school this year, people started questioning my virginity and spread it to students and teachers. They spread these rumours before they even got to know me. Everyone believes it. Why wouldn't they? Even the guys who like me think I talk and flirt with 15 guys an hour. I only ever talk to them, but they don't really believe it. Some only actually talk to me because they think I'm easy to get with. Even my classmates and friends treat me as if I'm easy. I'm cast as the "mistress" in all our performances. I wish sometimes that I had never developed physically the way I did. Maybe I wouldn't hate myself.
I truly thought I was alone but after surfing the web I realized that I was being slut shamed. And I want to tell my story to others.
This entry includes reference to suicide.
When I was 15 I would hang out with my friends (consisting of mostly guys). I got along with guys, cause I grew up with many. I would wear what my friends wore, but since I had a bigger chest and hung out with mostly guys, guys would say I was a slut. I ignored them and tried not to believe their words. The part where it actually got worse was when I went on vacation with my family. I'm not so close to that side of my family, so I tried talking to most of my female cousins but they would just push me aside. This led to me talking to the guys, my cousin's boyfriend and another cousin's husband, both young but not my type. It turns out that my cousins boyfriend was caught searching me up, and this made my cousin jump to conclusions and eventually she thought I was trying to get with him. But I just tried talking to him to pass time and as well as a reason to get closer to my cousin. That wasn't what she believed so she called me and told family members that I was trying to steal her boyfriend, clearly not true, but it was what she believed. I was confronted by many of my cousins and I spoke the truth only to be called a liar, and even if they didn't say it to me personally, also slut shaming me, analyzing every picture or post I put on social media, and every move I had made on the trip when I was around the boyfriend. This affected my mental and physical state. I tried telling my side of the story and no one believed me. They said that because of how I dressed it wasn't a surprise to them. I was now viewed as a catch to the males in my family, and a slut to the females. I truly thought I was alone and thought about committing suicide but after surfing the web I realized that I was being slut shamed. And I want to tell my story to others.
I kept expecting every day for my body to show some indication that I was tainted and impure.
This entry includes descriptions of rape and self-harm.
When I was fifteen I was hanging out with a friend. I had a huge crush on him. Not on his 6 friends who came over and tied me up. All of them took turns doing what they called "skull fucking" me. No matter how much I cried. No matter how much I begged them to stop. I thought I was destroyed. I kept expecting every day for my body to show some indication that I was tainted and impure. I could not tell my mom or my sisters or my friends. I thought they would hate me. Tell me I deserved it. It was a long time before I could even talk about it. I wanted to kill myself. I harmed myself every day for years. That's what my mom noticed. I went to therapy. To this day my mother doesn't know what drove me to hurt myself, to this day I'm scared of what she'll think of me. To this day I am terrified of oral sex and nervous during every sexual encounter. I am all too aware that if a man wants my body, he can take it by force. - Anonymous in Ohio
I didn't know what to do once he had said 'give me a kiss' so I just froze. Since that day, I was branded as a slut.
Back in primary school, my best friend and I were inseparable. She was dating a guy whom I became quite close with. As time went by, he basically became like my brother. Their relationship was actually quite deep despite the fact that it was a primary school relationship. They dated for a year and at the end of the year, he broke up with her. She was utterly devastated by the break up and cried for days. Despite the fact that he had hurt her, she still had feelings for him. What was weird was that even though they broke up, they'd behave as though they were still dating. Then one day when she didn't come to school, he kissed me. Not only did he kiss me, he was actually my first kiss. I didn't know what to do once he had said 'give me a kiss' so I just froze. Since that day, I was branded as a slut and a man stealer. What a great first kiss story. - Anonymous in South Africa
Now I have a daughter, and there is no sex act that can ever impinge upon her great value as a being worthy of love, respect and kindness.
I'm 35 and I've been slut shamed because I had a boyfriend when I was eighteen. My mother knew and she knew I'd slept with him. When she found out she tried to lock me out of the family home and there were screaming fits about how I was "damaged goods" and how she was so ashamed. Fast forward thirteen years and I had recently delivered my second baby with my husband of twelve years. My husband and I are very happy together and he always knew I'd had the one boyfriend before him. My newborn daughter had serious health complications and we were very anxious about her; as such we had asked relatives to be as calm as possible and not indulge in the usual excited new baby partying. My mother was unhappy about losing the opportunity to show off and felt anger and resentment towards me. A month after the birth and two days after the funeral of my best friend she expressed this anger by slut shaming me to my husband. She started screaming at him (in front of our other child) about, "did he know what I was", and how I had, "dirty little secrets". My husband picked up the children and ushered me out. We have not seen her in nearly three years. I still maintain that I have done nothing wrong in having a boyfriend, I was an adult, it is my body and was my choice to make. What angers me most is that in the eyes of many that choice has damaged or reduced me as a human being. My free choice is portrayed as something which has caused me to lessen in value. My choice has become an act which is fundamentally shameful and which makes me less acceptable as a wife and something which can be used to punish me with for decades to come. Now I have a daughter, and there is no sex act that can ever impinge upon her great value as a being worthy of love, respect and kindness. - Anonymous in South England
"Ten no's followed by one yes doesn't mean I consented. It means I was bullied into saying yes."
This entry includes descriptions of rape.
For the past 6 years of my life I have been in a healthy and happy relationship with a beautiful and wonderful man. Unfortunately sometimes he can also be a nightmare come to life. My boyfriend enjoys anal sex, which I have no issue with. I myself have consent on a number of occasions to it and we enjoy a healthy sexual relationship that's centred around respect and trust. However one day we started to become intimate and he asked if we could try anal intercourse as it had been a while. I consented and we began. Instantly I disliked it, it was uncomfortable and I was in a great deal of pain. I asked him to stop and I said I didn't want to carry on this time. I promised that when I felt ready for it we could carry on another time. He started to beg me to carry on, saying it would only take a few minutes, that he loved me, that he had needs, that he wouldn't hurt me. I kept saying no not today, another time but not today. He kept persisting. Saying he loved me so much, that he wanted his needs met. He kept repeating that it would only be quick. He promised I wouldn't feel any pain. I was lying on my front while he sat on my legs, effectively I was trapped. Eventually I gave in, wanting him off of me and for it all to just stop. A few months later I spent the night at his house, and as was common we cuddled together naked before bed. Just before we drifted of he makes me aware that he wants to have sex. Just normal sex this time as we were both tired and didn't want to start anything too complex. It was 12'o clock at night and I was tired. I let him know I wanted to just go to sleep and that in the morning, if I consented, we could do it then. He again persisted. Being tired and knowing if I didn't say yes he would keep pestering me like last time I said yes. It was uncomfortable and painful and after I felt like crying. My perfect boyfriend who everyone was jealous of didn't seem to understand no. A few days later after confiding in a close friend and crying I put my foot down. Enough was enough. I was not going to let this happen again. So I told him, when I say no it means no. When I say I'm tired and I want to sleep it means no. When I say something is painful and I want to stop that means stop.
People always talk about the dangers women and men face in regards to rape, yet no one mentions sexual coercion, which is when tactics like pressure, trickery, or emotional force are used to get someone to agree to sex. What this means is if you are made to consent it isn't really consent. It's like if someone was to hold a gun to your head and make you give them all your money, just because you handed them the money doesn't mean you did it freely. You were forced to in fear of what would happen if you didn't. When you are made to say yes that doesn't mean you consented. I said yes not because I wanted to but because I feared if I didn't I would be forced to carry on away. I convinced myself for months that because I had said yes that I had consented. I try to convince myself that what had happened was right because I did say yes. It doesn't matter. I may have said yes but before that I had said no multiple times. Ten no's followed by one yes doesn't mean I consented. It means I was bullied into saying yes. It's important to remember that sometimes saying yes doesn't mean you're ok or that you fully give consent. It's ok to say no and mean it. It's ok to turn down someone. It's also ok to tell them that they are a bully and that they aren't allowed to hurt you anymore. Fortunately my boyfriend is remorseful and understands what he did. I truly believe that he will listen when I say no in the future, but I know others might be stuck in relationship where they are made to say yes. Put your foot down. Scream no for the whole world to hear. If they ignore you run away, report them, fight back. Whatever you need to do to stop them. You are beautiful and deserve to have your body respected.
I was "slut" shamed some time before 5th grade.
I was "slut" shamed some time before 5th grade. In my native language my last name contains the root of the word 'easy' (as well as the root for an old word for 'forest' - thats where it actually comes from). So this boy came up to me and said: Well your name contains the word easy so you must be... easy. - Anonymous
I'm hoping that we as women can break this stigma and support one another. We already have enough going against us, why add more to it?
I didn't think I could experience "slut" shaming at 30 years of age. I had recently broken up with a long term boyfriend and felt the need to go out and meet new people. So I did what any awkward, newly single woman would do: I joined a few dating sites. I talked to both men and women, seeing what I liked and didn't like. I even met up some of them for dates. The only problem with that, according to my close friends, was that I wasn't portraying myself in a "good light." Long story short, my friends seemed to think that I was becoming a slut because I wanted to go on dates several times a week with different people, whether it was dinner, a movie, or even just a walk around the park. It was shocking to them that I had already kissed a guy I just met on the second time meeting him. Apparently, women aren't supposed to go on more than one date with a different guy. You're supposed to talk to a guy for months before agreeing to meet with him and then wait even more to introduce him to your friends. I'm not old fashioned and after coming out of a verbally and emotionally abusive relationship (the one prior to my recent one), I wasn't going to settle anymore. I just hope that this helps to show that no matter the age, you can still be slut shamed. I'm hoping that we as women can break this stigma and support one another. We already have enough going against us, why add more to it? - Anonymous in Maryland
I was slut shamed and body shamed, beat up in hallways because I was different.
This entry includes references to rape and suicide.
When I was in 2nd grade, I was sexually assaulted by a classmate. I put up with the assault for 2 years until I finally came forward and told somebody about it. I was raped in 7th grade by a 10th grader and then I became depressed. When I turned 16 I was addicted to drugs and alcohol and I even attempted suicide. I was bullied because of that event. I was slut shamed and body shamed, beat up in hallways because I was different. When I was 17 I was an exchange student in Seoul, South Korea. I went to Seoul High School and everything was better, at least for a while. I would always wear long-sleeved shirts and jeans and always sit in the back. One day I had been in the process of being beaten up when a group of 7 boys came up and told everyone to leave me alone. They did, and I was able to finish off highschool without bullies. And then after I graduated in 2014, I went into rehab and got myself clean and then landed a job where I have been happily working since 2014. - Ellen Smith
Men alone are not the culprits. There are women who look down on others who dress a certain way or the way they talk. Why?
I'm Tina and this is my story. When I was 10, I gathered all the courage to go talk to this boy I liked. Before I could start, he slapped me right across my face. I was roughly 13 when I was asked to play defense and we opted man-on-man because why not. As we started playing, a player from the opposing team came up to me and grabbed my boobs. He was my senior. I was scared and didn't speak of it until a few years back. I've also been slut-shamed for being very open and flirtatious. I've been berated by a lot of men for being a certain way. Why is it only the women who are open and bold get laid? This guy would always pass lewd comments about me right to my face, like "Your face looks like shit. You're a fucking shit face, you're so black." Men alone are not the culprits. There are women who look down on others who dress a certain way or the way they talk. Why? Because I'm apparently giving out hints that I'm available and I'm all for you. Really, the other day I was fully clothed, and I was stalked and was looked upon in an obscene sort of way. According to the survey conducted in Britain, which happens to record one of the highest numbers of rapes before India, asked a bunch of rapists what makes you want to rape a woman? They subtly replied that when women let their hair down, it makes them want to rape women. Now we should just shave our heads, right? I could go on about various other events that happened but I'm not ready. - Tina Edwin
I've been told I'm going to die a slut. I peel my scabs because of it. They don't even say my name anymore.
This entry includes references to self-harm and sexual assault.
I have been sexual bullied for 4 years now. It still hurts. I'm only 17 and I'm considered "easy," "a bitch," and "a hoe." They made up a lie that I was "sexual assaulted" by my father when he hasn't hurt me. I cringe every time I hear it. Boys always ask me for boob and butt pics. I feel worthless. Also, I’m still a virgin so I also get shamed for that. I feel as if I'm stalked, as well as if anything could happen to me. I've been told I'm going to die a slut. I peel my scabs because of it. They don't even say my name anymore. Sigh...
During the visit I was wasted, I was high. I then blacked out, I came to and I was naked. I had done something I wouldn't want to do.
I was 10 years old when me and my family had to move to a city for better education. I had met a few friends. We would sneak alcohol and drugs such as marijuana. It got to a point where I wanted to feel as badass as them. So I picked up the bottle, and I smoked what we could get. All my allowance that could have been for cool clothes and a nice haircut went to drugs. When I ran out I was no longer a part of the circle of friends. I was considered "cut". Soon it turned into monkey see, monkey do. I lost my virginity at age 14, to a sixteen year old boy whose girl friend would later confront me about being with him. I made up my mind and had left him. I was once at a party, 15? 16 years old? And I had gotten really drunk. A big fight started happening, and a friend had told me we could sit at her boyfriend's house. On our way to his house in a vehicle I was offered three double stacked ecstasy pills, all at once. During the visit I was wasted, I was high. I then blacked out, I came to and I was naked. I had done something I wouldn't want to do. I'm 21 now and the friend still won't "let it go". A part of me says she won't because I know she's done stuff too, and she's making me feel like that to make herself seem better. I'm back in my hometown, and I never felt so comfortable, I realize the people in my home town are family. When I think it's only me who has been through this, it's probably happened before. I am just so blessed to get out of that healthy and alive. God bless those people who accept everyone.
This kid started rumors about me. He said that I "liked" about 8 different people and so people at my school started thinking I was a slut.
This entry includes references to violence.
When I was in seventh grade, I met this boy. I'll say his name was Stephen. Stephen was an eighth grader and I soon fell for him. Hard. Stephen had a lot of friends and he was what you would consider "popular." We sat next to each other in Physical Education because his last name came after mine alphabetically. He and his best friends, Stephen #2 (yes, they had the same name) and Frank, talked to me nearly every day and my extremely boring life soon became exciting. Something new every day. I thought everything was great. I had tons of friends, and Stephen still didn't know I liked him, so he continued to talk to me. Just about at the start of the new year, Stephen stopped talking to me. Stephen #2 and Frank talked to me often still and so did Stephen's other friends, but I was scared that Stephen had found out. Just before Christmas break, in fact a week and day before, my friend Katelyn, without my permission, told Stephen that I liked him. He said he figured it out already. I was crushed. Every day, I went on as normal. Nobody knew, but I was crushed on the inside. On the day after my 13th birthday, Stephen messaged me on Instagram a long, and very detailed, paragraph on why I should leave him alone. He liked another 8th grade girl, let's say her name is Amelia, and she liked him back. The message explained that. As time went on, this kid Jack started rumors about me. He said that I liked about 8 different people and so people at my school started thinking I was a slut. I only liked Stephen though, and this was really difficult for me. Later, I was on Instagram and I found this boy, I'll call him Zack. Zack didn't go to my school and I never met him, but he was friends with Stephen and all of Stephen's friends. I began to have a crush on Zack and I had my friend Hana text Stephen that. He was surprised, but though none of my friends knew, I still liked Stephen a lot. Just a few days after Hana told Stephen that I liked him, things started to get out of hand. Someone I didn't know messaged me to let them into my group chat with Jack, a girl named Violet, and a boy named Liam and said if I didn't then he would get me. Thinking it was not a big deal, I let him into the group chat and he said he stalked all of us. We thought he was joking so we went on as usual and then it got weird. The day after he was let into the chat, he attacked Jack. He went to Jack's house and physically attacked him. Then he sent all of our phone numbers out and all of our addresses into the chat and he said he was coming for Violet next. At that point, we were freaked out so Jack called the police. They said they would try and track the guy down and we were trying to stay calm. A day later, the guy found out who I liked and he spread it through the school, making me seem like an even bigger slut because he said I "stalked" Zack on Instagram. The rest of my school year was hell. Me, Jack, Violet, and Liam had to be questioned by the police and it was crazy. The next year I went to a different middle school for the 8th grade so I got away from it, but I will never forget that year.
When I had the guts to tell my friends what happened, they believed me but made fun of me for it. I was labelled a slut and a whore.
This entry includes a description of sexual assault.
I wasn't like most popular kids in my school. When they liked Drake, Rihanna or Ariana Grande - I liked Halsey, Lana and Hey Violet. But I was still fairly popular. I had come terms to my sexuality and I was damn confident in my own skin. But you see, sex talk doesn't mix with teenagers in a Catholic school, except for maybe older students (I was a freshman back then). And when you're sexually promiscuous, someone was bound to find out. I've heard of students getting kicked out for being blackmailed to send nudes to boys, I've heard of stories where a drunk girl was forcefully fingered in the bathroom. I've even heard of stories where students were raped. And I thought maybe they were just dark stories, created to shut down the slut shaming the people involved had been receiving. Everything changed one day. I was practicing with a group of friends at the back of the school, by the swimming pool. We weren't high nor drunk, we were sober back then. It all started when a guy who had been part of my past crushes told me "I look seductive," while I was singing the song Trouble by Halsey. I didn't mind it at first, one of my friends (let's call her May), even laughed at the guy. I looked at May and just shook my head. But then, the guy said "What if you give May a lap dance? That'd be so hot." I didn't think it was a joke. It didn't seem like one, so I stormed out of the place and sat underneath the shade of a tree (it was still pretty near). But then out of the blue, the guy was standing in front of me. I stood up, knowing that he was probably sent to fetch me back, but as I was about to go. He grabbed a hold of my hand and pushed me to the trunk of the tree. His body was larger than me and he was taller, and I couldn't do anything, his face was a few feet away from mine and his fingers were roaming, and I was so repulsed. I told him to stop but he didn't. And when I finally thought it was over, I saw two of my close friends standing behind debris from an old building, and they couldn't look at me in the eye, and I couldn't take it. I looked at the guy and I wanted to vomit and he just looked at like he was satisfied that he took away my virginity, and then I ran. The next days I couldn't sleep, I couldn't do anything. Seniors were talking about it. I was angry, because they started calling me a slut, they started offering money so I could blow them. I was angry that the school administration didn't find out because it was everybody's little secret. The guy controlled everyone in my class, and when I had the guts to tell my friends what happened, they believed me but made fun of me for it. The witnesses - the two friends who saw me - didn't want to talk. I was labelled a slut and a whore. It ruined me because every time I broke down, they would tell me to get over it because it was my fault anyways. If it wasn't for my sensual vibe, that people wouldn't get the idea that I was still a virgin. That I wouldn't be called a slut. After a few weeks, our Christmas Party required that every girl would wear a dress, not less than two inches above the knee. Mine was three inches below the knee, and when I finally thought nobody would bother, our class picture was spammed with comments, slut shaming me for wearing a dress. My friends sided with the hate, because if I covered myself up nobody would think differently. And that is where I learned that even if you wear pants, you could still be called a slut.
The people who insist there's a right way women should act are just controllers, and I can't let them run my life. We shouldn't let them run our lives.
I have been slut shamed on FB for flirting with guys and saying they're sexy. I've heard of this happening to other women too. They'll say you're being a creep, or would you tolerate a guy treating a woman this way. I feel a lot of it is women shaming women for having any sexual feelings. Like policing other women's sexuality, for what reason, I don't know. Is it they feel threatened by women who own their sexuality, or women who just make more friends with guys than girls? If someone said back off I'll back off but it's never just that. It's usually some sort of accusation of being too sexual like, the last time it was, "Stop saying you want to bang my boyfriend!" and I don't even remember that happening. I do have a problem with taking things too personally, and they may have just decided to randomly go after me. I think the worst thing is it's made me fearful of being friends with other women and trusting them. It seems they get a boyfriend and just go ballistic on every women they know. I really get upset at the thought of hurting anyone, but I think I need to start realizing in this situation the only thing I can do is leave. It's strange how this happens so often to guys yet if a man treated his girlfriend in a way like saying she can't have any contact with other guys everyone would be mad. Of course there's all the stuff generally about men being abused by women and people not caring. I think what troubles me is I try to see it from their perspective, and all I can think is how can they hurt their partner like this? If you worry your guy is unfaithful talk to him about it. I mean I know abusers are about isolation, and most likely they're trying to isolate him. But maybe they're scared. I just know I'm tired of losing guy friends to this. I also know I need to stop believing if I act right this won't happen. The people who insist there's a right way women should act are just controllers, and I can't let them run my life. We shouldn't let them run our lives. Why should someone feel they need to apologize for wanting to make someone happy?
By talking about it, by airing my wounds, I feel like I can heal instead of fester.
I'm in the military and in 2012 I had a relationship with someone who was also in the military, a Drill Instructor out of Lackland Air Force Base while I was living in North Carolina, stationed at Pope AFB. We met on Facebook through a mutual friend. We bridged the distance by sending intimate pictures and I didn't think much of it because we were planning to meet and it helped keep the relationship going. Besides I had done it with other relationships I had been in and it hadn't been an issue. When I was finally about to fly out and meet him, it just didn't work out and I assumed we had left on good terms. After all, he was seeing someone else and posting her pictures on Facebook about a month later. I was genuinely happy for him and hoped everything worked out. We eventually got out of touch and I didn't think much of him until a little over a year later, when a co-worker pulled me aside and asked if some pictures he found were mine. Little did I know, my pictures I had sent him had been posted online. I was horrified. What was even more horrific was another co-worker that I hadn't worked with in years also tracked me down to inform me my pictures were online. We weren't even stationed together - he was stationed in Japan at the time. I went to the JAG (legal advocate) and he was basically no help. The guy that had posted the pictures was part of a sex scandal at Lackland and as a parting gift when he was discharged, he posted the pictures. The most we could do was go through the humiliating process of requesting the pictures be taken off the site. I wanted to believe the nightmare was over - but on sites like reddit and imgur (where the pictures were posted) there is a "like, comment and share" function like on Facebook. It had been shared over 20 times. It was only a matter of time before my pictures resurfaced. And they did a little over a year later, when a guy I went through a military course with found them on another site. And then another 6 months later a stranger found me through Facebook to inform me about the pictures again... and 3 months after that another stranger found me... all the anxiety and paranoia I already was feeling flamed back up. It was affecting my personal life. I was wonderIng if life was worth living. It was never like this event was a single fixed point in my life that I couldn't walk away from. I was afraid of pursuing job opportunities for fear of how I'd look if someone had seen my pictures. I was always on edge when I worked with people because I never knew if my professionalism was overshadowed because someone had seen my pictures online. I've been in a dark place for a long time, hiding my dirty little secret. It feels so hopeless because it'll never go away. It's always out there and even if it's buried, it just takes someone finding them, deciding to make the pictures their own and posting them on a site to make them new again. There is no such thing as "old news" with this. I finally decided that it was enough. The military has a sexual assault awareness and prevention program and I talked to the coordinator. I needed to get it out. I've shared my story for them to use and I'm working on becoming a trainer. I believe in the power of the word. By talking about it, by airing my wounds, I feel like I can heal instead of fester. I still have bad days. I still feel worthless. I have to dig deep some days to find my worth. It's hard to let people get close and it's very difficult to have meaningful personal relationships with men. Some days I'm so angry my pictures are passed around like playing cards - on "for pay" sites... sites that generate income through ads and viewership. It makes me soooo angry. But I can't live that way. I have to make the decision that life is worth living. I can change this by taking ownership of it and make something positive out of it for myself. It doesn't have to consume me. Slowly but surely I can make this right for me.
People to this day call me a slut and bully me because of the actions that happened in middle school.
This entry includes references to self-harm.
When I was in seventh grade at Mt. Abraham Union middle and high school, I decided to send a nude to a guy I really liked. I didn't think anything of it because I knew the guy since I was a baby. We were very close. Surprisingly enough, he didn't send it to his friends or to anyone. He also never said a word about to it anyone. What started the whole slut shaming and bullying towards me was my best friend who I grew up with. I told her because after I sent it I regretted it and didn't know what to do. Instead of keeping it to herself, she told my mom. Who told her friends and such. By the next day, people were calling me a slut and more. It got to the point where I would slice my wrists, my thighs, and more. I just wanted to die. I went from being a straight A student to never wanting to go to school. In 8th grade, I eventually moved to South Royalton, Vermont. Even though I moved, I kept in touch with friends down in Bristol, Vermont and such. I went back down to go to some friend's house. While there, I was getting dressed and she took a picture of my breasts. She sent it to EVERYONE through KIK messenger. I never looked back or went back unless it was to see family. People to this day call me a slut and bully me because of the actions that happened in middle school.
Since I reported it, I have realized that I will never give anyone the power to hurt me that way ever again.
This entry includes reference to rape.
I was 14, dating this 17 year old, and we were hanging at my house for April vacation back in 2016. We had never sex before but we had done other stuff and he had a background of being forceful with me, and I just didn't expect anything bad to happen to ME. I went to take a shower and I was so vulnerable and I went a year thinking that it was all my fault because I was not wearing anything and I wasn't tough enough to fight him off. He raped me and we never talked about it to this day. I have had a criminal case pending on him but nothing has happened and we have gotten no further in 5 months. Since I reported it, I have realized that I will never give anyone the power to hurt me that way ever again. - Kristin Landry, Middlebury, Vermont
The grief of losing my family has been the most difficult thing I have ever endured.
This entry includes references to sexual assault.
I would like to share my story of sexual abuse from my father, my 4th grade teacher, and other men! What I am most passionate about is finding my voice. The journey it took to get here and now wanting to help others. I was sexually molested by my father from infancy to 12 years of age. The most traumatic time was being groomed and abused by my 4th grade teacher at the same time my dad was molesting me. The shame started when my body started to change and develop. How confused I was not knowing what was happening as men would whistle and make comments to me about my body. SO confused and I had nowhere to turn or anyone to talk to. It makes sense now that I didn't. After years of counseling, medications to stabilize me, and estrangement from my family of origin I began to find my voice. I began to see why I was silenced and had no idea why these strange feelings were happening to me at such a young age and how much I blocked out. What I did do at an early age was numb with alcohol and I would feel a rush getting attention from men and yet feeling very unattractive. I didn't know why, I just knew that as I drank more and went out to the clubs I NEEDED to feel validated from men and yet I felt so very empty. I feel I am one of the lucky ones. I did get herpes from an older gentleman when I was in my 20's, and I also had an affair on my husband early on in my marriage. I needed to feel and express myself and yet didn't know why. It has been one hell of a long road back to me. I love the 54 year old woman I am today and stand proud in my journey and all the work I have done. But I am saddened by the shame and the confusion sexual abuse and assault brings. I am sick that survivors speak out to their abusers and more times than not you are not heard or the abuser denies it. This shame comes at a great cost. My family (aunts, uncles, siblings, parents, cousins) have chosen to deny that my dad and mom would ever do such a thing. The grief of losing my family has been the most difficult thing I have ever endured. I stand proud today in my marriage, knowing who I am, full of confidence, wisdom and strength. Thank you for this incredible project and documentary.
The rumors began that I was the professor's little slut and that I slept with him to get good grades. No one would believe that he drugged and raped me.
This entry includes a description of rape.
Well I never thought I would be sharing this with anyone, but I feel like it's finally time. So it was my freshman year of college and I was so excited to be away from home and on my own. Everything was great for the first few months and I even made a lot of new friends. However it wasn't meant to be. I am a Political Science major and my government professor was younger, maybe in his early thirties, and he was super nice to all of his students. Well sometimes I would come in and go over notes after class and we became closer. After going to him privately for maybe three weeks, the first incident occurred. He was standing next to me and I was leaning over his desk reading a few sections of notes when he rubbed his hand against my upper thigh. I didn't react much because I was deep in thought, so he proceeded to grab my butt. When he did that I kinda jumped and he just had a smirk on his face before telling me all my notes were good and dismissing me. After that I felt uncomfortable but not too worried. If only I knew what was going to happen next. Maybe two weeks later he sent me an email and wanted me to come to his personal office to go over an assignment I had turned in. I arrived at 6pm like he had asked me to and took a seat across from him. We talked for awhile before he got up and offered me a drink. I was thirsty so I said sure. Not even 10 minutes after drinking the water did I begin to feel tired and weak. Then he made his move. He came up behind me and grabbed my chest and began to kiss my neck. I tried to push him off but couldn't. Next thing I remember he was pulling off my panties and bending me over his desk. Then he raped me. I woke up half naked the next morning outside his office. I tried to hurry back to my dorm but enough people saw me. The rumors began that I was the professor's little slut and that I slept with him to get good grades. No one would believe that he drugged and raped me. The rumors and lies became too much, so I transferred schools. Life is better now and I'm a junior in college. I am having a great time, but will never be able to forget what happened to me freshman year. - Alice
The first time I was assaulted, I was eleven.
This entry includes a description of sexual assault.
The first time I was assaulted, I was eleven. With my friend's family, waiting to pick her up from a trip. We stayed the night at their friend's house. The dad and his friend watched me and the two younger girls get ready for bed. Asked me to take off my top and talked about my breast development and body. That night, we three girls were in bed together and the friend came in and molested me with his hands and fingers. It hurt and I was terrified. Pretended to be asleep, told myself he was like a doctor, pinched my bed mate as hard as I could to try and wake her. After he told me that if I told anyone he would kill my parents. In the morning when I left, he was sleeping in a sleeping bag on the living room floor and gave me a significant mean stare. I did not tell. I sometimes think I know who he is. (I do not.) That he now lives in my hometown. I want to ask his wife if they used to live by the playground in Vale. I am triggered by seeing the person I suspect. If I knew for sure I do not know exactly what I would do. My youngest daughter is eleven.
I don't really have any hopes for this submission, just that I can get something off my chest that is hounding me night and day.
This entry includes a description of sexual assault.
I was at camp when I was 15. I had been to the camp twice before and was looking forward to a few weeks away from home. There was a boy there that didn't quite fit in. On the first day he approached me and asked if I would go out with him. I said no, and assumed that that was that. The next day he came back again with a drawing of me, a pornographic drawing. I was alarmed, and turned to my friend for help. I was told that he had a mental disability that prevented him from understanding others' feelings and wishes, so I let him off the hook temporarily. Soon he started following me around, yelling to me about my beauty even when I asked him to stop. Two weeks in, my best friend there left, and I was alone. I told the counsellors there that I was not comfortable being around him, and they shared my concerns. He had brought a knife with him, and on the first night threatened (possibly jokingly) to kill himself and others. He creeped on other younger girls, and bullied the few out LGBT kids. One day he cornered me and jumped on me. He managed to hold me down and take my running shorts off before I kicked him hard enough to wind him. He grabbed a sharp stick and tried to stab me with it, so I took a large rock and smashed it against his head. I tried to kill him. He ran away. I tried to tell someone, anyone, but I didn't have the vocabulary or knowledge to describe the attack or its motives. After that day, my panic attacks I had been having as a result of fear of him got worse. I couldn't breathe or speak, so I spent a lot of time lying face down on the nurse's cot. I was so afraid that he would try again, and that he would succeed.
The worst part is that I don't know if I can blame him. He clearly did not understand my fervent 'NO' to mean get off. But I sure as hell do not blame myself. I've only told two people, any more and I remember too much. I've always prided myself in being a strong independent woman, so I can't talk or think about my assault. After I left I spent a few months completely blocking it out, then in school a completely male class (except for me) brought everything back up. Once again I heard justification for rape, assault, humiliation; all said while I was in the room with no other women to help me. I'm trying to forget it again, but it's difficult. I don't even know if I can call myself a victim if I fought him off. I don't really have any hopes for this submission, just that I can get something off my chest that is hounding me night and day. -Gaia
She called me a liar. So the assault kept on.
This entry includes references to sexual assault and self-harm.
When I was younger I was sexually assaulted by my older brother. I told my grandmother (she is who I was living with at the time) but she didn't believe me. She called me a liar. So the assault kept on. I am 14 now it's been 8 years and I am bullied at school and constantly called a slut, whore, and etc. I suffer from self-harm and low self-esteem. Praying for one day it will all be better. - Tris Lavender
All I want is for someone to talk to me not because of my body or because I am "easy." I just want someone to like me for me.
I have measured my self worth in what boys say about me for as long as I can remember. I normally do whatever they want so I can feel good about myself, feel as though boys like me, or as though I am beautiful. Boys think I am easy. They call me a slut and screenshot my pictures. I can't stop though, I am stuck in this spot where I feel ugly and unwanted if I don't have a boy asking for me. I am considered a slut and I feel as though if I already have that reputation, so why change. I am sad and I feel unworthy of love. All I want is for someone to talk to me not because of my body or because I am "easy." I just want someone to like me for me.
Whether you end up reading this or not, I hope deep down you are aware of what you did to me, not in order to guilt you, but to educate you.
This entry includes descriptions of rape and self-harm.
I was 18 years old when I was raped. This was also the time I lost my virginity. The reason I am writing this today is because it has been now over a year since this has happened to me and my rapist is still not aware, and I am still struggling. There are very select few people in my life who know about this and there are repercussions to me writing this today. People can chose whether or not to believe me. That is their prerogative. But rape is not something to joke about. I would never wish what happened to me upon anyone. It is not a call for attention, what I went through is not a lie. To diminish a rape victim's experience is to perpetuate rape culture. It is to invalidate one of the hardest things a person can go through. It took me over a year to accept what happened to me and be vocal about it. Doing this has not been easy, and I am fucking scared. But I feel on many levels that it is essential for other rape survivors in my social circle, my mental health and growth as a woman. After a year of battling both depression and a severe anxiety disorder stemming from this incident, I believe it is time my rapist is called out. Speaking now directly to my rapist: You took advantage of a barely legal, intoxicated young girl. You dragged me to your apartment knowing full well I had not been with many boys before. You asked me if I wanted to have sex with you. I didn’t answer. When we got to your apartment, you started undressing me. You thrust yourself into me and after my constant cries of pain and asking you to stop, you did not. I, on multiple occasions, begged you to stop. When someone says no, no means fucking no. That’s all I kept thinking, but you held so much power over me physically. What could I do? I wanted so badly to run away. But I was trapped with you inside me. Once the act was finished and I was covered in a pool of my own blood, you looked at me in disgust and forced me to have a shower. The entire act was such a blur, and until today I have repressed it so far back in my mind. However I will never forget the pain you caused me, both physically and mentally. That will never go away. The next day, feeling beyond embarrassed, mortified and disgusted at myself, you made me go to a store and buy you new sheets for the “mess I made” and deliver it to you at your work. That was humiliation. I bled non-stop for three days straight and experienced multiple blood clots, I wasn’t eating or sleeping. I was deteriorating. Eventually I was so sick and weak that I decided to take a visit to the doctors by myself, crying the entire way there. This part no one knows, as I went by myself, in fear of telling anyone what had happened. The twist in this, one that has guilted me for a long time is that my rapist, a week earlier, had slept with my absolute best friend in the world. Before accepting I was raped, I had told a few friends that I had gotten with this boy and as a consequence lost many friends who labeled me a “whore” and “slut”. It has taken me lots of time to take the blame off myself for what happened. Too often the patriarchal society we live in conditions men and women alike to be so inherently misogynistic we don’t even realize it. This in itself is incredibly dangerous. It perpetuates not only rape culture but naturalizes violence and hatred towards women. Me “hooking up” with you was not the problem. What was wrong was you raping me. What kills me is that you got away with it. You got away with raping me. Because the sad society we live in taught me that I was a “slut” for sleeping with you because you had been with my best friend before me. Due to the emotional trauma I underwent, naturally, I began to change. I lost a lot of important people in my life to this, some people I have known since childhood. This breaks my heart because I have first hand seen and experienced the effects of rape culture. I lost multiple friends due to internalized misogyny, patriarchal conditioning, slut-shaming and a general misunderstanding of what I was going through both mentally and emotionally. I lost all these people in my life because I was a slut, because I was raped. For months I had been blaming myself for this incident, treating myself as the “slut” that all my friends had made me out to be, believing all the lies, hating myself. I lost all confidence in myself, I was broken… I do agree, during this time I was not the best version of myself. I was hateful. I was mean. I was hurting. I simply didn’t know how to deal with these complex emotions and what had happened to me. Those people aren’t in my life anymore for a reason and I’m glad. It is just sad for me to see that someone can be dealing with such an emotionally complex situation and put out so much emotional labour only for it to be misunderstood because of the stigma attached to rape and my fear of speaking up. No one understood what I was going through, I didn’t understand it myself.
I felt alone. I was alone. I know now that what happened is not my fault, but it doesn’t make that sentiment necessarily dissipate so easily. This rape led me to my demise - beginning in the summer of graduating high school and leading into my first year of university. I turned to drugs, alcohol and partying. I self medicated my problems by getting so fucked up I didn’t have to think about it, or the things I went through. Looking back, I now realize that this event, along with the various other toxic relationships with men I have engaged in after you, triggered my anxiety disorder, an eating disorder and severe depression, which I continue to fight every day. But every day I grow stronger, and vocalizing my experience will continue this growth for me. And I will be okay.
I don’t even think you are aware that you raped me. The act of sex has been so ingrained in a violent culture that when someone tells you to stop, when someone says no, it simply isn’t enough. You have no idea of the trauma and pain you have inflicted on me since, both personally and in my day to day relationships. When you raped me, you took away a part of me that I will never get back. An innocence, a happiness, a love for myself that will never return. Whether you are young or old, whether you are a man or a woman, taking advantage of young girls, boys, men and women regardless of what state they’re in without their consent, is rape. Unfortunately for me, you work in one of my favourite areas in Toronto - at a tattoo shop where every time I find myself near, I have to run in fear of seeing you and almost every time I pass by, I have a panic attack. This is just one of the effects you continue to have on my life, despite only interacting with you this one night. You have controlled every element of my life since then. You had so much power over me. But I will not allow this to go on anymore.
All of this said, I don’t blame you. Just as I don’t blame myself for what happened. Whether you end up reading this or not, I hope deep down you are aware of what you did to me, not in order to guilt you, but to educate you. I hope in sharing my experience I can somewhat contribute to breaking down this violent sex culture we are so deeply ingrained in. I hope that in me sharing my experience I allow fellow rape survivors to come forward with their stories in order to create a safer space for these types of discussions. The stigma and guilt that rape victims feel must end. In allowing for a safe space to have this kind of discourse and to vocalize similar experiences we can set up the proper resources and support groups. My rape does not define me. My rapist holds no power over me.
I felt compelled to write this after being severely let down by the sexual assault policy at my university. Despite being Canada’s highest educational institution, I am aware that these types of incidences continue to go on unaccounted for in residences and between students, which frightens me and makes me fear for my safety. To my fellow survivors, you are not alone in this experience, sharing and talking and engaging in a safe space/dialogue will help. There is such a stigma surrounding rape and unfortunately most of the time we blame ourselves for what has happened. What has happened is not your fault, it does not define you. In sharing our experiences we can help break down the stigma and bring an end to the perpetuation of rape culture and violence. CONSENT IS CONSENT. CONSENT IS POWERFUL. DO NOT ABUSE CONSENT. DO NOT ABUSE MEN, DO NOT ABUSE WOMEN.
I am not the opinion others have of me. Yes, I have failures, but I am not a failure.
This entry includes references to self-harm.
There is truly no end to where slut shaming occurs or by whom. Surprisingly I was slut shamed by my mother and stepfather. I have been slut shamed by my father since I was a kid simply from wearing a skirt that was to my knees or a simple summer dress. Having this opinion seared into my brain had taught me to fear anything sexual. But as I entered highschool I had realized that his opinion did not define me. I made up my opinions on the matter. My senior year I lost my virginity to who someone at the time I was very much in love with, and to this day I do not regret it. My mother until I had come from college the next year still believed I was a virgin. I had not told her in fear of being slapped or insulted like I was when I came home with a hickey that very same year. The manner in which she found out is through a family. He had asked me about my life in college and asked me if I was a virgin, seeing as to there is no shame in not being one I answered truthfully. He asked me the usual questions when, to who, so I answered them, thinking he was mature enough to keep this to himself. I wasn't worried of him telling anyone. Yet to my surprise days later my mother pulls me aside to confront me. He had told my aunt who called to tell my mother. My aunt made it seem as if I was some cheap whore. My mother proceeded to call me a whore, an embarrassment, with words implicating I was a failure and a shame on my family. In order to make me suffer further she wanted to tell my grandmother who saw me to be perfect, who was visiting. Struggling with depression this truly drove me to the edge and I contemplated attempting suicide. I was nearly about to when a realization came to me. That I am not the opinion others have of me. Yes, I have failures, but I am not a failure. Deep down I was not ashamed of my choices, but rather I felt the shame my family was projecting on me. So I decided to take a stand, rather let this beat me down I would use it to strengthen my views on the world. That a woman should not be shamed nor ashamed of her sexuality. That in time they would come to accept me. And if not then there was nothing I could do but live my life.
Using that negativity, channeling it into positivity? That is the biggest "fuck you" I can deliver to those who attempted to rip me down.
This entry includes descriptions of sexual assault, self-harm, and suicide.
I was around six years of age when an aunty told me, "Such a pretty face, but boys don't like bossy girls." Just the first of many times adults made me base my self worth off of whether a boy would deem it attractive. I was ten when a family member tried to get me to touch his genitals. I was told he was "just messing around" and to "hush up about that sort of thing." Eleven, a mere child. I was eleven years old when I first got called a slut. I had had my first "boyfriend," meaning it lasted a week and it was filled with petty issues. I thought it to be nothing, it was everyone else who decided it to be a big issue. Suddenly there were rumors that I had slept with this boy, this other child, which is what we were at the time. People in school gossiped and asked about it, and certain people hissed those terrible words, whore and slut, with such venom with glee filled eyes. They basked in the glory of trying to break a child. On the verge of my thirteenth birthday was the first time I attempted suicide. I self-harmed as a means of escape. It seemed rumors spanned daily. I couldn't so much as talk to a guy without it being an indication of screwing, and soon the few guys I was platonic with wouldn't talk to me at all. I got back after suicide attempt number one, only to hear the rumor mill had worsened and suddenly I had had an abortion. This was also the first time I cried in school. I continued with self-harm, started smoking and drinking, lashing out. Started hating myself. I got to a semi-good place and deemed it time to come out as pansexual. To me, an achievement, to everyone else? Double the amount of rumors. Some were hurtful, some were spiteful, and most were downright laughable. I developed serious anxiety, and my mental health is questionable at the best of times. A guy almost twice my age (I'm sixteen) sexually assaulted me at a party (I thank whatever is out there daily that it was not full blown rape, although that doesn't make it any less emotionally scarring), and when I told a friend it wasn't consenting, she laughed and said, "Of course it was, you're you." It was at this moment my heart sank, for I realized that everyone would assume due to my reputation, that it was entirely consenting and soon a few people heard. I felt dirty and used, sick at the thought of intimacy. It was among the roughest times I have ever been through. I fight daily against slut shaming. I spent so long crying, and being afraid. I hate to think so many others go through being shamed like this. I have tried to become a stronger being because of it, not in spite. Because using that negativity, channeling it into positivity? That is the biggest "fuck you" I can deliver to those who attempted to rip me down.
I was drugged without my knowledge and raped by a fellow veteran. No sympathy for me, only "You got what you deserved" and "You shouldn't dress like that."
This entry includes references to rape, self-harm, and other violence.
I was a teenage slut at age 12 in 1973. None of my family likes me even now. After watching "UnSlut" on PBS... I realized my therapist was slut shaming me. That was December 2016. I quit seeing her. In my VA women's group, members tried to shame me about sex. I was drugged without my knowledge and raped by a fellow veteran. No sympathy for me, only "You got what you deserved" and "You shouldn't dress like that." The assault happened 3 years ago and I still get shame talk from these females. I was told "you were trying to buy weed, what do you expect." I've never reported any of my rapes/sodomies to the law. Why? Look at the hundreds of thousands of rape kits never processed. I've been raped 6 times. None reported. I am still isolated, alone, friendless and without family. I have chronic severe depression, big anxiety, and fear sometimes rules my life. Most women don't like me and men treat me like a whore. Disabled and on a small pension, I often have no food or gas for my 17-year-old car. Nothing is as fun as being hungry on Christmas, no phone calls or cards. I wonder why I am suicidal? I really need to leave the state of Kansas and go somewhere more enlightened. - Tracy in Kansas
I've been so on guard that I can't even date. I haven't had a relationship in y-e-a-r-s.
This entry includes descriptions of rape.
Neither time that I was raped did I "deserve" it. The first time I was a on a date. I was dressed in a high-collared dress and I'd told the guy I wanted to go home. There wasn't a choice for me. He had me locked in a room and over and over I'd said no and that I wanted to go home. Finally after hours of this I was worn out and assaulted. He called me a few days later for another date! Of course I said no but I was shocked that he thought it was all OK! Then some years later I was waiting on a friend to come home. I'd ridden my bike and it'd started to rain. A neighbor of hers said to come in and wait there. He then raped me! I was so shocked that I didn't even tell my friend about it. Since then I've been so on guard that I can't even date. I haven't had a relationship in y-e-a-r-s.
The gossip and name-calling haunted me for years. It was always subtle but obvious. It's who I thought I was. I looked like this, I liked being treated like this, and it's the most I deserved, right?
This entry includes references to sexual assault.
I am 52-year-old woman who has spent most of my life with the belief that I stayed out of harm's way concerning sexual assault. I had a wonderful father figure who very much loved my Mom and my brother and I until he passed away in 2006 of ALS. I am married to the man I fell in love with in 1986. We have, for the most part, had a very wonderful life and we share one son who is now 20. However, more recently I have had memories of those middle school years. I developed a very womanly body at the age of 14. I was well dressed and had blonde hair that always fell right. I had big blue eyes that matched my clear peaches and cream complexion. My body never had an awkward stage. I remember it separated me from my childhood friends in ways I did not understand at the time. I thought the attention I received from boys was wonderful and I naturally became very outgoing. I had an early talent for photography and by 8th grade I was placed in an advanced class with only boys. There was a popular boy in that class. I was flattered when he would flirt with me in the darkroom. I can recall class times where he would take me behind the curtain and kiss and fondle me. I remember thinking it wasn't wrong because I enjoyed it. As the semester wore on and our make out sessions grew heavier so did my heart. As soon as class was done we would all flow out of classes and he never looked back at me. He would run ahead and never make eye contact in the halls. One afternoon in the darkroom there were 3 other boys and the "popular boy." He touched my ass and asked me to stand still. He then invited the other boys to run their hands across my jeans. When I got home that afternoon I cried and threw up. Deep inside I knew what was going on but told myself that I had asked for it because my jeans were too tight, and I had enjoyed our make-out sessions. I had let him do those things to me as it aroused me, also. I should be flattered that all the boys wanted to touch me. The specific memory of the rest of that semester has faded but I think I kissed another boy the next day. It's all pretty foggy. I tried to just move on because no one had tried to have sex with me or forced me to touch their penis so it wasn't so bad. But that boy continued to go down my pants and finger me and go up my shirt and feel up my breasts up day after day. One afternoon I couldn't hold the pain inside anymore. I decided to tell 4 of my girlfriends, to mixed reaction. One girl told me he'd never respect me because I let that happen in the dark behind that faded peach curtain and with those individual chemical tanks that I can still smell. To this day when I smell those solutions of old darkrooms I shake a little inside. But one of the girls in the group that I confided in started telling everyone she knew about me and the darkroom. Me, not him. My full name plus the word darkroom was my identity. The gossip and name-calling haunted me for years. It was always subtle but obvious. It's who I thought I was. I looked like this, I liked being treated like this, and it's the most I deserved, right? I wasn't the kind of girl who would get asked out to the Christmas or Spring dance or the boy/girl birthday parties and I certainly wasn't someone who a boy would proudly slow dance with to the Bee Gees at those ridiculous afternoon dances among the gym shoes. The dances they had before kids are old enough to go out at night together. But sexual assault doesn't happen at night after dances, it happens behind ugly peach curtains in the middle of class. I confronted that "popular boy" at our 10 year reunion in 1993. Do you know what he said? "You know you liked it just as much as I did." I wish I could wrap up this story with some big life lesson but I hope by coming forward from an incident that took place in 1978, an incident that still replays in my head, I can help another girl (or boy). Maybe it will help a teacher, a parent, or a boy that received a message somehow that this behavior is ok. None of it was my fault - None. Of. It. I didn't deserve it. By the way: My husband I have been known to dance to "How deep is your love" by The Bee Gees whenever we get the chance. - Anonymous
All of my girl friends started talking behind my back and turned against me by telling everyone not to hang around me, since I was such a "slut."
Well, first of all I can't really state that I have been physically harmed in any sort of way because of this matter, but the psychological damage slut shaming caused hit me pretty hard. I do not fully understand what the world slut really means, but apparently, in a society as small and close-minded as the one in my country, most girls my age are. I'm currently 19 years old and have had, throughout my life, 5 sexual partners, one of them being someone with whom I shared a long-term relationship. Once I felt I had enough trust in someone, I was once asked and openly told one of my closest friends about it. She called me a slut who will soon get STDs and told me that I should start respecting myself before other people would call me a whore and start treating me like one. All of my girl friends started talking behind my back and turned against me by telling everyone not to hang around me, since I was such a slut. I normally try not to give a shit about other people's opinions, but the feeling of being shamed and criticized for this is awful, especially because it's made me doubt myself. Am I really someone to be despised? Am I just too self-centered or dumb to realize that what I have done is actually wrong? Am I a slut? - Anonymous in Ecuador
I was nine. I immediately told my mom and she told me to never talk about it!
This entry includes references to sexual assault.
I was 16 and in a children's home with 20 girls and 20 boys. My father called the children's home to talk to me and proceeded to tell me how he knew I was a slut when I was in my mother's womb. Before I was born, he said he knew I would become a slut! The first time he (my father) sexually assaulted me I was nine. I immediately told my mom and she told me to never talk about it! - Karen in Webberville, Texas
I have been ashamed to talk to anyone or open up to anyone about my story without being judged.
This entry includes references to rape.
My name is Emily Gist. I was a victim of rape. I was 14 when it happened to me. It was hard because I didn't know what was happening. This is the first time I am sharing my story because I have been ashamed to talk to anyone or open up to anyone about my story without being judged, even though it wasn't my fault. - Emily Gist in South Carolina
I told my mom and we went to the police. Nothing happened, because they said I asked for it by drinking.
This entry includes references to sexual assault and self-harm.
I was only 13 and wanted to fit in, so I used to go out and party with my older sister's friends. There was this guy I thought was cute. Well, we were all out drinking one night and I remember walking away from the crowd to go pee, when he walked up. I was embarrassed so I pulled up my pants real quick, and he handed me a bottle, and I don't remember much after that except my friend waking me up and my pants were half off, and he was walking away fixing his clothes. I told my mom and we went to the police. Nothing happened, because they said I asked for it by drinking. It was never the same at school. I started using drugs and thinking the only way to fit in was to have sex. I was called names. I was called "easy," a "slut." I started cutting myself, doing drugs, and just recently got clean. I am 39 and it wasn't until my thirties that I became okay with myself. I saw UnSlut: A Documentary Film on PBS and knew I needed to share my story. - Anonymous in Nevada
I felt so alone, ashamed, and misunderstood. I had to work with the guy who date raped me and all my coworkers believed him that I was a slut.
This entry includes a description of rape.
When I was 19, I was date raped by a 21-year-old coworker at the restaurant where I worked. We had worked together for four years. He invited me to his house to hang out with him and his friend who I had a crush on. I had been raised by strict Christian parents and had never gotten drunk before. My coworker kept giving me more and more red wine and my crush never came over. I am sure he was never invited. I had no idea how to handle my wine and blacked out. I had one patch of memory when my coworker was trying to kiss me and I said to him, "My arms and legs aren't working anymore." Then I woke up in the morning to him throwing my clothes at me and telling me to get out. I could not accept that he had raped me, so I went back and had sex with him by choice to try to initiate a relationship, even though I didn't care about him. I thought that if we were dating, somehow it wasn't rape. Then my coworkers started calling me a slut. He had told all my coworkers that I was a slut. By then I realized what had happened to me. None of my coworkers believed me or had any understanding for my situation. I felt so alone, ashamed, and misunderstood. I had to work with the guy who date raped me and all my coworkers believed him that I was a slut. I lasted maybe 6 more months at that job. More than a decade later, I ran into another coworker at a Sexual Assault Awareness event. He told me that he believed me now and he was so sorry for his participation in slut shaming me. I learned to never be drunk and alone with even trusted people like long-time coworkers. I stopped drinking for many years after that. I never go out after dark and am reclusive. It shaped who I am now as a person, many of the life choices I have made. I became an activist in my hometown for safe dance spaces for LGBTIQAA community and formed a dance troupe to inspire others to feel free to express themselves and their sexuality, to be unashamed, safe and free. - Carly in Missoula, Montana
Never have I felt so alone and as if I have no one in this world. But I still feel strong enough to finally make a statement here, even though it is anonymous. I can no longer sit in so much silence and suffer and not say one word.
This entry includes references to rape.
I wanted to be in my field of practice since I was a little girl at the age of 13. I had made this decision after a very traumatic rape experience of one of my very close family members. I wanted to prosecute and I had never really thought beyond that point regarding my career, to be honest. In my third year of my field of study I worked at our Prosecutions Office. I met the head of prosecutions and I thought that he was smart and brilliant and I wanted to be just like him. I wanted to learn and watch and in fact even be better. We formed a friendship and at the end of my short term working in that office we exchanged email addresses. When I returned to university I contacted him and we became friends. He wanted to know everything about me and I most certainly told him. I told him about my family, growing up, all of my past, the life of my brothers and sisters, living without my father and how my father eventually reconciled with his children later in life, the tumultuous relationship that I could remember that occurred between my father and my mother and how my mother taught her girls to be independent of all men. I thought he was so awesome. He listened and when necessary he even gave advice. I was having such a tough year in university that year that I even told him about the prejudice I suffered there and in the courses, which I thought was more passive aggressive and subtle than anything else. I felt alone in a very big city amongst big city folks in a place that would have engulfed my island ten times over, so to be able to talk to someone from home regularly kept me very calm. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that several years later all of that information would be blasted over the entire internet or showing up in movies or books and newspapers and radio stations. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that this man would have politicians defending him and judges hiding his actions against me, or an entire campaign that would make me want to give up all of my life and my dreams just to find some far away corner in a very remote part of the earth to hide. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think that the information would spill into my job, and men would feel that they had the right to abuse me with horrible sexual words and innuendos, and women would think that they could hate me just for breathing. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that my telephone and emails and privacy would be so violated. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that my own female boss would turn against me because she felt somehow that she should get me out of my dream job. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that I would suffer anxiety attacks and almost feel like I was going crazy and feel as if I was drowning, and that every door that I turned to for help would be shut in my face. Never in my wildest dreams did I feel that I would be made to look like the biggest liar, after a man would have first lied himself and then had other people lie on his behalf to cover his actions. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that a trip to the police on several occasions would leave me unsatisfied and feeling as if there was no justice in this world for the small people and the poor folks and those without political pull or clout and without connections. I thought that justice was for all, but I was very quickly taught that justice is only for those who have money and prestige. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that I would be at a place where I would have to change my geography to attain peace. Never in my wildest dreams have I felt so alone and as if I have no one in this world. But yet in all this, I still feel strong enough to finally make a statement here, even though it is anonymous. I can no longer sit in so much silence and suffer and not say one word. I can't not tell of how the police refused to assist and the lawyers refused to assist and the judge refuse to assist and the politician refuse to assist and the friends and family thought I was crazy and worthless and weak... and how on the inside I die daily after all that I have lost, most of all, I feel as if I have lost myself. I thought I was gaining a friend. I did not. I never considered that after I had spoken to this man on several occasions and said no, you are not my type and no, I would not go out with you that my "No" would have been miscontrued as anything else. In my innocency and naivete, I thought that this was a friendship similar to the one I currently had with my best friend who was also a guy. The only difference was that this friendship would be with someone who was in my field and from whom I could gain a lot of knowledge and wisdom and direction on how to navigate our profession. I looked up to him and was inspired by him, but I found out in the worst possible way that my hero was a zero. My life has completely changed since then. I was once very trusting of others, now I am very cautious. I was once very outgoing now I am more of an introvert unless I get angry and have a moment where I would state my feelings. I keep more to myself and I am still trying to work through all of the hurt and anger I feel at the way that I was actually treated. I hope that there are people out there who would learn from my mistakes and avoid the pitfalls. I may now have to start over somewhere else, but I think I will never again trust so freely.
I have always been called a slut and a whore and so fucking what? If it makes me a slut for loving my body and pleasure then hey, I'm a "slut" and proud.
This entry includes references to self-harm.
So I decided to write this because I'm fed up. My name is Daisy and I'm 15 years old. Since the age of 8 years old, I have found sexual attraction in males and females. I developed a lot quicker than anyone one else, to the point where had to wear a C cup bra at the age of 11. Every girl in my primary school looked down on me for having breasts and wide hips and "thunder thighs." They told me I only had boobs and a figure because I was fat. So I spent a hell of a long time starving myself and hurting myself from a young age, because I was different and I didn't want to be. I have naturally bright, ginger, curly hair, so I was always excluded for that, too. But because of developing so early, I wanted to have sex. I can't remember a time where I haven't been sexually attracted to men and women and wanted an intimate relationship with them. I have always been called a slut and a whore and so fucking what? If it makes me a slut for loving my body and pleasure then hey, I'm a "slut" and proud. If anyone reads this, and is struggling with any type of slut shaming, here is my advice for you. The next time anyone calls you a slut or a whore or anything with that meaning, I want you to know you're so much stronger and better than they'll ever be. I hope all you girls and boys live happy, thank you for reading my story. - Daisy Mae in England, UK
My mother feels ashamed of me and perhaps that's why she uses the word "slut" - to try and make me feel ashamed, too.
I am a 42-year-old. A few months ago my mother called me a 'slut' during a heated argument. Out of nowhere. The argument started with me disagreeing with her which (always dysfunctionally) causes her to see me as a defiant, disrespectful daughter. Asserting myself at 42 is still treated as me showing no respect. What began a disagreement about something trivial angered her to get to that point of rage. I think there is a difference between anger and rage. In my heart I believe it still goes back to when I was a teenager. She was abusive. I learned the only way to interact with her was to not respond, and be totally silent to anything she said. She was ashamed of me, a beautiful young white female, hanging out with black male peers. Little does it clearly still matter that I lost my virginity after high school. As though it weren't enough to have a bad home life, I was teased at school. It's not easy being a well-developed teen. My breasts were fairly large then because my mother and both grandmother were large-breasted. I started high school with long hair and skirts, a real girly girl, taking an hour each morning to do my hair. By my senior year I wore nothing but jeans and my hair was cut to my ears. Yet junior year I was in class where we were all to read silently to ourselves. One guy moved his desk clear in between rows (where you walk), got out a magazine with a model in a bikini, and said, "This is what I think you look like." Why didn't the teacher say anything? His desk was clearly between rows. Maybe because he was a popular jock? And 'boys will be boys'? In another class, another popular guy leaned in from behind and said, "Red in the head is fire in the hole." Mind you there were others, but these are ones that remain with me. I didn't feel I could talk to my teachers. I didn't feel safe to get help from home. Once I was talking in a busy hallway to my black male friend and his white friend's brother interrupted loudly: "Are you guys having sex or not?" Neither of us responded. He went away and my friend looked directly at me saying, "What is it you wanted to say?" respectfully. But I was so hurt by him doing nothing. That hurt just as bad. I said, "nevermind" and walked away. I still associate with black males and am/was strong enough to hold out my hand in pride to any friend. My mother feels ashamed of me and perhaps that's why she uses the word "slut" - to try and make me feel ashamed, too. It is unresolveable to me that to this day, at 42, I am still damned. I wish I could play for you her remorseful voicemail left later that day. What was her anger became her shame. And because she has apologized, I am expected never to discuss it with her again. Doing so would make her feel ashamed - that she was a bad Mom who does nothing right. This black and white thinking leads right back to an argument, the same place this message started. My advice to any teen is that even if you abstain and don't have sex until after high-school, someone may still try to shame you 20 years later with the same word. It's not your fault. Please do not hurt yourself. I am an advocate for mental illness and deeply concerned about what I experienced before social media and what you young ladies endure. - Anonymous in Iowa
I'm saddened that in the past I was not an advocate for other women, and moving forward I'm doing everything in my power to look at other women and girls as my sisters.
I was guilty of "slut" shaming when I was in college. I went to the University a virgin, and felt that I had immunity from a negative stereotype. After the relationship with my first boyfriend ended, he would tell me that since we broke up, I have been hanging out with hoes. I began to adopt his speech, and call my friends sluts behind their backs. In my senior year, a girl that had been in hip hop music videos, clashed with me, when we liked the same guy. She asked me not to date him, but instead I made him my boyfriend the next day, so that I could show her that I was better than her: I'm not a slut, I'm the girl guys will start a relationship with. After that, my reputation was ruined, peers thought what I did was shady, and that I was in fact the hoe. For years, I carried the shame and isolation of that bad reputation. I also beat myself up, realizing that I deserved it, because I spent so many years chastising other women, and now karma was biting me. Since than, a neighbor, a teenage girl, has committed suicide because of the "slut" shaming she endured. I'm saddened that in the past I was not an advocate for other women, and moving forward I'm doing everything in my power to look at other women and girls as my sisters. Beautiful, talented, intelligent, kind members of the species, that I want to adore, appreciate, and uplift. Thank you to the UnSlut project for your work, and being a dynamic player, in creating that more peaceful and empowering climate for us, women and girls. - Rachel Spears, Connecticut
I have felt shamed and humiliated. It has wounded me to my core. I don't trust people like I used to and I am defensive in ways I used to not be.
When I was 34, I met and fell in love with the man I have now shared 20 years of my life with. He is 12 years older than I am, so we were both well into adulthood. Because we were in a non-conventional relationship, his very Mormon religious siblings and parents took issue with me and with our love. Before I had met most of his family, my sweetheart's older brother and his wife crafted a 6 page letter that they sent around to all the siblings (there are 11 of them), their wives, most aunts, uncles, and cousins. In this horrific letter, they called me a whore, a slut, Jezebel, harlot, and even said that we sexually abuse my children. They made sure to send the letter so that it was received by all before we attended a family wedding two states away. Unbeknownst to us, all his family had read the letter and believed I was a sexual predator, and that my sweetie was, too. Not one of those assholes told us about the letter, not one of them defended me and not one of them asked if any of it was true. They all just treated me like shit and it confused the hell out of me. After all, I had never met most all of them! I could not figure out why they were all so cold and unapproachable. Most people like me! It was not until we returned home and found one of the letters that was mailed to us that we understood what had happened and why they were all so cold and mean to us. The brother and sister in law included a list of all the people they had sent the letter to, so we knew who had gotten it. Twenty years later, not one person in that family has ever apologized to us, asked us about the accusations, or stood up to the bullies. It has been extremely hurtful. I don't feel like I have any place that is safe in his family and I don't like or respect these supposedly religious and moral assholes. I am still left to think they all believe that awful stuff about me and that they think I am a slut. The pain they have caused me is huge. My children are furious that they made it seem like they've been abused by their mother, and they felt ashamed. I have felt shamed and humiliated. It has wounded me to my core. I don't trust people like I used to and I am defensive in ways I used to not be. I am still so hurt, and angry and pissed off and sad and isolated because of this. Slut shaming ruins lives. - Anonymous in Utah
I thought that I must be REALLY bad because men were always wanting to have sex with me.
I am in my 50s. When I was in my early 20s, my good friend told me that men didn't ask "good girls" to have sex. They could tell the bad girls who would "put out" and good girls who did not "put out." So, if a man asked you to have sex, that meant that you were not projecting the right (or good girl) image. I believed her. I thought that I must be REALLY bad because men were always wanting to have sex with me. If my current self could talk with my former self, I'd tell her (me) that is just stupid in so many levels AND I'd tell her (me) to say to the friend who gave the world's most shaming advice to "f*ck off." - Anonymous in Houston, TX
It was another 30 years before I realized that it was not a consensual relationship. I had been at the mercy of a thirteen-year-old sexual predator.
I was twelve when a boy asked me to go steady. I couldn't wait to agree. Within minutes he had me against a wall kissing me violently. In another minute he had removed my blouse and had his mouth on my breast. I was too stunned to say no. It was at that moment I realized we had totally different ideas about what it meant to go steady. I was expecting companionship. Outings to movies, days after school doing homework together. His version of going steady meant he had a right to have sex. I knew this because he told me outright this was what going steady meant. For my part I was terrified of my mother and I didn't have a strong enough relationship with my father to talk to him about anything. Fine, I said, then no going steady. Then he informed me if I didn't have sex with him he would tell people I was having sex with someone else. He threatened to tell my only friends, then the other boy's mother, then my mother. I gave in, my fear of my mother being the primary reason. In my late thirties, a friend of mine who is an expert on acquaintance rape told me, "The minute you said no, it was rape." I couldn't get away from him. He would show up at school after my last class and once he broke into my house. The worst part was having people ask me if I had a boyfriend. In the traditional sense, I didn't. The one time we did arrange to go out, he didn't show up. My mother found out before I did when she saw him walking away from my house, going somewhere else. She came in the house and when she saw me, her face exploded into a grin so big I didn't think her face could hold it. Then she started singing, "You got stoooooooood up. You got stooooood up." It was worse than him not coming. However, that was the end of the relationship. I called his bluff, I told him to go ahead and tell people. It was another 30 years before I realized that it was not a consensual relationship. I had been at the mercy of a thirteen-year-old sexual predator. However, it made me think. Had he gotten what he wanted, would his behavior still be considered rape?
I hated being at school, I hated myself, I hated the guys who didn't have my consent, and I hated my ex-boyfriend who told me how disgusting I was and how embarrassed he was.
This entry includes references to self-harm and sexual assault.
My first boyfriend and I were together for nearly two years. I lost my virginity to him, and he lost his to me. I was 17 and I was in love. After a messy breakup, my heart broke to hear he was sleeping with another girl so soon. I was so shocked to think my virginity and my love meant absolutely nothing to him. I became depressed even more than before and decided the best way to cope was self-harm. After 2 months of hating myself and wanting to hate him, I went to a huge party and sadly he and his new partner showed up. I didn't want to see them or talk to them. I wanted to forget everything. I got drunk, and as soon as I ran out of alcohol I found drugs. I was so unaware of everything and I still only remember bits and pieces of that night. I was shocked to hear the next morning by my best friend that everyone said I slept with 3 guys, one of whom I didn't even know. I dreaded going to school after the weekend, but what was I supposed to tell my mom? I went in on Monday morning with a smile on my face and I saw people stare, heard them whisper. Even some of my friends called me a slut. I spoke to my best friend and I cleared things up and figured out what exactly happened. But no one cared. Guys every weekend after that texted me to hookup and I denied their offer. I hated being at school, I hated myself, I hated the guys who didn't have my consent, and I hated my ex-boyfriend who told me how disgusting I was and how embarrassed he was. He didn't understand. No one did. I didn't know how to cope so I thought I'd feel better by continuing to hurt myself. One day at the lunch table one of these guys called me a slut, and I became so angry that I stood up in front of everyone and said "SO WHAT I HAD SEX, I LIKE SEX, I LIKE PENIS." And no one said anything to me ever again (to my face at least).
Just because I'm comfortable in my clothes and body, and I'm happy with my personality, does not mean you have a right to "slut" shame me.
I am a 13-year-old girl who just started 8th grade in a public middle school in the East Bay of California. I have had many experiences with slut shaming, such as being called a slut, whore, hoe, etc. I've had people spread false rumors about me such as I flirt with every guy, I wear multiple bras, and more. I've also had people physically pull up my shirt if I show any cleavage, pull down my shirt if they see any midriff, and many other things. I've had messages sent to me about how I'm such a slut, I've had "friends" scream "slut" at me in the halls, and I am so done telling people to stop. I haven't even had my first kiss, nor do I flirt all the time. Just because I'm comfortable in my clothes, body and I'm happy with my personality, does not mean you have a right to shame me. I hope through this project we can spread awareness for the harassment that continues to happen to girls and women who are just being themselves. I hope this also raises awareness to sexual, mental and physical abuse from peers in and out of school because I've had to deal with all of those things just within the past year.
He knew I wouldn't remember anything. He knew I wasn't consenting to what he did to me.
This entry includes descriptions of rape.
Following the breakup of my first serious relationship my sophomore year of high school, I started drinking heavily and using prescription drugs as well as smoking weed daily. I was hooking up with older guys to distract myself from the heartache and was being shamed for that, but it really didn't bother me at all, even though my mother called me a whore. One night I snuck out to go to my best friend's house to get fucked up as usual, but this time her 25 year old brother was there. By the time I could barely walk or talk, my friend was hooking up with someone else and didn't notice when her brother followed me as I stumbled up the stairs to the bathroom to take a piss. I looked up and he was standing over me with his pants down, and pulled my head towards him. The last thing I remember is him saying, "It's okay, you won't remember this anyway." Somewhere in there I have a memory of him driving me home and putting his number in my phone, taking my pills out of my purse and kissing me before dumping me on my front porch. I woke up in my bed the next morning in so much pain I could barely walk. I had been on my period. He had raped me in the ass. I felt I couldn't tell anyone. This was my best friend's big brother and ruining his life would ruin hers as well. And I'd been flirting with him all night. I'd wanted it. When was the line crossed? When I got blackout drunk? He knew I was 16. He knew I wouldn't remember anything. He knew I wasn't consenting to what he did to me. This man continued to text and call me sporadically for up to three months afterward, trying to buy drugs off me or hookup. I never replied-- he never got the hint. To this day I cannot trust men and have flashbacks when I reach that level of intoxication.
This entry includes references to rape and self-harm.
When I was in 5th grade, my 'friend' told my whole grade I wanted to sleep with two guys. This wasn't true, but it didn't matter. I met a boy in 6th grade who stood up for me until no one wanted to be his friend, so then he became two different people - one when we were alone and one around others. He threatened to rape me in the girl's bathroom at least five times, but thankfully never did. After 8th grade, he had his friends pull an 8-hour "prank" on me: They threatened to kill me if I didn't sleep with them. I ended up overdosing on July 5, 2015. But now, in 11th grade, the 'slut'-shaming for me is over. - Adrianna, Tennessee
There is never an excuse for rape and it is ridiculous that people still have to be taught this.
I've recently started researching sexism and slut-shaming for an assignment at school and it has got me thinking about all the times I've been sexually assaulted and not even realized it was actually sexual assault. When I was 15 I started going to parties and drinking lots with my friends. I used to have all these guys that I was friends with and even some I had never met before grab my ass and tell me how much they would like to fuck me. I didn't really have a problem with it and they were usually drunk and high, so I never really told them to get off or stop. I would also occasionally hook up with these guys so I just figured what the point in telling them to stop if I'm just going to hook up with some of them anyway. One day I went to a small party at my friend's house, it was only close friends so I didn't think anything would happen. I went to this party and got the drunkest I had ever been. I was falling all over the place and even vomited a few times. At one point I went outside with two of my guy friends for a smoke, when we were on our way back inside one grabbed me and pushed me against the shed we were standing behind and started kissing me, I went along with it at first I didn't think there was any harm. At this point, we were the only two outside. He kept telling me that he wanted me to suck his dick. When I said no he grabbed my hand and pushed it down to his dick and told me that a hand job "would be okay." I ended up just pushing him off and going back inside. When I told my best friend and the other guy I was outside with they kept an eye on me all night and made sure this guy didn't try anything again. On the following Monday, everyone at school knew cause he told everyone. I wasn't ever explicitly called a slut or whore but I was labelled by some people as reckless and a little too "friendly". Some people have even said that I will end up getting raped because I've been known to not be able to control the amount I drink. As crazy as it sounds I have started to believe that its true; not because I'm too "friendly" or reckless but because boys these days think that a drunken yes is still consent even if they know that you wouldn't say the same thing if you were sober, and some just can't understand that no means no. Something needs to be done in order to help both men and women because I shouldn't have to be taught by my friends and family that if I don't control myself someone will rape me. Boys should always be taught that no means no and that even if a girl drunkenly says yes it is still not consenting. There is never an excuse for rape and it is ridiculous that people still have to be taught this. - Isabelle
I still have scar tissue from all of it.
This entry includes descriptions of sexual assault and suicide.
This was my junior year of high school. I had a tight group of friends that I deeply trusted. I have struggled with depression for as long as I can remember and I finally opened up to them about it. Some time later I fought with my best friend in the group and she and the other girls turned against me and started spreading rumors. I had kissed a boy we knew and it was a mistake and I regretted it and they started telling everyone how much I messed around with guys. And no matter what I did or said, they found a way that it was slutty. I started dating a guy and they said it was only because he was hot. I wore tall boots over unripped jeans and a flannel shirt and they told me I looked like a whore in front of our entire friend group. During this time I was emotionally manipulated and then physically forced to give a guy a blowjob, and I was told by this boy that it was my fault, and while those girls never found out about the sexual assault, their continued comments and the rumors they spread combined with the sexual assault almost led me to kill myself. I still have scar tissue from all of it.
I wish sometimes that I had never developed physically the way I did. Maybe I wouldn't hate myself.
The minute I developed curves, I became proud that I was becoming a woman. However, now that I'm 15 and with G-cup breasts, I'm starting to think that all I'm destined for is sexual harassment from peers and older men alike, as well as occasional sexual assault. Am I only destined to be sexualized and slut-shamed? As soon as I moved to my current school this year, people started questioning my virginity and spread it to students and teachers. They spread these rumours before they even got to know me. Everyone believes it. Why wouldn't they? Even the guys who like me think I talk and flirt with 15 guys an hour. I only ever talk to them, but they don't really believe it. Some only actually talk to me because they think I'm easy to get with. Even my classmates and friends treat me as if I'm easy. I'm cast as the "mistress" in all our performances. I wish sometimes that I had never developed physically the way I did. Maybe I wouldn't hate myself.
I truly thought I was alone but after surfing the web I realized that I was being slut shamed. And I want to tell my story to others.
This entry includes reference to suicide.
When I was 15 I would hang out with my friends (consisting of mostly guys). I got along with guys, cause I grew up with many. I would wear what my friends wore, but since I had a bigger chest and hung out with mostly guys, guys would say I was a slut. I ignored them and tried not to believe their words. The part where it actually got worse was when I went on vacation with my family. I'm not so close to that side of my family, so I tried talking to most of my female cousins but they would just push me aside. This led to me talking to the guys, my cousin's boyfriend and another cousin's husband, both young but not my type. It turns out that my cousins boyfriend was caught searching me up, and this made my cousin jump to conclusions and eventually she thought I was trying to get with him. But I just tried talking to him to pass time and as well as a reason to get closer to my cousin. That wasn't what she believed so she called me and told family members that I was trying to steal her boyfriend, clearly not true, but it was what she believed. I was confronted by many of my cousins and I spoke the truth only to be called a liar, and even if they didn't say it to me personally, also slut shaming me, analyzing every picture or post I put on social media, and every move I had made on the trip when I was around the boyfriend. This affected my mental and physical state. I tried telling my side of the story and no one believed me. They said that because of how I dressed it wasn't a surprise to them. I was now viewed as a catch to the males in my family, and a slut to the females. I truly thought I was alone and thought about committing suicide but after surfing the web I realized that I was being slut shamed. And I want to tell my story to others.
I kept expecting every day for my body to show some indication that I was tainted and impure.
This entry includes descriptions of rape and self-harm.
When I was fifteen I was hanging out with a friend. I had a huge crush on him. Not on his 6 friends who came over and tied me up. All of them took turns doing what they called "skull fucking" me. No matter how much I cried. No matter how much I begged them to stop. I thought I was destroyed. I kept expecting every day for my body to show some indication that I was tainted and impure. I could not tell my mom or my sisters or my friends. I thought they would hate me. Tell me I deserved it. It was a long time before I could even talk about it. I wanted to kill myself. I harmed myself every day for years. That's what my mom noticed. I went to therapy. To this day my mother doesn't know what drove me to hurt myself, to this day I'm scared of what she'll think of me. To this day I am terrified of oral sex and nervous during every sexual encounter. I am all too aware that if a man wants my body, he can take it by force. - Anonymous in Ohio
I didn't know what to do once he had said 'give me a kiss' so I just froze. Since that day, I was branded as a slut.
Back in primary school, my best friend and I were inseparable. She was dating a guy whom I became quite close with. As time went by, he basically became like my brother. Their relationship was actually quite deep despite the fact that it was a primary school relationship. They dated for a year and at the end of the year, he broke up with her. She was utterly devastated by the break up and cried for days. Despite the fact that he had hurt her, she still had feelings for him. What was weird was that even though they broke up, they'd behave as though they were still dating. Then one day when she didn't come to school, he kissed me. Not only did he kiss me, he was actually my first kiss. I didn't know what to do once he had said 'give me a kiss' so I just froze. Since that day, I was branded as a slut and a man stealer. What a great first kiss story. - Anonymous in South Africa
Now I have a daughter, and there is no sex act that can ever impinge upon her great value as a being worthy of love, respect and kindness.
I'm 35 and I've been slut shamed because I had a boyfriend when I was eighteen. My mother knew and she knew I'd slept with him. When she found out she tried to lock me out of the family home and there were screaming fits about how I was "damaged goods" and how she was so ashamed. Fast forward thirteen years and I had recently delivered my second baby with my husband of twelve years. My husband and I are very happy together and he always knew I'd had the one boyfriend before him. My newborn daughter had serious health complications and we were very anxious about her; as such we had asked relatives to be as calm as possible and not indulge in the usual excited new baby partying. My mother was unhappy about losing the opportunity to show off and felt anger and resentment towards me. A month after the birth and two days after the funeral of my best friend she expressed this anger by slut shaming me to my husband. She started screaming at him (in front of our other child) about, "did he know what I was", and how I had, "dirty little secrets". My husband picked up the children and ushered me out. We have not seen her in nearly three years. I still maintain that I have done nothing wrong in having a boyfriend, I was an adult, it is my body and was my choice to make. What angers me most is that in the eyes of many that choice has damaged or reduced me as a human being. My free choice is portrayed as something which has caused me to lessen in value. My choice has become an act which is fundamentally shameful and which makes me less acceptable as a wife and something which can be used to punish me with for decades to come. Now I have a daughter, and there is no sex act that can ever impinge upon her great value as a being worthy of love, respect and kindness. - Anonymous in South England
"Ten no's followed by one yes doesn't mean I consented. It means I was bullied into saying yes."
This entry includes descriptions of rape.
For the past 6 years of my life I have been in a healthy and happy relationship with a beautiful and wonderful man. Unfortunately sometimes he can also be a nightmare come to life. My boyfriend enjoys anal sex, which I have no issue with. I myself have consent on a number of occasions to it and we enjoy a healthy sexual relationship that's centred around respect and trust. However one day we started to become intimate and he asked if we could try anal intercourse as it had been a while. I consented and we began. Instantly I disliked it, it was uncomfortable and I was in a great deal of pain. I asked him to stop and I said I didn't want to carry on this time. I promised that when I felt ready for it we could carry on another time. He started to beg me to carry on, saying it would only take a few minutes, that he loved me, that he had needs, that he wouldn't hurt me. I kept saying no not today, another time but not today. He kept persisting. Saying he loved me so much, that he wanted his needs met. He kept repeating that it would only be quick. He promised I wouldn't feel any pain. I was lying on my front while he sat on my legs, effectively I was trapped. Eventually I gave in, wanting him off of me and for it all to just stop. A few months later I spent the night at his house, and as was common we cuddled together naked before bed. Just before we drifted of he makes me aware that he wants to have sex. Just normal sex this time as we were both tired and didn't want to start anything too complex. It was 12'o clock at night and I was tired. I let him know I wanted to just go to sleep and that in the morning, if I consented, we could do it then. He again persisted. Being tired and knowing if I didn't say yes he would keep pestering me like last time I said yes. It was uncomfortable and painful and after I felt like crying. My perfect boyfriend who everyone was jealous of didn't seem to understand no. A few days later after confiding in a close friend and crying I put my foot down. Enough was enough. I was not going to let this happen again. So I told him, when I say no it means no. When I say I'm tired and I want to sleep it means no. When I say something is painful and I want to stop that means stop.
People always talk about the dangers women and men face in regards to rape, yet no one mentions sexual coercion, which is when tactics like pressure, trickery, or emotional force are used to get someone to agree to sex. What this means is if you are made to consent it isn't really consent. It's like if someone was to hold a gun to your head and make you give them all your money, just because you handed them the money doesn't mean you did it freely. You were forced to in fear of what would happen if you didn't. When you are made to say yes that doesn't mean you consented. I said yes not because I wanted to but because I feared if I didn't I would be forced to carry on away. I convinced myself for months that because I had said yes that I had consented. I try to convince myself that what had happened was right because I did say yes. It doesn't matter. I may have said yes but before that I had said no multiple times. Ten no's followed by one yes doesn't mean I consented. It means I was bullied into saying yes. It's important to remember that sometimes saying yes doesn't mean you're ok or that you fully give consent. It's ok to say no and mean it. It's ok to turn down someone. It's also ok to tell them that they are a bully and that they aren't allowed to hurt you anymore. Fortunately my boyfriend is remorseful and understands what he did. I truly believe that he will listen when I say no in the future, but I know others might be stuck in relationship where they are made to say yes. Put your foot down. Scream no for the whole world to hear. If they ignore you run away, report them, fight back. Whatever you need to do to stop them. You are beautiful and deserve to have your body respected.
I was "slut" shamed some time before 5th grade.
I was "slut" shamed some time before 5th grade. In my native language my last name contains the root of the word 'easy' (as well as the root for an old word for 'forest' - thats where it actually comes from). So this boy came up to me and said: Well your name contains the word easy so you must be... easy. - Anonymous
I'm hoping that we as women can break this stigma and support one another. We already have enough going against us, why add more to it?
I didn't think I could experience "slut" shaming at 30 years of age. I had recently broken up with a long term boyfriend and felt the need to go out and meet new people. So I did what any awkward, newly single woman would do: I joined a few dating sites. I talked to both men and women, seeing what I liked and didn't like. I even met up some of them for dates. The only problem with that, according to my close friends, was that I wasn't portraying myself in a "good light." Long story short, my friends seemed to think that I was becoming a slut because I wanted to go on dates several times a week with different people, whether it was dinner, a movie, or even just a walk around the park. It was shocking to them that I had already kissed a guy I just met on the second time meeting him. Apparently, women aren't supposed to go on more than one date with a different guy. You're supposed to talk to a guy for months before agreeing to meet with him and then wait even more to introduce him to your friends. I'm not old fashioned and after coming out of a verbally and emotionally abusive relationship (the one prior to my recent one), I wasn't going to settle anymore. I just hope that this helps to show that no matter the age, you can still be slut shamed. I'm hoping that we as women can break this stigma and support one another. We already have enough going against us, why add more to it? - Anonymous in Maryland
I was slut shamed and body shamed, beat up in hallways because I was different.
This entry includes references to rape and suicide.
When I was in 2nd grade, I was sexually assaulted by a classmate. I put up with the assault for 2 years until I finally came forward and told somebody about it. I was raped in 7th grade by a 10th grader and then I became depressed. When I turned 16 I was addicted to drugs and alcohol and I even attempted suicide. I was bullied because of that event. I was slut shamed and body shamed, beat up in hallways because I was different. When I was 17 I was an exchange student in Seoul, South Korea. I went to Seoul High School and everything was better, at least for a while. I would always wear long-sleeved shirts and jeans and always sit in the back. One day I had been in the process of being beaten up when a group of 7 boys came up and told everyone to leave me alone. They did, and I was able to finish off highschool without bullies. And then after I graduated in 2014, I went into rehab and got myself clean and then landed a job where I have been happily working since 2014. - Ellen Smith
Men alone are not the culprits. There are women who look down on others who dress a certain way or the way they talk. Why?
I'm Tina and this is my story. When I was 10, I gathered all the courage to go talk to this boy I liked. Before I could start, he slapped me right across my face. I was roughly 13 when I was asked to play defense and we opted man-on-man because why not. As we started playing, a player from the opposing team came up to me and grabbed my boobs. He was my senior. I was scared and didn't speak of it until a few years back. I've also been slut-shamed for being very open and flirtatious. I've been berated by a lot of men for being a certain way. Why is it only the women who are open and bold get laid? This guy would always pass lewd comments about me right to my face, like "Your face looks like shit. You're a fucking shit face, you're so black." Men alone are not the culprits. There are women who look down on others who dress a certain way or the way they talk. Why? Because I'm apparently giving out hints that I'm available and I'm all for you. Really, the other day I was fully clothed, and I was stalked and was looked upon in an obscene sort of way. According to the survey conducted in Britain, which happens to record one of the highest numbers of rapes before India, asked a bunch of rapists what makes you want to rape a woman? They subtly replied that when women let their hair down, it makes them want to rape women. Now we should just shave our heads, right? I could go on about various other events that happened but I'm not ready. - Tina Edwin
I've been told I'm going to die a slut. I peel my scabs because of it. They don't even say my name anymore.
This entry includes references to self-harm and sexual assault.
I have been sexual bullied for 4 years now. It still hurts. I'm only 17 and I'm considered "easy," "a bitch," and "a hoe." They made up a lie that I was "sexual assaulted" by my father when he hasn't hurt me. I cringe every time I hear it. Boys always ask me for boob and butt pics. I feel worthless. Also, I’m still a virgin so I also get shamed for that. I feel as if I'm stalked, as well as if anything could happen to me. I've been told I'm going to die a slut. I peel my scabs because of it. They don't even say my name anymore. Sigh...
During the visit I was wasted, I was high. I then blacked out, I came to and I was naked. I had done something I wouldn't want to do.
I was 10 years old when me and my family had to move to a city for better education. I had met a few friends. We would sneak alcohol and drugs such as marijuana. It got to a point where I wanted to feel as badass as them. So I picked up the bottle, and I smoked what we could get. All my allowance that could have been for cool clothes and a nice haircut went to drugs. When I ran out I was no longer a part of the circle of friends. I was considered "cut". Soon it turned into monkey see, monkey do. I lost my virginity at age 14, to a sixteen year old boy whose girl friend would later confront me about being with him. I made up my mind and had left him. I was once at a party, 15? 16 years old? And I had gotten really drunk. A big fight started happening, and a friend had told me we could sit at her boyfriend's house. On our way to his house in a vehicle I was offered three double stacked ecstasy pills, all at once. During the visit I was wasted, I was high. I then blacked out, I came to and I was naked. I had done something I wouldn't want to do. I'm 21 now and the friend still won't "let it go". A part of me says she won't because I know she's done stuff too, and she's making me feel like that to make herself seem better. I'm back in my hometown, and I never felt so comfortable, I realize the people in my home town are family. When I think it's only me who has been through this, it's probably happened before. I am just so blessed to get out of that healthy and alive. God bless those people who accept everyone.
This kid started rumors about me. He said that I "liked" about 8 different people and so people at my school started thinking I was a slut.
This entry includes references to violence.
When I was in seventh grade, I met this boy. I'll say his name was Stephen. Stephen was an eighth grader and I soon fell for him. Hard. Stephen had a lot of friends and he was what you would consider "popular." We sat next to each other in Physical Education because his last name came after mine alphabetically. He and his best friends, Stephen #2 (yes, they had the same name) and Frank, talked to me nearly every day and my extremely boring life soon became exciting. Something new every day. I thought everything was great. I had tons of friends, and Stephen still didn't know I liked him, so he continued to talk to me. Just about at the start of the new year, Stephen stopped talking to me. Stephen #2 and Frank talked to me often still and so did Stephen's other friends, but I was scared that Stephen had found out. Just before Christmas break, in fact a week and day before, my friend Katelyn, without my permission, told Stephen that I liked him. He said he figured it out already. I was crushed. Every day, I went on as normal. Nobody knew, but I was crushed on the inside. On the day after my 13th birthday, Stephen messaged me on Instagram a long, and very detailed, paragraph on why I should leave him alone. He liked another 8th grade girl, let's say her name is Amelia, and she liked him back. The message explained that. As time went on, this kid Jack started rumors about me. He said that I liked about 8 different people and so people at my school started thinking I was a slut. I only liked Stephen though, and this was really difficult for me. Later, I was on Instagram and I found this boy, I'll call him Zack. Zack didn't go to my school and I never met him, but he was friends with Stephen and all of Stephen's friends. I began to have a crush on Zack and I had my friend Hana text Stephen that. He was surprised, but though none of my friends knew, I still liked Stephen a lot. Just a few days after Hana told Stephen that I liked him, things started to get out of hand. Someone I didn't know messaged me to let them into my group chat with Jack, a girl named Violet, and a boy named Liam and said if I didn't then he would get me. Thinking it was not a big deal, I let him into the group chat and he said he stalked all of us. We thought he was joking so we went on as usual and then it got weird. The day after he was let into the chat, he attacked Jack. He went to Jack's house and physically attacked him. Then he sent all of our phone numbers out and all of our addresses into the chat and he said he was coming for Violet next. At that point, we were freaked out so Jack called the police. They said they would try and track the guy down and we were trying to stay calm. A day later, the guy found out who I liked and he spread it through the school, making me seem like an even bigger slut because he said I "stalked" Zack on Instagram. The rest of my school year was hell. Me, Jack, Violet, and Liam had to be questioned by the police and it was crazy. The next year I went to a different middle school for the 8th grade so I got away from it, but I will never forget that year.
When I had the guts to tell my friends what happened, they believed me but made fun of me for it. I was labelled a slut and a whore.
This entry includes a description of sexual assault.
I wasn't like most popular kids in my school. When they liked Drake, Rihanna or Ariana Grande - I liked Halsey, Lana and Hey Violet. But I was still fairly popular. I had come terms to my sexuality and I was damn confident in my own skin. But you see, sex talk doesn't mix with teenagers in a Catholic school, except for maybe older students (I was a freshman back then). And when you're sexually promiscuous, someone was bound to find out. I've heard of students getting kicked out for being blackmailed to send nudes to boys, I've heard of stories where a drunk girl was forcefully fingered in the bathroom. I've even heard of stories where students were raped. And I thought maybe they were just dark stories, created to shut down the slut shaming the people involved had been receiving. Everything changed one day. I was practicing with a group of friends at the back of the school, by the swimming pool. We weren't high nor drunk, we were sober back then. It all started when a guy who had been part of my past crushes told me "I look seductive," while I was singing the song Trouble by Halsey. I didn't mind it at first, one of my friends (let's call her May), even laughed at the guy. I looked at May and just shook my head. But then, the guy said "What if you give May a lap dance? That'd be so hot." I didn't think it was a joke. It didn't seem like one, so I stormed out of the place and sat underneath the shade of a tree (it was still pretty near). But then out of the blue, the guy was standing in front of me. I stood up, knowing that he was probably sent to fetch me back, but as I was about to go. He grabbed a hold of my hand and pushed me to the trunk of the tree. His body was larger than me and he was taller, and I couldn't do anything, his face was a few feet away from mine and his fingers were roaming, and I was so repulsed. I told him to stop but he didn't. And when I finally thought it was over, I saw two of my close friends standing behind debris from an old building, and they couldn't look at me in the eye, and I couldn't take it. I looked at the guy and I wanted to vomit and he just looked at like he was satisfied that he took away my virginity, and then I ran. The next days I couldn't sleep, I couldn't do anything. Seniors were talking about it. I was angry, because they started calling me a slut, they started offering money so I could blow them. I was angry that the school administration didn't find out because it was everybody's little secret. The guy controlled everyone in my class, and when I had the guts to tell my friends what happened, they believed me but made fun of me for it. The witnesses - the two friends who saw me - didn't want to talk. I was labelled a slut and a whore. It ruined me because every time I broke down, they would tell me to get over it because it was my fault anyways. If it wasn't for my sensual vibe, that people wouldn't get the idea that I was still a virgin. That I wouldn't be called a slut. After a few weeks, our Christmas Party required that every girl would wear a dress, not less than two inches above the knee. Mine was three inches below the knee, and when I finally thought nobody would bother, our class picture was spammed with comments, slut shaming me for wearing a dress. My friends sided with the hate, because if I covered myself up nobody would think differently. And that is where I learned that even if you wear pants, you could still be called a slut.
The people who insist there's a right way women should act are just controllers, and I can't let them run my life. We shouldn't let them run our lives.
I have been slut shamed on FB for flirting with guys and saying they're sexy. I've heard of this happening to other women too. They'll say you're being a creep, or would you tolerate a guy treating a woman this way. I feel a lot of it is women shaming women for having any sexual feelings. Like policing other women's sexuality, for what reason, I don't know. Is it they feel threatened by women who own their sexuality, or women who just make more friends with guys than girls? If someone said back off I'll back off but it's never just that. It's usually some sort of accusation of being too sexual like, the last time it was, "Stop saying you want to bang my boyfriend!" and I don't even remember that happening. I do have a problem with taking things too personally, and they may have just decided to randomly go after me. I think the worst thing is it's made me fearful of being friends with other women and trusting them. It seems they get a boyfriend and just go ballistic on every women they know. I really get upset at the thought of hurting anyone, but I think I need to start realizing in this situation the only thing I can do is leave. It's strange how this happens so often to guys yet if a man treated his girlfriend in a way like saying she can't have any contact with other guys everyone would be mad. Of course there's all the stuff generally about men being abused by women and people not caring. I think what troubles me is I try to see it from their perspective, and all I can think is how can they hurt their partner like this? If you worry your guy is unfaithful talk to him about it. I mean I know abusers are about isolation, and most likely they're trying to isolate him. But maybe they're scared. I just know I'm tired of losing guy friends to this. I also know I need to stop believing if I act right this won't happen. The people who insist there's a right way women should act are just controllers, and I can't let them run my life. We shouldn't let them run our lives. Why should someone feel they need to apologize for wanting to make someone happy?
By talking about it, by airing my wounds, I feel like I can heal instead of fester.
I'm in the military and in 2012 I had a relationship with someone who was also in the military, a Drill Instructor out of Lackland Air Force Base while I was living in North Carolina, stationed at Pope AFB. We met on Facebook through a mutual friend. We bridged the distance by sending intimate pictures and I didn't think much of it because we were planning to meet and it helped keep the relationship going. Besides I had done it with other relationships I had been in and it hadn't been an issue. When I was finally about to fly out and meet him, it just didn't work out and I assumed we had left on good terms. After all, he was seeing someone else and posting her pictures on Facebook about a month later. I was genuinely happy for him and hoped everything worked out. We eventually got out of touch and I didn't think much of him until a little over a year later, when a co-worker pulled me aside and asked if some pictures he found were mine. Little did I know, my pictures I had sent him had been posted online. I was horrified. What was even more horrific was another co-worker that I hadn't worked with in years also tracked me down to inform me my pictures were online. We weren't even stationed together - he was stationed in Japan at the time. I went to the JAG (legal advocate) and he was basically no help. The guy that had posted the pictures was part of a sex scandal at Lackland and as a parting gift when he was discharged, he posted the pictures. The most we could do was go through the humiliating process of requesting the pictures be taken off the site. I wanted to believe the nightmare was over - but on sites like reddit and imgur (where the pictures were posted) there is a "like, comment and share" function like on Facebook. It had been shared over 20 times. It was only a matter of time before my pictures resurfaced. And they did a little over a year later, when a guy I went through a military course with found them on another site. And then another 6 months later a stranger found me through Facebook to inform me about the pictures again... and 3 months after that another stranger found me... all the anxiety and paranoia I already was feeling flamed back up. It was affecting my personal life. I was wonderIng if life was worth living. It was never like this event was a single fixed point in my life that I couldn't walk away from. I was afraid of pursuing job opportunities for fear of how I'd look if someone had seen my pictures. I was always on edge when I worked with people because I never knew if my professionalism was overshadowed because someone had seen my pictures online. I've been in a dark place for a long time, hiding my dirty little secret. It feels so hopeless because it'll never go away. It's always out there and even if it's buried, it just takes someone finding them, deciding to make the pictures their own and posting them on a site to make them new again. There is no such thing as "old news" with this. I finally decided that it was enough. The military has a sexual assault awareness and prevention program and I talked to the coordinator. I needed to get it out. I've shared my story for them to use and I'm working on becoming a trainer. I believe in the power of the word. By talking about it, by airing my wounds, I feel like I can heal instead of fester. I still have bad days. I still feel worthless. I have to dig deep some days to find my worth. It's hard to let people get close and it's very difficult to have meaningful personal relationships with men. Some days I'm so angry my pictures are passed around like playing cards - on "for pay" sites... sites that generate income through ads and viewership. It makes me soooo angry. But I can't live that way. I have to make the decision that life is worth living. I can change this by taking ownership of it and make something positive out of it for myself. It doesn't have to consume me. Slowly but surely I can make this right for me.
People to this day call me a slut and bully me because of the actions that happened in middle school.
This entry includes references to self-harm.
When I was in seventh grade at Mt. Abraham Union middle and high school, I decided to send a nude to a guy I really liked. I didn't think anything of it because I knew the guy since I was a baby. We were very close. Surprisingly enough, he didn't send it to his friends or to anyone. He also never said a word about to it anyone. What started the whole slut shaming and bullying towards me was my best friend who I grew up with. I told her because after I sent it I regretted it and didn't know what to do. Instead of keeping it to herself, she told my mom. Who told her friends and such. By the next day, people were calling me a slut and more. It got to the point where I would slice my wrists, my thighs, and more. I just wanted to die. I went from being a straight A student to never wanting to go to school. In 8th grade, I eventually moved to South Royalton, Vermont. Even though I moved, I kept in touch with friends down in Bristol, Vermont and such. I went back down to go to some friend's house. While there, I was getting dressed and she took a picture of my breasts. She sent it to EVERYONE through KIK messenger. I never looked back or went back unless it was to see family. People to this day call me a slut and bully me because of the actions that happened in middle school.
Since I reported it, I have realized that I will never give anyone the power to hurt me that way ever again.
This entry includes reference to rape.
I was 14, dating this 17 year old, and we were hanging at my house for April vacation back in 2016. We had never sex before but we had done other stuff and he had a background of being forceful with me, and I just didn't expect anything bad to happen to ME. I went to take a shower and I was so vulnerable and I went a year thinking that it was all my fault because I was not wearing anything and I wasn't tough enough to fight him off. He raped me and we never talked about it to this day. I have had a criminal case pending on him but nothing has happened and we have gotten no further in 5 months. Since I reported it, I have realized that I will never give anyone the power to hurt me that way ever again. - Kristin Landry, Middlebury, Vermont
The grief of losing my family has been the most difficult thing I have ever endured.
This entry includes references to sexual assault.
I would like to share my story of sexual abuse from my father, my 4th grade teacher, and other men! What I am most passionate about is finding my voice. The journey it took to get here and now wanting to help others. I was sexually molested by my father from infancy to 12 years of age. The most traumatic time was being groomed and abused by my 4th grade teacher at the same time my dad was molesting me. The shame started when my body started to change and develop. How confused I was not knowing what was happening as men would whistle and make comments to me about my body. SO confused and I had nowhere to turn or anyone to talk to. It makes sense now that I didn't. After years of counseling, medications to stabilize me, and estrangement from my family of origin I began to find my voice. I began to see why I was silenced and had no idea why these strange feelings were happening to me at such a young age and how much I blocked out. What I did do at an early age was numb with alcohol and I would feel a rush getting attention from men and yet feeling very unattractive. I didn't know why, I just knew that as I drank more and went out to the clubs I NEEDED to feel validated from men and yet I felt so very empty. I feel I am one of the lucky ones. I did get herpes from an older gentleman when I was in my 20's, and I also had an affair on my husband early on in my marriage. I needed to feel and express myself and yet didn't know why. It has been one hell of a long road back to me. I love the 54 year old woman I am today and stand proud in my journey and all the work I have done. But I am saddened by the shame and the confusion sexual abuse and assault brings. I am sick that survivors speak out to their abusers and more times than not you are not heard or the abuser denies it. This shame comes at a great cost. My family (aunts, uncles, siblings, parents, cousins) have chosen to deny that my dad and mom would ever do such a thing. The grief of losing my family has been the most difficult thing I have ever endured. I stand proud today in my marriage, knowing who I am, full of confidence, wisdom and strength. Thank you for this incredible project and documentary.
The rumors began that I was the professor's little slut and that I slept with him to get good grades. No one would believe that he drugged and raped me.
This entry includes a description of rape.
Well I never thought I would be sharing this with anyone, but I feel like it's finally time. So it was my freshman year of college and I was so excited to be away from home and on my own. Everything was great for the first few months and I even made a lot of new friends. However it wasn't meant to be. I am a Political Science major and my government professor was younger, maybe in his early thirties, and he was super nice to all of his students. Well sometimes I would come in and go over notes after class and we became closer. After going to him privately for maybe three weeks, the first incident occurred. He was standing next to me and I was leaning over his desk reading a few sections of notes when he rubbed his hand against my upper thigh. I didn't react much because I was deep in thought, so he proceeded to grab my butt. When he did that I kinda jumped and he just had a smirk on his face before telling me all my notes were good and dismissing me. After that I felt uncomfortable but not too worried. If only I knew what was going to happen next. Maybe two weeks later he sent me an email and wanted me to come to his personal office to go over an assignment I had turned in. I arrived at 6pm like he had asked me to and took a seat across from him. We talked for awhile before he got up and offered me a drink. I was thirsty so I said sure. Not even 10 minutes after drinking the water did I begin to feel tired and weak. Then he made his move. He came up behind me and grabbed my chest and began to kiss my neck. I tried to push him off but couldn't. Next thing I remember he was pulling off my panties and bending me over his desk. Then he raped me. I woke up half naked the next morning outside his office. I tried to hurry back to my dorm but enough people saw me. The rumors began that I was the professor's little slut and that I slept with him to get good grades. No one would believe that he drugged and raped me. The rumors and lies became too much, so I transferred schools. Life is better now and I'm a junior in college. I am having a great time, but will never be able to forget what happened to me freshman year. - Alice
The first time I was assaulted, I was eleven.
This entry includes a description of sexual assault.
The first time I was assaulted, I was eleven. With my friend's family, waiting to pick her up from a trip. We stayed the night at their friend's house. The dad and his friend watched me and the two younger girls get ready for bed. Asked me to take off my top and talked about my breast development and body. That night, we three girls were in bed together and the friend came in and molested me with his hands and fingers. It hurt and I was terrified. Pretended to be asleep, told myself he was like a doctor, pinched my bed mate as hard as I could to try and wake her. After he told me that if I told anyone he would kill my parents. In the morning when I left, he was sleeping in a sleeping bag on the living room floor and gave me a significant mean stare. I did not tell. I sometimes think I know who he is. (I do not.) That he now lives in my hometown. I want to ask his wife if they used to live by the playground in Vale. I am triggered by seeing the person I suspect. If I knew for sure I do not know exactly what I would do. My youngest daughter is eleven.
I don't really have any hopes for this submission, just that I can get something off my chest that is hounding me night and day.
This entry includes a description of sexual assault.
I was at camp when I was 15. I had been to the camp twice before and was looking forward to a few weeks away from home. There was a boy there that didn't quite fit in. On the first day he approached me and asked if I would go out with him. I said no, and assumed that that was that. The next day he came back again with a drawing of me, a pornographic drawing. I was alarmed, and turned to my friend for help. I was told that he had a mental disability that prevented him from understanding others' feelings and wishes, so I let him off the hook temporarily. Soon he started following me around, yelling to me about my beauty even when I asked him to stop. Two weeks in, my best friend there left, and I was alone. I told the counsellors there that I was not comfortable being around him, and they shared my concerns. He had brought a knife with him, and on the first night threatened (possibly jokingly) to kill himself and others. He creeped on other younger girls, and bullied the few out LGBT kids. One day he cornered me and jumped on me. He managed to hold me down and take my running shorts off before I kicked him hard enough to wind him. He grabbed a sharp stick and tried to stab me with it, so I took a large rock and smashed it against his head. I tried to kill him. He ran away. I tried to tell someone, anyone, but I didn't have the vocabulary or knowledge to describe the attack or its motives. After that day, my panic attacks I had been having as a result of fear of him got worse. I couldn't breathe or speak, so I spent a lot of time lying face down on the nurse's cot. I was so afraid that he would try again, and that he would succeed.
The worst part is that I don't know if I can blame him. He clearly did not understand my fervent 'NO' to mean get off. But I sure as hell do not blame myself. I've only told two people, any more and I remember too much. I've always prided myself in being a strong independent woman, so I can't talk or think about my assault. After I left I spent a few months completely blocking it out, then in school a completely male class (except for me) brought everything back up. Once again I heard justification for rape, assault, humiliation; all said while I was in the room with no other women to help me. I'm trying to forget it again, but it's difficult. I don't even know if I can call myself a victim if I fought him off. I don't really have any hopes for this submission, just that I can get something off my chest that is hounding me night and day. -Gaia
She called me a liar. So the assault kept on.
This entry includes references to sexual assault and self-harm.
When I was younger I was sexually assaulted by my older brother. I told my grandmother (she is who I was living with at the time) but she didn't believe me. She called me a liar. So the assault kept on. I am 14 now it's been 8 years and I am bullied at school and constantly called a slut, whore, and etc. I suffer from self-harm and low self-esteem. Praying for one day it will all be better. - Tris Lavender
All I want is for someone to talk to me not because of my body or because I am "easy." I just want someone to like me for me.
I have measured my self worth in what boys say about me for as long as I can remember. I normally do whatever they want so I can feel good about myself, feel as though boys like me, or as though I am beautiful. Boys think I am easy. They call me a slut and screenshot my pictures. I can't stop though, I am stuck in this spot where I feel ugly and unwanted if I don't have a boy asking for me. I am considered a slut and I feel as though if I already have that reputation, so why change. I am sad and I feel unworthy of love. All I want is for someone to talk to me not because of my body or because I am "easy." I just want someone to like me for me.
Whether you end up reading this or not, I hope deep down you are aware of what you did to me, not in order to guilt you, but to educate you.
This entry includes descriptions of rape and self-harm.
I was 18 years old when I was raped. This was also the time I lost my virginity. The reason I am writing this today is because it has been now over a year since this has happened to me and my rapist is still not aware, and I am still struggling. There are very select few people in my life who know about this and there are repercussions to me writing this today. People can chose whether or not to believe me. That is their prerogative. But rape is not something to joke about. I would never wish what happened to me upon anyone. It is not a call for attention, what I went through is not a lie. To diminish a rape victim's experience is to perpetuate rape culture. It is to invalidate one of the hardest things a person can go through. It took me over a year to accept what happened to me and be vocal about it. Doing this has not been easy, and I am fucking scared. But I feel on many levels that it is essential for other rape survivors in my social circle, my mental health and growth as a woman. After a year of battling both depression and a severe anxiety disorder stemming from this incident, I believe it is time my rapist is called out. Speaking now directly to my rapist: You took advantage of a barely legal, intoxicated young girl. You dragged me to your apartment knowing full well I had not been with many boys before. You asked me if I wanted to have sex with you. I didn’t answer. When we got to your apartment, you started undressing me. You thrust yourself into me and after my constant cries of pain and asking you to stop, you did not. I, on multiple occasions, begged you to stop. When someone says no, no means fucking no. That’s all I kept thinking, but you held so much power over me physically. What could I do? I wanted so badly to run away. But I was trapped with you inside me. Once the act was finished and I was covered in a pool of my own blood, you looked at me in disgust and forced me to have a shower. The entire act was such a blur, and until today I have repressed it so far back in my mind. However I will never forget the pain you caused me, both physically and mentally. That will never go away. The next day, feeling beyond embarrassed, mortified and disgusted at myself, you made me go to a store and buy you new sheets for the “mess I made” and deliver it to you at your work. That was humiliation. I bled non-stop for three days straight and experienced multiple blood clots, I wasn’t eating or sleeping. I was deteriorating. Eventually I was so sick and weak that I decided to take a visit to the doctors by myself, crying the entire way there. This part no one knows, as I went by myself, in fear of telling anyone what had happened. The twist in this, one that has guilted me for a long time is that my rapist, a week earlier, had slept with my absolute best friend in the world. Before accepting I was raped, I had told a few friends that I had gotten with this boy and as a consequence lost many friends who labeled me a “whore” and “slut”. It has taken me lots of time to take the blame off myself for what happened. Too often the patriarchal society we live in conditions men and women alike to be so inherently misogynistic we don’t even realize it. This in itself is incredibly dangerous. It perpetuates not only rape culture but naturalizes violence and hatred towards women. Me “hooking up” with you was not the problem. What was wrong was you raping me. What kills me is that you got away with it. You got away with raping me. Because the sad society we live in taught me that I was a “slut” for sleeping with you because you had been with my best friend before me. Due to the emotional trauma I underwent, naturally, I began to change. I lost a lot of important people in my life to this, some people I have known since childhood. This breaks my heart because I have first hand seen and experienced the effects of rape culture. I lost multiple friends due to internalized misogyny, patriarchal conditioning, slut-shaming and a general misunderstanding of what I was going through both mentally and emotionally. I lost all these people in my life because I was a slut, because I was raped. For months I had been blaming myself for this incident, treating myself as the “slut” that all my friends had made me out to be, believing all the lies, hating myself. I lost all confidence in myself, I was broken… I do agree, during this time I was not the best version of myself. I was hateful. I was mean. I was hurting. I simply didn’t know how to deal with these complex emotions and what had happened to me. Those people aren’t in my life anymore for a reason and I’m glad. It is just sad for me to see that someone can be dealing with such an emotionally complex situation and put out so much emotional labour only for it to be misunderstood because of the stigma attached to rape and my fear of speaking up. No one understood what I was going through, I didn’t understand it myself.
I felt alone. I was alone. I know now that what happened is not my fault, but it doesn’t make that sentiment necessarily dissipate so easily. This rape led me to my demise - beginning in the summer of graduating high school and leading into my first year of university. I turned to drugs, alcohol and partying. I self medicated my problems by getting so fucked up I didn’t have to think about it, or the things I went through. Looking back, I now realize that this event, along with the various other toxic relationships with men I have engaged in after you, triggered my anxiety disorder, an eating disorder and severe depression, which I continue to fight every day. But every day I grow stronger, and vocalizing my experience will continue this growth for me. And I will be okay.
I don’t even think you are aware that you raped me. The act of sex has been so ingrained in a violent culture that when someone tells you to stop, when someone says no, it simply isn’t enough. You have no idea of the trauma and pain you have inflicted on me since, both personally and in my day to day relationships. When you raped me, you took away a part of me that I will never get back. An innocence, a happiness, a love for myself that will never return. Whether you are young or old, whether you are a man or a woman, taking advantage of young girls, boys, men and women regardless of what state they’re in without their consent, is rape. Unfortunately for me, you work in one of my favourite areas in Toronto - at a tattoo shop where every time I find myself near, I have to run in fear of seeing you and almost every time I pass by, I have a panic attack. This is just one of the effects you continue to have on my life, despite only interacting with you this one night. You have controlled every element of my life since then. You had so much power over me. But I will not allow this to go on anymore.
All of this said, I don’t blame you. Just as I don’t blame myself for what happened. Whether you end up reading this or not, I hope deep down you are aware of what you did to me, not in order to guilt you, but to educate you. I hope in sharing my experience I can somewhat contribute to breaking down this violent sex culture we are so deeply ingrained in. I hope that in me sharing my experience I allow fellow rape survivors to come forward with their stories in order to create a safer space for these types of discussions. The stigma and guilt that rape victims feel must end. In allowing for a safe space to have this kind of discourse and to vocalize similar experiences we can set up the proper resources and support groups. My rape does not define me. My rapist holds no power over me.
I felt compelled to write this after being severely let down by the sexual assault policy at my university. Despite being Canada’s highest educational institution, I am aware that these types of incidences continue to go on unaccounted for in residences and between students, which frightens me and makes me fear for my safety. To my fellow survivors, you are not alone in this experience, sharing and talking and engaging in a safe space/dialogue will help. There is such a stigma surrounding rape and unfortunately most of the time we blame ourselves for what has happened. What has happened is not your fault, it does not define you. In sharing our experiences we can help break down the stigma and bring an end to the perpetuation of rape culture and violence. CONSENT IS CONSENT. CONSENT IS POWERFUL. DO NOT ABUSE CONSENT. DO NOT ABUSE MEN, DO NOT ABUSE WOMEN.
I am not the opinion others have of me. Yes, I have failures, but I am not a failure.
This entry includes references to self-harm.
There is truly no end to where slut shaming occurs or by whom. Surprisingly I was slut shamed by my mother and stepfather. I have been slut shamed by my father since I was a kid simply from wearing a skirt that was to my knees or a simple summer dress. Having this opinion seared into my brain had taught me to fear anything sexual. But as I entered highschool I had realized that his opinion did not define me. I made up my opinions on the matter. My senior year I lost my virginity to who someone at the time I was very much in love with, and to this day I do not regret it. My mother until I had come from college the next year still believed I was a virgin. I had not told her in fear of being slapped or insulted like I was when I came home with a hickey that very same year. The manner in which she found out is through a family. He had asked me about my life in college and asked me if I was a virgin, seeing as to there is no shame in not being one I answered truthfully. He asked me the usual questions when, to who, so I answered them, thinking he was mature enough to keep this to himself. I wasn't worried of him telling anyone. Yet to my surprise days later my mother pulls me aside to confront me. He had told my aunt who called to tell my mother. My aunt made it seem as if I was some cheap whore. My mother proceeded to call me a whore, an embarrassment, with words implicating I was a failure and a shame on my family. In order to make me suffer further she wanted to tell my grandmother who saw me to be perfect, who was visiting. Struggling with depression this truly drove me to the edge and I contemplated attempting suicide. I was nearly about to when a realization came to me. That I am not the opinion others have of me. Yes, I have failures, but I am not a failure. Deep down I was not ashamed of my choices, but rather I felt the shame my family was projecting on me. So I decided to take a stand, rather let this beat me down I would use it to strengthen my views on the world. That a woman should not be shamed nor ashamed of her sexuality. That in time they would come to accept me. And if not then there was nothing I could do but live my life.
Using that negativity, channeling it into positivity? That is the biggest "fuck you" I can deliver to those who attempted to rip me down.
This entry includes descriptions of sexual assault, self-harm, and suicide.
I was around six years of age when an aunty told me, "Such a pretty face, but boys don't like bossy girls." Just the first of many times adults made me base my self worth off of whether a boy would deem it attractive. I was ten when a family member tried to get me to touch his genitals. I was told he was "just messing around" and to "hush up about that sort of thing." Eleven, a mere child. I was eleven years old when I first got called a slut. I had had my first "boyfriend," meaning it lasted a week and it was filled with petty issues. I thought it to be nothing, it was everyone else who decided it to be a big issue. Suddenly there were rumors that I had slept with this boy, this other child, which is what we were at the time. People in school gossiped and asked about it, and certain people hissed those terrible words, whore and slut, with such venom with glee filled eyes. They basked in the glory of trying to break a child. On the verge of my thirteenth birthday was the first time I attempted suicide. I self-harmed as a means of escape. It seemed rumors spanned daily. I couldn't so much as talk to a guy without it being an indication of screwing, and soon the few guys I was platonic with wouldn't talk to me at all. I got back after suicide attempt number one, only to hear the rumor mill had worsened and suddenly I had had an abortion. This was also the first time I cried in school. I continued with self-harm, started smoking and drinking, lashing out. Started hating myself. I got to a semi-good place and deemed it time to come out as pansexual. To me, an achievement, to everyone else? Double the amount of rumors. Some were hurtful, some were spiteful, and most were downright laughable. I developed serious anxiety, and my mental health is questionable at the best of times. A guy almost twice my age (I'm sixteen) sexually assaulted me at a party (I thank whatever is out there daily that it was not full blown rape, although that doesn't make it any less emotionally scarring), and when I told a friend it wasn't consenting, she laughed and said, "Of course it was, you're you." It was at this moment my heart sank, for I realized that everyone would assume due to my reputation, that it was entirely consenting and soon a few people heard. I felt dirty and used, sick at the thought of intimacy. It was among the roughest times I have ever been through. I fight daily against slut shaming. I spent so long crying, and being afraid. I hate to think so many others go through being shamed like this. I have tried to become a stronger being because of it, not in spite. Because using that negativity, channeling it into positivity? That is the biggest "fuck you" I can deliver to those who attempted to rip me down.
I was drugged without my knowledge and raped by a fellow veteran. No sympathy for me, only "You got what you deserved" and "You shouldn't dress like that."
This entry includes references to rape, self-harm, and other violence.
I was a teenage slut at age 12 in 1973. None of my family likes me even now. After watching "UnSlut" on PBS... I realized my therapist was slut shaming me. That was December 2016. I quit seeing her. In my VA women's group, members tried to shame me about sex. I was drugged without my knowledge and raped by a fellow veteran. No sympathy for me, only "You got what you deserved" and "You shouldn't dress like that." The assault happened 3 years ago and I still get shame talk from these females. I was told "you were trying to buy weed, what do you expect." I've never reported any of my rapes/sodomies to the law. Why? Look at the hundreds of thousands of rape kits never processed. I've been raped 6 times. None reported. I am still isolated, alone, friendless and without family. I have chronic severe depression, big anxiety, and fear sometimes rules my life. Most women don't like me and men treat me like a whore. Disabled and on a small pension, I often have no food or gas for my 17-year-old car. Nothing is as fun as being hungry on Christmas, no phone calls or cards. I wonder why I am suicidal? I really need to leave the state of Kansas and go somewhere more enlightened. - Tracy in Kansas
I've been so on guard that I can't even date. I haven't had a relationship in y-e-a-r-s.
This entry includes descriptions of rape.
Neither time that I was raped did I "deserve" it. The first time I was a on a date. I was dressed in a high-collared dress and I'd told the guy I wanted to go home. There wasn't a choice for me. He had me locked in a room and over and over I'd said no and that I wanted to go home. Finally after hours of this I was worn out and assaulted. He called me a few days later for another date! Of course I said no but I was shocked that he thought it was all OK! Then some years later I was waiting on a friend to come home. I'd ridden my bike and it'd started to rain. A neighbor of hers said to come in and wait there. He then raped me! I was so shocked that I didn't even tell my friend about it. Since then I've been so on guard that I can't even date. I haven't had a relationship in y-e-a-r-s.
The gossip and name-calling haunted me for years. It was always subtle but obvious. It's who I thought I was. I looked like this, I liked being treated like this, and it's the most I deserved, right?
This entry includes references to sexual assault.
I am 52-year-old woman who has spent most of my life with the belief that I stayed out of harm's way concerning sexual assault. I had a wonderful father figure who very much loved my Mom and my brother and I until he passed away in 2006 of ALS. I am married to the man I fell in love with in 1986. We have, for the most part, had a very wonderful life and we share one son who is now 20. However, more recently I have had memories of those middle school years. I developed a very womanly body at the age of 14. I was well dressed and had blonde hair that always fell right. I had big blue eyes that matched my clear peaches and cream complexion. My body never had an awkward stage. I remember it separated me from my childhood friends in ways I did not understand at the time. I thought the attention I received from boys was wonderful and I naturally became very outgoing. I had an early talent for photography and by 8th grade I was placed in an advanced class with only boys. There was a popular boy in that class. I was flattered when he would flirt with me in the darkroom. I can recall class times where he would take me behind the curtain and kiss and fondle me. I remember thinking it wasn't wrong because I enjoyed it. As the semester wore on and our make out sessions grew heavier so did my heart. As soon as class was done we would all flow out of classes and he never looked back at me. He would run ahead and never make eye contact in the halls. One afternoon in the darkroom there were 3 other boys and the "popular boy." He touched my ass and asked me to stand still. He then invited the other boys to run their hands across my jeans. When I got home that afternoon I cried and threw up. Deep inside I knew what was going on but told myself that I had asked for it because my jeans were too tight, and I had enjoyed our make-out sessions. I had let him do those things to me as it aroused me, also. I should be flattered that all the boys wanted to touch me. The specific memory of the rest of that semester has faded but I think I kissed another boy the next day. It's all pretty foggy. I tried to just move on because no one had tried to have sex with me or forced me to touch their penis so it wasn't so bad. But that boy continued to go down my pants and finger me and go up my shirt and feel up my breasts up day after day. One afternoon I couldn't hold the pain inside anymore. I decided to tell 4 of my girlfriends, to mixed reaction. One girl told me he'd never respect me because I let that happen in the dark behind that faded peach curtain and with those individual chemical tanks that I can still smell. To this day when I smell those solutions of old darkrooms I shake a little inside. But one of the girls in the group that I confided in started telling everyone she knew about me and the darkroom. Me, not him. My full name plus the word darkroom was my identity. The gossip and name-calling haunted me for years. It was always subtle but obvious. It's who I thought I was. I looked like this, I liked being treated like this, and it's the most I deserved, right? I wasn't the kind of girl who would get asked out to the Christmas or Spring dance or the boy/girl birthday parties and I certainly wasn't someone who a boy would proudly slow dance with to the Bee Gees at those ridiculous afternoon dances among the gym shoes. The dances they had before kids are old enough to go out at night together. But sexual assault doesn't happen at night after dances, it happens behind ugly peach curtains in the middle of class. I confronted that "popular boy" at our 10 year reunion in 1993. Do you know what he said? "You know you liked it just as much as I did." I wish I could wrap up this story with some big life lesson but I hope by coming forward from an incident that took place in 1978, an incident that still replays in my head, I can help another girl (or boy). Maybe it will help a teacher, a parent, or a boy that received a message somehow that this behavior is ok. None of it was my fault - None. Of. It. I didn't deserve it. By the way: My husband I have been known to dance to "How deep is your love" by The Bee Gees whenever we get the chance. - Anonymous
All of my girl friends started talking behind my back and turned against me by telling everyone not to hang around me, since I was such a "slut."
Well, first of all I can't really state that I have been physically harmed in any sort of way because of this matter, but the psychological damage slut shaming caused hit me pretty hard. I do not fully understand what the world slut really means, but apparently, in a society as small and close-minded as the one in my country, most girls my age are. I'm currently 19 years old and have had, throughout my life, 5 sexual partners, one of them being someone with whom I shared a long-term relationship. Once I felt I had enough trust in someone, I was once asked and openly told one of my closest friends about it. She called me a slut who will soon get STDs and told me that I should start respecting myself before other people would call me a whore and start treating me like one. All of my girl friends started talking behind my back and turned against me by telling everyone not to hang around me, since I was such a slut. I normally try not to give a shit about other people's opinions, but the feeling of being shamed and criticized for this is awful, especially because it's made me doubt myself. Am I really someone to be despised? Am I just too self-centered or dumb to realize that what I have done is actually wrong? Am I a slut? - Anonymous in Ecuador
I was nine. I immediately told my mom and she told me to never talk about it!
This entry includes references to sexual assault.
I was 16 and in a children's home with 20 girls and 20 boys. My father called the children's home to talk to me and proceeded to tell me how he knew I was a slut when I was in my mother's womb. Before I was born, he said he knew I would become a slut! The first time he (my father) sexually assaulted me I was nine. I immediately told my mom and she told me to never talk about it! - Karen in Webberville, Texas
I have been ashamed to talk to anyone or open up to anyone about my story without being judged.
This entry includes references to rape.
My name is Emily Gist. I was a victim of rape. I was 14 when it happened to me. It was hard because I didn't know what was happening. This is the first time I am sharing my story because I have been ashamed to talk to anyone or open up to anyone about my story without being judged, even though it wasn't my fault. - Emily Gist in South Carolina
I told my mom and we went to the police. Nothing happened, because they said I asked for it by drinking.
This entry includes references to sexual assault and self-harm.
I was only 13 and wanted to fit in, so I used to go out and party with my older sister's friends. There was this guy I thought was cute. Well, we were all out drinking one night and I remember walking away from the crowd to go pee, when he walked up. I was embarrassed so I pulled up my pants real quick, and he handed me a bottle, and I don't remember much after that except my friend waking me up and my pants were half off, and he was walking away fixing his clothes. I told my mom and we went to the police. Nothing happened, because they said I asked for it by drinking. It was never the same at school. I started using drugs and thinking the only way to fit in was to have sex. I was called names. I was called "easy," a "slut." I started cutting myself, doing drugs, and just recently got clean. I am 39 and it wasn't until my thirties that I became okay with myself. I saw UnSlut: A Documentary Film on PBS and knew I needed to share my story. - Anonymous in Nevada
I felt so alone, ashamed, and misunderstood. I had to work with the guy who date raped me and all my coworkers believed him that I was a slut.
This entry includes a description of rape.
When I was 19, I was date raped by a 21-year-old coworker at the restaurant where I worked. We had worked together for four years. He invited me to his house to hang out with him and his friend who I had a crush on. I had been raised by strict Christian parents and had never gotten drunk before. My coworker kept giving me more and more red wine and my crush never came over. I am sure he was never invited. I had no idea how to handle my wine and blacked out. I had one patch of memory when my coworker was trying to kiss me and I said to him, "My arms and legs aren't working anymore." Then I woke up in the morning to him throwing my clothes at me and telling me to get out. I could not accept that he had raped me, so I went back and had sex with him by choice to try to initiate a relationship, even though I didn't care about him. I thought that if we were dating, somehow it wasn't rape. Then my coworkers started calling me a slut. He had told all my coworkers that I was a slut. By then I realized what had happened to me. None of my coworkers believed me or had any understanding for my situation. I felt so alone, ashamed, and misunderstood. I had to work with the guy who date raped me and all my coworkers believed him that I was a slut. I lasted maybe 6 more months at that job. More than a decade later, I ran into another coworker at a Sexual Assault Awareness event. He told me that he believed me now and he was so sorry for his participation in slut shaming me. I learned to never be drunk and alone with even trusted people like long-time coworkers. I stopped drinking for many years after that. I never go out after dark and am reclusive. It shaped who I am now as a person, many of the life choices I have made. I became an activist in my hometown for safe dance spaces for LGBTIQAA community and formed a dance troupe to inspire others to feel free to express themselves and their sexuality, to be unashamed, safe and free. - Carly in Missoula, Montana
Never have I felt so alone and as if I have no one in this world. But I still feel strong enough to finally make a statement here, even though it is anonymous. I can no longer sit in so much silence and suffer and not say one word.
This entry includes references to rape.
I wanted to be in my field of practice since I was a little girl at the age of 13. I had made this decision after a very traumatic rape experience of one of my very close family members. I wanted to prosecute and I had never really thought beyond that point regarding my career, to be honest. In my third year of my field of study I worked at our Prosecutions Office. I met the head of prosecutions and I thought that he was smart and brilliant and I wanted to be just like him. I wanted to learn and watch and in fact even be better. We formed a friendship and at the end of my short term working in that office we exchanged email addresses. When I returned to university I contacted him and we became friends. He wanted to know everything about me and I most certainly told him. I told him about my family, growing up, all of my past, the life of my brothers and sisters, living without my father and how my father eventually reconciled with his children later in life, the tumultuous relationship that I could remember that occurred between my father and my mother and how my mother taught her girls to be independent of all men. I thought he was so awesome. He listened and when necessary he even gave advice. I was having such a tough year in university that year that I even told him about the prejudice I suffered there and in the courses, which I thought was more passive aggressive and subtle than anything else. I felt alone in a very big city amongst big city folks in a place that would have engulfed my island ten times over, so to be able to talk to someone from home regularly kept me very calm. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that several years later all of that information would be blasted over the entire internet or showing up in movies or books and newspapers and radio stations. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that this man would have politicians defending him and judges hiding his actions against me, or an entire campaign that would make me want to give up all of my life and my dreams just to find some far away corner in a very remote part of the earth to hide. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think that the information would spill into my job, and men would feel that they had the right to abuse me with horrible sexual words and innuendos, and women would think that they could hate me just for breathing. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that my telephone and emails and privacy would be so violated. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that my own female boss would turn against me because she felt somehow that she should get me out of my dream job. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that I would suffer anxiety attacks and almost feel like I was going crazy and feel as if I was drowning, and that every door that I turned to for help would be shut in my face. Never in my wildest dreams did I feel that I would be made to look like the biggest liar, after a man would have first lied himself and then had other people lie on his behalf to cover his actions. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that a trip to the police on several occasions would leave me unsatisfied and feeling as if there was no justice in this world for the small people and the poor folks and those without political pull or clout and without connections. I thought that justice was for all, but I was very quickly taught that justice is only for those who have money and prestige. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that I would be at a place where I would have to change my geography to attain peace. Never in my wildest dreams have I felt so alone and as if I have no one in this world. But yet in all this, I still feel strong enough to finally make a statement here, even though it is anonymous. I can no longer sit in so much silence and suffer and not say one word. I can't not tell of how the police refused to assist and the lawyers refused to assist and the judge refuse to assist and the politician refuse to assist and the friends and family thought I was crazy and worthless and weak... and how on the inside I die daily after all that I have lost, most of all, I feel as if I have lost myself. I thought I was gaining a friend. I did not. I never considered that after I had spoken to this man on several occasions and said no, you are not my type and no, I would not go out with you that my "No" would have been miscontrued as anything else. In my innocency and naivete, I thought that this was a friendship similar to the one I currently had with my best friend who was also a guy. The only difference was that this friendship would be with someone who was in my field and from whom I could gain a lot of knowledge and wisdom and direction on how to navigate our profession. I looked up to him and was inspired by him, but I found out in the worst possible way that my hero was a zero. My life has completely changed since then. I was once very trusting of others, now I am very cautious. I was once very outgoing now I am more of an introvert unless I get angry and have a moment where I would state my feelings. I keep more to myself and I am still trying to work through all of the hurt and anger I feel at the way that I was actually treated. I hope that there are people out there who would learn from my mistakes and avoid the pitfalls. I may now have to start over somewhere else, but I think I will never again trust so freely.
I have always been called a slut and a whore and so fucking what? If it makes me a slut for loving my body and pleasure then hey, I'm a "slut" and proud.
This entry includes references to self-harm.
So I decided to write this because I'm fed up. My name is Daisy and I'm 15 years old. Since the age of 8 years old, I have found sexual attraction in males and females. I developed a lot quicker than anyone one else, to the point where had to wear a C cup bra at the age of 11. Every girl in my primary school looked down on me for having breasts and wide hips and "thunder thighs." They told me I only had boobs and a figure because I was fat. So I spent a hell of a long time starving myself and hurting myself from a young age, because I was different and I didn't want to be. I have naturally bright, ginger, curly hair, so I was always excluded for that, too. But because of developing so early, I wanted to have sex. I can't remember a time where I haven't been sexually attracted to men and women and wanted an intimate relationship with them. I have always been called a slut and a whore and so fucking what? If it makes me a slut for loving my body and pleasure then hey, I'm a "slut" and proud. If anyone reads this, and is struggling with any type of slut shaming, here is my advice for you. The next time anyone calls you a slut or a whore or anything with that meaning, I want you to know you're so much stronger and better than they'll ever be. I hope all you girls and boys live happy, thank you for reading my story. - Daisy Mae in England, UK
My mother feels ashamed of me and perhaps that's why she uses the word "slut" - to try and make me feel ashamed, too.
I am a 42-year-old. A few months ago my mother called me a 'slut' during a heated argument. Out of nowhere. The argument started with me disagreeing with her which (always dysfunctionally) causes her to see me as a defiant, disrespectful daughter. Asserting myself at 42 is still treated as me showing no respect. What began a disagreement about something trivial angered her to get to that point of rage. I think there is a difference between anger and rage. In my heart I believe it still goes back to when I was a teenager. She was abusive. I learned the only way to interact with her was to not respond, and be totally silent to anything she said. She was ashamed of me, a beautiful young white female, hanging out with black male peers. Little does it clearly still matter that I lost my virginity after high school. As though it weren't enough to have a bad home life, I was teased at school. It's not easy being a well-developed teen. My breasts were fairly large then because my mother and both grandmother were large-breasted. I started high school with long hair and skirts, a real girly girl, taking an hour each morning to do my hair. By my senior year I wore nothing but jeans and my hair was cut to my ears. Yet junior year I was in class where we were all to read silently to ourselves. One guy moved his desk clear in between rows (where you walk), got out a magazine with a model in a bikini, and said, "This is what I think you look like." Why didn't the teacher say anything? His desk was clearly between rows. Maybe because he was a popular jock? And 'boys will be boys'? In another class, another popular guy leaned in from behind and said, "Red in the head is fire in the hole." Mind you there were others, but these are ones that remain with me. I didn't feel I could talk to my teachers. I didn't feel safe to get help from home. Once I was talking in a busy hallway to my black male friend and his white friend's brother interrupted loudly: "Are you guys having sex or not?" Neither of us responded. He went away and my friend looked directly at me saying, "What is it you wanted to say?" respectfully. But I was so hurt by him doing nothing. That hurt just as bad. I said, "nevermind" and walked away. I still associate with black males and am/was strong enough to hold out my hand in pride to any friend. My mother feels ashamed of me and perhaps that's why she uses the word "slut" - to try and make me feel ashamed, too. It is unresolveable to me that to this day, at 42, I am still damned. I wish I could play for you her remorseful voicemail left later that day. What was her anger became her shame. And because she has apologized, I am expected never to discuss it with her again. Doing so would make her feel ashamed - that she was a bad Mom who does nothing right. This black and white thinking leads right back to an argument, the same place this message started. My advice to any teen is that even if you abstain and don't have sex until after high-school, someone may still try to shame you 20 years later with the same word. It's not your fault. Please do not hurt yourself. I am an advocate for mental illness and deeply concerned about what I experienced before social media and what you young ladies endure. - Anonymous in Iowa
I'm saddened that in the past I was not an advocate for other women, and moving forward I'm doing everything in my power to look at other women and girls as my sisters.
I was guilty of "slut" shaming when I was in college. I went to the University a virgin, and felt that I had immunity from a negative stereotype. After the relationship with my first boyfriend ended, he would tell me that since we broke up, I have been hanging out with hoes. I began to adopt his speech, and call my friends sluts behind their backs. In my senior year, a girl that had been in hip hop music videos, clashed with me, when we liked the same guy. She asked me not to date him, but instead I made him my boyfriend the next day, so that I could show her that I was better than her: I'm not a slut, I'm the girl guys will start a relationship with. After that, my reputation was ruined, peers thought what I did was shady, and that I was in fact the hoe. For years, I carried the shame and isolation of that bad reputation. I also beat myself up, realizing that I deserved it, because I spent so many years chastising other women, and now karma was biting me. Since than, a neighbor, a teenage girl, has committed suicide because of the "slut" shaming she endured. I'm saddened that in the past I was not an advocate for other women, and moving forward I'm doing everything in my power to look at other women and girls as my sisters. Beautiful, talented, intelligent, kind members of the species, that I want to adore, appreciate, and uplift. Thank you to the UnSlut project for your work, and being a dynamic player, in creating that more peaceful and empowering climate for us, women and girls. - Rachel Spears, Connecticut
I have felt shamed and humiliated. It has wounded me to my core. I don't trust people like I used to and I am defensive in ways I used to not be.
When I was 34, I met and fell in love with the man I have now shared 20 years of my life with. He is 12 years older than I am, so we were both well into adulthood. Because we were in a non-conventional relationship, his very Mormon religious siblings and parents took issue with me and with our love. Before I had met most of his family, my sweetheart's older brother and his wife crafted a 6 page letter that they sent around to all the siblings (there are 11 of them), their wives, most aunts, uncles, and cousins. In this horrific letter, they called me a whore, a slut, Jezebel, harlot, and even said that we sexually abuse my children. They made sure to send the letter so that it was received by all before we attended a family wedding two states away. Unbeknownst to us, all his family had read the letter and believed I was a sexual predator, and that my sweetie was, too. Not one of those assholes told us about the letter, not one of them defended me and not one of them asked if any of it was true. They all just treated me like shit and it confused the hell out of me. After all, I had never met most all of them! I could not figure out why they were all so cold and unapproachable. Most people like me! It was not until we returned home and found one of the letters that was mailed to us that we understood what had happened and why they were all so cold and mean to us. The brother and sister in law included a list of all the people they had sent the letter to, so we knew who had gotten it. Twenty years later, not one person in that family has ever apologized to us, asked us about the accusations, or stood up to the bullies. It has been extremely hurtful. I don't feel like I have any place that is safe in his family and I don't like or respect these supposedly religious and moral assholes. I am still left to think they all believe that awful stuff about me and that they think I am a slut. The pain they have caused me is huge. My children are furious that they made it seem like they've been abused by their mother, and they felt ashamed. I have felt shamed and humiliated. It has wounded me to my core. I don't trust people like I used to and I am defensive in ways I used to not be. I am still so hurt, and angry and pissed off and sad and isolated because of this. Slut shaming ruins lives. - Anonymous in Utah
I thought that I must be REALLY bad because men were always wanting to have sex with me.
I am in my 50s. When I was in my early 20s, my good friend told me that men didn't ask "good girls" to have sex. They could tell the bad girls who would "put out" and good girls who did not "put out." So, if a man asked you to have sex, that meant that you were not projecting the right (or good girl) image. I believed her. I thought that I must be REALLY bad because men were always wanting to have sex with me. If my current self could talk with my former self, I'd tell her (me) that is just stupid in so many levels AND I'd tell her (me) to say to the friend who gave the world's most shaming advice to "f*ck off." - Anonymous in Houston, TX
It was another 30 years before I realized that it was not a consensual relationship. I had been at the mercy of a thirteen-year-old sexual predator.
I was twelve when a boy asked me to go steady. I couldn't wait to agree. Within minutes he had me against a wall kissing me violently. In another minute he had removed my blouse and had his mouth on my breast. I was too stunned to say no. It was at that moment I realized we had totally different ideas about what it meant to go steady. I was expecting companionship. Outings to movies, days after school doing homework together. His version of going steady meant he had a right to have sex. I knew this because he told me outright this was what going steady meant. For my part I was terrified of my mother and I didn't have a strong enough relationship with my father to talk to him about anything. Fine, I said, then no going steady. Then he informed me if I didn't have sex with him he would tell people I was having sex with someone else. He threatened to tell my only friends, then the other boy's mother, then my mother. I gave in, my fear of my mother being the primary reason. In my late thirties, a friend of mine who is an expert on acquaintance rape told me, "The minute you said no, it was rape." I couldn't get away from him. He would show up at school after my last class and once he broke into my house. The worst part was having people ask me if I had a boyfriend. In the traditional sense, I didn't. The one time we did arrange to go out, he didn't show up. My mother found out before I did when she saw him walking away from my house, going somewhere else. She came in the house and when she saw me, her face exploded into a grin so big I didn't think her face could hold it. Then she started singing, "You got stoooooooood up. You got stooooood up." It was worse than him not coming. However, that was the end of the relationship. I called his bluff, I told him to go ahead and tell people. It was another 30 years before I realized that it was not a consensual relationship. I had been at the mercy of a thirteen-year-old sexual predator. However, it made me think. Had he gotten what he wanted, would his behavior still be considered rape?
I hated being at school, I hated myself, I hated the guys who didn't have my consent, and I hated my ex-boyfriend who told me how disgusting I was and how embarrassed he was.
This entry includes references to self-harm and sexual assault.
My first boyfriend and I were together for nearly two years. I lost my virginity to him, and he lost his to me. I was 17 and I was in love. After a messy breakup, my heart broke to hear he was sleeping with another girl so soon. I was so shocked to think my virginity and my love meant absolutely nothing to him. I became depressed even more than before and decided the best way to cope was self-harm. After 2 months of hating myself and wanting to hate him, I went to a huge party and sadly he and his new partner showed up. I didn't want to see them or talk to them. I wanted to forget everything. I got drunk, and as soon as I ran out of alcohol I found drugs. I was so unaware of everything and I still only remember bits and pieces of that night. I was shocked to hear the next morning by my best friend that everyone said I slept with 3 guys, one of whom I didn't even know. I dreaded going to school after the weekend, but what was I supposed to tell my mom? I went in on Monday morning with a smile on my face and I saw people stare, heard them whisper. Even some of my friends called me a slut. I spoke to my best friend and I cleared things up and figured out what exactly happened. But no one cared. Guys every weekend after that texted me to hookup and I denied their offer. I hated being at school, I hated myself, I hated the guys who didn't have my consent, and I hated my ex-boyfriend who told me how disgusting I was and how embarrassed he was. He didn't understand. No one did. I didn't know how to cope so I thought I'd feel better by continuing to hurt myself. One day at the lunch table one of these guys called me a slut, and I became so angry that I stood up in front of everyone and said "SO WHAT I HAD SEX, I LIKE SEX, I LIKE PENIS." And no one said anything to me ever again (to my face at least).
Just because I'm comfortable in my clothes and body, and I'm happy with my personality, does not mean you have a right to "slut" shame me.
I am a 13-year-old girl who just started 8th grade in a public middle school in the East Bay of California. I have had many experiences with slut shaming, such as being called a slut, whore, hoe, etc. I've had people spread false rumors about me such as I flirt with every guy, I wear multiple bras, and more. I've also had people physically pull up my shirt if I show any cleavage, pull down my shirt if they see any midriff, and many other things. I've had messages sent to me about how I'm such a slut, I've had "friends" scream "slut" at me in the halls, and I am so done telling people to stop. I haven't even had my first kiss, nor do I flirt all the time. Just because I'm comfortable in my clothes, body and I'm happy with my personality, does not mean you have a right to shame me. I hope through this project we can spread awareness for the harassment that continues to happen to girls and women who are just being themselves. I hope this also raises awareness to sexual, mental and physical abuse from peers in and out of school because I've had to deal with all of those things just within the past year.
He knew I wouldn't remember anything. He knew I wasn't consenting to what he did to me.
This entry includes descriptions of rape.
Following the breakup of my first serious relationship my sophomore year of high school, I started drinking heavily and using prescription drugs as well as smoking weed daily. I was hooking up with older guys to distract myself from the heartache and was being shamed for that, but it really didn't bother me at all, even though my mother called me a whore. One night I snuck out to go to my best friend's house to get fucked up as usual, but this time her 25 year old brother was there. By the time I could barely walk or talk, my friend was hooking up with someone else and didn't notice when her brother followed me as I stumbled up the stairs to the bathroom to take a piss. I looked up and he was standing over me with his pants down, and pulled my head towards him. The last thing I remember is him saying, "It's okay, you won't remember this anyway." Somewhere in there I have a memory of him driving me home and putting his number in my phone, taking my pills out of my purse and kissing me before dumping me on my front porch. I woke up in my bed the next morning in so much pain I could barely walk. I had been on my period. He had raped me in the ass. I felt I couldn't tell anyone. This was my best friend's big brother and ruining his life would ruin hers as well. And I'd been flirting with him all night. I'd wanted it. When was the line crossed? When I got blackout drunk? He knew I was 16. He knew I wouldn't remember anything. He knew I wasn't consenting to what he did to me. This man continued to text and call me sporadically for up to three months afterward, trying to buy drugs off me or hookup. I never replied-- he never got the hint. To this day I cannot trust men and have flashbacks when I reach that level of intoxication.
The possibility of freely growing into a woman was replaced with my role as a tease: my role for men.
Since the age of 12 or 13, I’ve been taught – through whistles not words – that I am a tease. This idea, first put forward by a stranger excited at my school uniform, was continually confirmed for the next decade. Whistles were quickly replaced with verbal harassment and physical contact, porn was being flashed in my face at school and bets were being made to lose your virginity. The possibility of freely growing into a woman was replaced with my role as a tease: my role for men. Every comment on my breasts and quick, uninvited grope against a brick wall repeatedly confirmed this. The act of each man – sometimes my own age, sometimes much older – demonstrated that I was a tease. This notion become so embedded within me that cheating, assaults and abuse flooded my youth and fucked my mental health. The words, ‘you can’t kiss me like that and tell me you don’t want it’, took me back to that same scared school girl questioning her own actions and appearance. It took years for me to realise what was wrong with those words; and a decade to realise that these events did not affect me separately, but cumulatively. After several breakdowns, a severe bought of PTSD and conversations with amazing women, I now I know it wasn’t me. Sometimes I was drunk, wearing a skirt and flirting; other times I was wearing my pyjamas and watching TV. If I've learnt anything, it's that how I look or act does not influence how badly I am treated. My clothes, my hair, my voice, my interests, my body, my identity have all changed since that first whistle, but the sexually aggressive acts of men have not. If it was me, wouldn't it have stopped the second I took off that seductive school uniform? - Anonymous in Newcastle
When people laughed at me I laughed back at them. I wanted people to see and understand that I hadn't done anything to be ashamed of. At the end of the day it is my body and I decide what I do with it.
This entry includes references to suicide.
I was in a physically and psychologically abusive relationship for a year. I was not allowed to have any friends while I was with him. I was all under his control and had to do everything he said. I was called a 'slut' for every time I spoke to another male, even in a friendly way. When I wanted to break up he threatened me with naked pictures of myself that I had sent him, so I took pills to kill myself. I was in the hospital for three days. After I came out he made up to me, and we were fine for about a month, until the last week of our relationship. He beat me up on the road and made me apologise to him. He made me feel as if everything I was doing was wrong. He called me a whore, slut, and told me to kill myself all the time. A month after we broke up he found out that I was speaking to someone else. He he put up my naked pictures and videos of us having intercourse on social media. I was so embarrassed. People were laughing at me, sending my images and videos around. My mum thought that I would not go to school but I did not take a single day off. I didn't lock myself in my room. I continued my life like nothing happened, even when the images were being sent to all my friends. When people laughed at me I laughed back at them. I wanted people to see and understand that I hadn't done anything to be ashamed of. At the end of the day it is my body and I decide what I do with it. I didn't let a stupid boy ruin my life, I reported him to the police and took him to court. - Anonymous in the UK
I really hate being called this name, especially by people who I thought were my closest friends or people I trusted.
This entry includes a reference to suicide.
I had my first kiss in 7th grade, I felt pressured into it by my friends and some others I don't really know what to call. He was one of the popular guys but he's a real asshole and I regret it! And I was known as the school "slut" as well as my friend Julia. We stuck together through the hard and rough year but I'm going into eighth grade and I'm hoping to fix my reputation throughout the years. I really hate being called this name, especially by people who I thought were my closest friends or people I trusted. I've thought about suicide but I've realized that wouldn't really stop the talking, would it?? People start group chats on social media and include me in them and call me a slut and a whore and so on... Others text me personally and tell me I should just die because I'm a waste of space for someone better, or they call me things and I brush it past me, but then I go home and I lock myself in my room and cry myself to sleep. There so much more to share but I'll just leave it here.
Guess I should have known that my breasts would eventually provoke a boy to misbehave and I should have been ashamed of myself.
Here's a short one for you. When I was in junior high, way back in the dark ages, I had developed breasts larger than a good percentage of my classmates. Of course, some of the boys had noticed, and one day, when I had worn a shirt with something printed on the front, one of the boys in class kept "pointing" at something in the design, getting closer and closer to touching my breast despite my telling him to stop. Finally, he made his move and touched my breast. I yelled at him for it and we were both sent to see the vice principal. Somehow, despite a clear explanation of what had taken place, both of us were given detention. Sure I yelled in class, but I had my breast touched by some creep after I repeatedly told him to back off. Technically, he assaulted me. Guess I should have known that my breasts would eventually provoke a boy to misbehave and I should have been ashamed of myself. - Michelle, Massachusetts
I am now referred to as the "coke whore." That is my name in my children's house. I am not allowed to see them.
This entry includes reference to sexual assault.
My husband and I had split up. His parents are extremely wealthy. My parents have always been working poor. I had no support financially. I started escorting, and in order to escort I started to use drugs. I needed to drown out the old men who thought I was years younger than I am. My father had sexually assaulted me when I was young and the "tricks" would trigger my PTSD. Drugs helped. Last winter, just before Christmas, my ex found out that I was escorting and using. I never used or had a date with my children present. I did these things for my children... if that makes any sense. I needed to feed them, clothe them, buy slushies and chocolate bars. I had shared custody and no financial support. I did what I had to do. My ex-husband's reaction was to report me to child protection. I lost shared custody of my kids. My drug use went through the roof. I still had visits and phone calls with my kids until my ex met his girlfriend... I am now referred to as the "coke whore." That is my name in my children's house. I am not allowed to see them. It has been four months. I talk to them on random occasions... maybe once every ten days. My daughter is 3 and my son 8. Until we split, I was the primary caregiver. I taught my kids to walk, use the toilet, and to love. I miss them. I'm so lost. Thank you for reading. - Jessica
In the office (in 1988) I was afraid to tell anyone that he groped me, trying to kiss me, and tried driving me to a motel.
This entry includes references to sexual assault.
Anyone who believes that asking a coworker to lunch is an invitation to grab or grope is not in any way acceptable. Such was what happened to me and luckily I was able to leave the location that horrible afternoon without being raped. Had I known the man who had asked me to lunch previously was not the professional he appeared in our office setting, I never would have gone to lunch alone with him. I couldn't even tell he was a possible rapist. In the office (in 1988) I was afraid to tell anyone that he groped me, trying to kiss me, and tried driving me to a motel. Not even my supervisor. I was able to finally get the message to him loudly at work; his harassment wouldn't be allowed with me.
I know he knew that what he was doing was wrong. But he kept doing it.
I was in plumbing school. Most of the guys were fine but this one guy kept "accidentally" grazing his hand over my butt. Each time I turned around he'd say sorry, so I know he knew that what he was doing was wrong. But he kept doing it. After the class ended we had a class party and the same guy offered my friend a ride home, and the rest of us girls got this bad feeling about him and told her to stay with us. He then got mad at us for keeping her away from him.
I didn't fight or scream because I have anxiety and I didn't want to make a scene and have all sorts of attention on me.
This entry includes descriptions of sexual assault.
Went to see a local punk band with my boyfriend. We both were smoking pot and drinking. We started hanging out with some of the "popular" punks and we felt like we had to go along with what they wanted to do. At one point three guys who were not my boyfriend started groping my breasts "as a joke," and my boyfriend laughed. I was uncomfortable but felt pressured into going along with it, try to have fun. We ended up going back to one of the guy's houses and one of them took me into the bathroom, started kissing me and taking off my pants. When I said no, he got mad at me, told his friends, who also got mad at me for being a tease. My boyfriend did nothing as I cried. We were 16 and 17, it was 2am and we were in another city with no way home, so we had to stay the night. I slept between my boyfriend and the guy who tried to kiss me in the bathroom. When my boyfriend was asleep, the guy spent an hour trying to talk me into having sex with him before he forced himself onto me. I didn't fight or scream because I have anxiety and I didn't want to make a scene and have all sorts of attention on me. We left in the morning and I never told my boyfriend.
My body is my own. My mind is my own. I don't owe anyone anything except what I decide to give them.
I am completely mortified and on the verge of tears from all stories here. Sometimes I think demonizing human and, in particular, female sexuality has pushed the bigger part of humanity into an obsession with sex. Having it is bad, not having it is bad, and young people suffer because of this. I was never called names because I was sexually active in elementary or high school - I was called names because I wasn't interested. Having been bullied for years because I've always been shy, silent and a bookworm, this was just something else they slapped at me, another label. I was thirteen and interested in sex, love, relationships, but I didn't want to experiment with any guy I didn't like, and I hadn't met anyone I liked yet. I had crushes in high school, but nothing happened. My classmates would look down on me for being seventeen and a virgin, and my former bullies continued calling me names because I didn't have relationships. My friends' circle at that time was full of cool people (understand really cool, not show-offs), I felt okay with them, but at some point they started hooking up with each other and it was so weird for me. Most of them were much younger than me; I was 18. I liked a guy and he liked me, but then he just stopped talking to me. I felt lonely and didn't even know how to talk to people about what bothered me. And my friends were, like pretty much everyone else, obsessed with sex - not the feelings it should compliment (in my personal opinion), not in spending time with the other person, doing different things, but sex only. And because there were guys in this group, my mum and step-dad would become very suspicious that I was sleeping around. I had only ever kissed one of them and had broken it off shortly afterward. This is why I never spoke to my mum about dating... I lost my virginity when I was 18. I didn't tell anyone. I don't know if my then-boyfriend did, if he did, I never got anything about it. I stopped caring what people called me, but I cared about what he thought, and he turned out to be a manipulator and an abusive guy. He got angry with me when I forgot my phone at home one evening and didn't text him (we were living in different cities at that moment); I didn't want to lose him, and I let myself being emotionally bullied into cyber sex. He bullied me into "real" (corporeal) sex many times after, coming with the argument that I would do it if I loved him, and if I didn't I was a cheap whore who played with his feelings. I'm not proud of how long this lasted, but at some point I had enough, and I just told him to get lost. My proudest moment. I have been far from happy since, but for other reasons, and he was the first and last one I ever let treat me like that. My body is my own. My mind is my own. I don't owe anyone anything except what I decide to give them. I'm in a loving relationship now with someone who respects me. And I keep my fingers crossed for the amazing women who have it - and have had it - worse than me. You are beautiful and strong and you deserve to be happy.
I remember people calling me "weird" for being a girl that masturbated, and labeling me as a slut for seeking self-pleasure.
I was hesitant about sharing this, as my situation differs from others and I was unsure if this right site to be using. Basically, I was a "revenge porn" victim back in high school. And as crazy as it sounds, it's not because I took "naked selfies", but rather because I was unfortunate enough of a person that someone in my neighborhood had seen me masturbating in my own room one night and decided to record it. To sum it up, someone saw me through my room window and posted it on social media without me knowing until people started talking about it around school. I was ignorant as a teenager, as I had a rather large window in my room (took up an entire wall), with see through curtains that it never occurred to me pretty much allowed anyone in the neighborhood to peep in from with the right lighting, as all they had to do was simply look from outside my house. While I was never able to search and remove any of the content posted on social media (the bullies had it on private social media accounts, where you needed to "friend the person" to see, and people didn't really take revenge porn as seriously back then as they do now), people at school began finding out about it one way or another, and began bullying me about it. I remember people calling me "weird" for being a girl that masturbated, and labeling me as a slut for seeking self-pleasure. It was a nightmare. Some would call me "disgusting," and some guy even went as far as following me to class and continuously calling me a "fag" for no apparent reason till the teacher made him stop. Guys especially were extremely cruel to me during this time. One person went as far as jokingly saying he'd rape me to his group of friends whenever I was around them just to get an emotional reaction. While they succeeded in terrifying me, they never did act upon that guy's joke. Others who'd seen the footage, often times went around school whenever they could, and showing classmates/friends the inappropriate content on their phone like it was the latest episode of some popular show. I was never successful in reporting this situation to a teacher as I lacked a proper explanation, and concrete evidence (I couldn't actually say so-and-so has inappropriate images of me on their phone without making it sound insane). For months, I cried several times during class from the consistent bullying, and nearly got held back a grade from my constant absences in school. Friends and family that I opened up to, all told me to simply "ignore" their comments, but it was too traumatizing to deal with at the time. My self-confidence had become completely crushed. As time went on, I began living in fear of being recognized in public, or potentially harmed everywhere I went. I rarely tried to go out anymore, and did my best to keep my head down at all times in public. I had become ashamed of my existence, and depressed. And despite my hopes of the situation ending after high school, some of the bullies ended up at the same community college I attended, and a few were even in the same class as me. During those times they would just sit behind me in the back of the class just so they can pester other students around them about how big of a "slut" I was. Eventually, I sought therapy which helped with the depression, but for a time I was extremely bitter towards the world and couldn't bring myself to accept the situation that happened years ago and move on. These days, while the harassment has gradually died down since I've transferred to a state college within the same city, I still occasionally end up encountering those who have seen the footage in public areas. I find myself temporarily re-living the torment, as they start throwing the usual remarks such as, "Hey, it's that girl..." and "OMG! She's such a slut," or "She's sooo slutty." At this point in life, the real pain for me is no longer being traumatized of having an intimate moment being posted online against my knowing, but rather instead having to deal with the lifetime of verbal-shaming, and unwarranted judgement that strangers have of me because of that one incident.
"One boy said to me, 'You are so ugly that a man will need to rape you for you to get some.'"
When I was in the 8th grade, I was told I was ugly. I have a big nose, small boobs, and a small butt. Boys would tell me the only person to love me would be one with a nose fetish. They also said that I should be a lesbian and have "nose sex" with women instead of bothering with men. After this began happening, the only boy that was not involved and that liked me for me began to join these boys and told me he did not like me anymore because I had nothing to offer and I would not "put out" for him. My so-called best friend even turned her back on me and would say such things behind my back. Then one day the bullying changed when one boy said to me, "You are so ugly that a man will need to rape you for you to get some." After that, rape threats began and many said they would find homeless men, or old-age sex offenders that would want to rape me. I would walk home from school and sometimes they would follow me and taunt me. The only time they touched me was to "check for themselves" if I had butt. They would rub my butt and squeeze it and then laugh and say, "Nothing's there!" At the time I went to teachers and they gave only TWO of the boys a slap on the wrist. I moved on to graduate 8th grade and eventually got over the bullying through the support of my family. Never did I realize how serious the sexual bullying was or could have been. I was very upset at how my school handled the situation and how my classmates just stood by and did nothing. Now as a 16-year-old, I advocate against sexual bullying and violence in my community and I NEVER stand by when I see something that is bullying or suspicious. Also, I would like to thank Emily Lindin because without this project, I would have never totally forgiven myself or realized that what was done to me was wrong. - Anonymous in New York
I am guilty of that. I called girls I disliked sluts because I was either angry, jealous, or just sad. They weren't sluts though.
This entry includes references to sexual assault.
As far back as I can remember, I've been called horrible names not only from my family members but also from the kids at school. The kids at school were never as bad as my family. I remember when my mom would come pick me up from daycare and bring me home to my dad while she went off to work. My dad was always drunk off his a**. He never cared about my family much. Usually he'd be asleep, passed out from the amount of alcohol he drank. But some nights he was awake and when he was, he'd call me names such as pig, whore, slut, worthless, etc. My dad would beat me while yelling at me for things I hadn't even done. Like sleeping with a man or breaking something that we didn't even own. It got exceptionally bad when my mom and brother were out getting food one night, and he sexually assaulted me. I was only 5 or 6. Luckily, I don't remember much of it and he is now in jail for not only assaulting me, but also other little girls. At school, I was never really bullied much. I'd get an occasional insult like calling me ugly, stupid, and rarely, slut. But throughout my middle school years, I noticed that the word SLUT was tossed around as if no one really knew the meaning of it. I am guilty of that. I called girls I disliked sluts because I was either angry, jealous, or just sad. They weren't sluts though. I think it's sad how people shame the things others do. Slut shame. Fat shame. Disability shame. We are humans. With no humanity left inside us. - Kimberly in Georgia
That was my first experience with sexism and sexual harassment, and I was 13. I'm 30 now, and I've been cat called and raped, and I have not yet worked at a job where I didn't have to deal with a male coworker asking inappropriate questions or pressuring me to go on a date or have sex.
This entry includes references to rape, self-harm, and suicide.
When I was a kid, my family and I lived on a compound in Saudi Arabia that was home to many American families. Three times a week, my classmates and I went swimming for Physical Education, but on one of those days, the pool was supposed to be closed for cleaning. No matter. We would just change in the dining hall's single occupancy bathrooms and go swimming anyway. Our school was small enough that the whole junior high, grades 6-9, would have P.E. together, so we would have 20 kids vying for the bathroom, in theory. In reality, only the boys changed one at a time. The girls would have to run a gauntlet of teenage boys jeering at them and cram into the women's bathroom to change together. I was one of two seventh graders, and the two of us were also the heaviest girls of the dozen in the school, so we got stationed by the door. Our job was to keep the boys from trying to force their way into the bathroom, and I was usually positioned so that if the door came open for any reason, the boys saw me and not the sixth graders behind me. We had tried saying something to the teachers, asking if they could hang out in the hallway and make the boys behave, but they just said that boys will be boys and we should just get used to dealing with it. I'm pretty sure my brother was the only boy in that school who didn't get a glimpse of my naked body, and that's because he knew that our mom would have tanned his hide if he behaved like that. That was my first experience with sexism and sexual harassment, and I was 13. I'm 30 now, and I've been cat called and raped, and I have not yet worked at a job where I didn't have to deal with a male coworker asking inappropriate questions or pressuring me to go on a date or have sex. Over the years, I have attempted suicide and engaged in self harm because I just wanted it to stop. I am in counseling, and I'm working on finishing the college degrees I put on hold after the rape. - Megan in Valdosta, Georgia
We need to support each other and stop judging and trash talking and "slut" shaming each other for good.
"Slut" shaming among cousins - family members. How can we expect others to stop "slut" shaming when it is rampant in families? In my extended family my cousins trash talk and "slut" shame other cousins. I am well aware this does not just happen in my family. Then I have the next generation of cousins in their early 20's who are doing just the same with their cousins; the way they dress, the way they pose with their boyfriend, the way her bra was showing in a photo, etc. etc. etc. Can each of us speak with the girls and the women in our families and not stop speaking till we all get it? Get that we need to support each other and stop judging and trash talking and "slut" shaming each other for good. I have started speaking with my younger cousins. Today was not the first time. It definitely will not be the last. It has to stop. Love and support for each other without any judgment. Love and healing. - Rags
I wasn't pregnant, but I did get labeled as a slut, a tramp, and a whore.
When I was younger, I had gone to a party at my friend's house. Her parents were in Texas and her nanny was there. The nanny had gone out with friends and it was just us. My friend brought out alcohol, encouraging everyone to try some. Soon enough our bodies couldn't handle it and we all got drunk. I made the mistake of sleeping with a boy I barely knew. I wasn't pregnant, but I did get labeled as a slut, a tramp, and a whore. It wasn't a good experience and I wanted to share my story and bring the topic to the table, as many push it aside for being stupid, or unreal.
I hope that I can survive a few more years in this school, then graduate and live my life happily and peacefully.
I'm a 9th grader who has been called a slut for about 2 years. I still remember when I was a 7th grader, other students would spread rumours about me, saying that I slept with male students my age and older, but in reality, I can't even talk to a guy! I'm a shy girl. When I transferred to this school I was in 6th grade. I did not talk to anyone and never got involved in any problem. My school is the type of school where they expect you to be popular and have your own group. Just because I didn't join a friend group or became a popular girl, I was named as the slut of the school. I hope that I can survive a few more years in this school then graduate and live my life happily and peacefully. - Anonymous
I've been trying to tell my story for a long time... but it seems no one wants to listen.
This entry includes descriptions of sexual assault and self-harm.
I was molested by my father when I was 12. I never told a soul! Until 2014, when my emotional and mental capacity reached critical mass, and I could no longer keep it to myself. I was a straight A student, pageant winner, fantastic dancer and activist for poverty and injustice. But my secret kept me from actually achieving individual success. When I was 18, I meet a guy at the local university who introduced me to prostitution. Not knowing what I was doing, I followed him... blindly. I worked in strip clubs and eventually found a "sugar daddy." My life was a fucking mess! I eventually met my husband and had 3 babies, but that mentality never left me. After 10 years of marriage, I became angry, distant, vindictive and defiant! I was upset with the reality that my husband who I loved and who saved me was trading me like an incubator for his children and a sex toy with which he played with whenever he got the hankering. I'm not what my past suggests. Recently, because I was faced with homelessness and despair and was willing to go back to the strip club to make ends meet... I'M A "WHORE!" I am not, and neither is any woman forced into this business. I was treated cruelly and I do not want any more women to experience what I have. There's so much more story. I've been trying to tell my story for a long time... but it seems no one wants to listen. I pray someone reaches out to hear my story. Thank you. - Keena
You are beautiful, and you deserve to walk around knowing that you will be safe in the world.
When I was around 9 years old, my mom started letting me watch shows such as Dateline and 20/20. She taught me to hold my head up high, that I shouldn't let what people say get to me. She let me watch documentaries about how women are sexually harassed and manipulated by people they were supposed to trust. She taught me to always stay vigilant of what was happening around me. Boy, would I be thankful for that. A few years later, when I was 11 or 12, I started attending a summer camp. I'm generally what people call curvy, and I had started puberty a little early than other girls my age, so my chest was larger than most. At camp, we would split up into groups of five, including our counselor. There was one guy, who was about 16 or 17, named Daniel, who would always request that I was put in his group. We had gone camping for one trip, and during the campfire, Daniel sat extremely close to me. Almost everyone had left after a few hours, but when I got up to leave, Daniel grabbed me and shoved me onto his lap. He tried to grope my chest and hold my waist. So I slapped him. I shoved him away and slapped him across the face. (Still proud of myself to this day.) Then I ran for it, to the counselor's cabin to report him. When I got there, they asked me some of the stupidest questions ever. "Did you try anything that would suggest that you wanted him to touch you?" "Were you wearing anything suggestive?" I was wearing a tank top and a pair of sweatpants. How suggestive. Nothing ever happened to Daniel, and the next day, when I arrived for breakfast, everyone stared at me. He had spread rumors that I was sending him nudes, asking for sex and harassing him. "Slut. Whore. Hoe. Gross." I was belittled and bullied the entire week of camping, But I remembered what my mom taught me. So I sauntered around the camp with my head hailed high and a proud smile on my face. Most of those girls at camp were sleeping with some of the counselors anyway, so who were they to talk? I arrived home after a few days and told my parents, who quickly pulled me out of camp and threatened to sue. Although that was a bit overboard, I received a forced apology from Daniel, an apology from the camp, and I was still proud of the slap I gave Daniel that night. He should've been glad it wasn't pepper spray. But to all of the girls out there who are being told what and what not to wear, ignore those idiots. You are beautiful, and you deserve to walk around knowing that you will be safe in the world. It's still annoying how women are told, "Don't get raped," instead of men being taught, "Don't rape." You will find someone out there who makes you feel safe and loved, and you don't have to worry about a thing. But for now, I'll stay home during the summer and read fanfiction.
I was so vulnerable and confused I didn't know what to do. I wasn't a virgin, I just didn't want to have sex with this guy.
This entry includes references to self-harm and sexual assault.
So a lot of bad things happened in my high school. I spoke to a few boys to try and boost my confidence as a few complimented me. I then got a threat that if I didn't send this guy a naked picture that he would tell people my personal stuff that I opened up to him about in a deep conversation. I sent one so that he wouldn't, and he showed the entire school. I dealt with it for over a year, self-harming and being bullied and I was so scared all the time that I had to go on medication. When I opened up, the school did literally nothing. I was broken and they didn't do a single thing. Shortly after I stopped going to school, I met a guy and the first day I met him in the afternoon he started to undress me. I was so vulnerable and confused I didn't know what to do. I wasn't a virgin, I just didn't want to have sex with this guy. Before we met he was saying that if we wanted a relationship then he would take things slow because I'd only just turned 15 and he was 18. He said he would take me out and take me for meals and look after me, but instead he forced me to have sex with him, pulling me tightly when I was trying to push away. I was almost in tears and when I went home I cut my wrist so much and so bad. I felt dirty and disgusting and ashamed that I even went near him. I went back to him a few times because he said he was going to apologize and make things better. He continued to try to have sex with me and I would always go home and self harm because it felt like that was all I was worth, and I felt disgusting and dirty. I wish I could start over.
I will use my story and experiences to help others. I will not let HIM feel he won. I will not let the world feel it has won.
This experience includes references to rape.
I was raped when I was 17. It was something I never saw happening to myself, so much so at first I could not recognize that it was indeed rape. After the rape I went to my best friend's house and just cried, she asked what was wrong. I said to her "I think I was raped?" but when I said those words I was not sure. I was not sure because the depictions of rape that I had seen or heard would always be violent and end in the woman being seriously hurt or dead. I had nothing physically wrong with me per say, but I felt dead. My best friend urged me to call my mother. Something I did not want to do, but did. I called my mom and told her to just come get me, she later told me that before I uttered the words she knew what I was going to say. I told her and my aunt what happened. They called 911. An hour later I was at the hospital being examined. I did not decide to call police on my own, I did not decide to press charges on my own... it was something everyone else urged. So I thought, sure. The person, the sick person who did this to me would pay for this... only had I knew I would pay greater than he did. I was shamed by family and friends. Asked "Why would you LET that happen?" "Why didn't you scream?" Then I had to go into a court and defend my life, not just the fact that my innocence was taken, but my LIFE. I was asked personal questions about my body. I was humiliated in front of the boy who raped me. Meanwhile he got off... the case ended in two years. I also had to wait two years to know if he even got charged. One month, which was time served. Meanwhile I was in a dark hell hole for three years, one I am still fighting to get fully out of... The way the world, society, family, friends, and even the law system treat rape victims/survivors is NOT okay and has to be stopped. And if you're wondering how I am today, I am OK. A lot better than I was at 17. (I'm 21 now.) I am working on myself everyday and working to provide a change within the world. I am now the president of a Domestic Violence/Sexual Assault awareness group on my college campus. I will use my story and experiences to help others. I will not let HIM feel he won. I will not let the world feel it has won. Thank you for allowing me to share this (this is my first time sharing publicly). - Anonymous in Ohio
Being a sexual being does not negate a woman's role as a mother or a decent person. It is simply part of being human, and healthy sexuality does not make you a slut.
I am a 60+ year old mother of two. For almost 40 years, I have been in a monogamous relationship with the father of my children (my husband). Before him, I had one other sexual partner. Before me, my husband had one other sexual partner. We fell in love and after almost 3 years of dating exclusively, I got pregnant and we married as soon as we realized we were having a baby. I have devoted my life to my husband, my marriage and my family. I am an active churchgoer and volunteered for many community and religious organizations while my children were young. I worked for many years in a well-paying job once my children were old enough for me to continue my career. I took care of my mother for over a decade during her illness, until her death. I was a dutiful daughter-in-law and sister-in-law to my husband's parents, his siblings and his extended family. Yet despite all this, my husband's mother treated me like a slut for 20 years until her death. When she passed, my sister-in-law (single with no children) and her cousin (also single with no children) carried on the tradition of treating me like a slut, snubbing me and looking down their noses at me. They have made wildly false accusations about me--if I'm at the supermarket longer than they think I should be, they assume I'm secretly barhopping, picking up strange men. Their attitudes and accusations and insinuations are unfounded and slanderous. Nothing I do is ever right in their eyes, and not even the high position I hold in my community, nor my faith practices are enough to convince them that they are wrong about me. They don't feel they don't have have any reason (unlike me) for them to "need" to go to church, so they never go but assume they have some moral superiority because they are too lazy to practice their faith. I went back to college and got my B.A. (graduating with honors) while they have never gotten beyond a high school education. I feel sorry for people like them who "slut" shame in order to cover up their own massive inadequacies and project their negative feelings of their lack of self-worth onto other women in order to make themselves feel better. It stems from not having ownership of their own sexuality and the fear if they do admit that part of being a woman is having a sexual identity, they will have to face their fear of their own sexuality that they have repressed in order to be "good girls." They can't understand that being a sexual being does not negate a woman's role as a mother or a decent person. That it is simply part of being human and healthy sexuality does not make you a slut. It simply affirms that you are human and sex is just another need in every person, be they male or female. (Yet they don't think the worse of my husband for having sexuality!) I feel sorry for the women in my family that are so terrified of their sexuality that they feel the need to bully anyone who isn't a vestal virgin. They are afraid to confront the fact that they have chosen to hide their nature from their own selves, for fear that they might get called sluts if someone finds out they are human and have a sexual nature. Basically, it's a sad thing that (some) women continue to subject other women to "slut" shaming when they should be focusing on living their own lives to the fullest instead of judging other women who do choose to have a complete life--and yes, that includes being a sexual being. There's no shame in that.
He is withholding both my kids from me and I feel powerless and like a bad mom. Truth of the matter is, he kept my head spinning so that it has taken me this long to come to my senses.
Before meeting my children's father, I was a prime citizen and role model for other young black females in my small town. That all came to an end when I moved out of my parents' house at age 15. My home life was going down, with my elderly father being put into the nursing home and my elderly mother's health declined as she became depressed and later had a stroke and remained on dialysis to the end of her life. With no one and nowhere to go, I remained in this abusive, downward spiral of a life. I began acting out by wearing emo or goth styled clothes and gained a lot of weight. Truth was I became a desperate "housewife" at an early age. Dropping in and out of high school due to depression and abuse, I became pregnant. My so-called best friend had told my children's father that I was pregnant despite my wishes for him not to know. That's not all she told him, she also said that I had sex with the guy I'd had a crush on since middle school that also happened to be my best guy friend. She then went on to slander my name throughout my pregnancy, resulting in him moving in with her despite the fact that she was married and her husband was gone to Africa while being in the armed forces. She ruined my life! Furthermore, I let her, by trying to be a good friend. You see, she was the one that executed this behavior and now I know why she did this to me. It was because she was jealous. Not of my looks but of the person I was inside. Because she felt as though she could never be that person, and she was right. I let her back in my life because my dad was a deacon for over 60 years and all those Sunday school teachings stuck! She once again did the same thing and I cut her and a few more of my friends out of my life for good. My children's father continued to be abusive until I left for good in 2013. My main issue now is that he is withholding both my kids from me and I feel powerless and like a bad mom. Truth of the matter is, he kept my head spinning so that it has taken me this long to come to my senses. My main concern is that my son has behavioral issues similar to his father's. My daughter is exactly like me and I fear that this harmful trend will spill over into my daughter's life without guidance. Both my kids are extraordinary. Great scholars, citizens and athletes but will their bright futures be ruined in a small town by slut shaming and an abusive bf/gf like mine? Are they being held prisoners in their own minds, bodies and house?! I've always wanted to be taken seriously on this topic and didn't know how. I am blessed to have come across this project on YouTube. Speak out, speak loud and speak PROUD! - Anonymous in Jacksonville, Florida
Every school day, I would be called a "playa" or I would be told that I was a "pimp."
I have been slut shamed once. It hurts men, too! When I was in highschool, I had always been quiet, for whatever reason I always kept to myself--I just wanted to, I was myself and I had the right to--Anyways, women would always show kindness to me and I would in return as well (my mother and father taught me quite well how to understand women). I took the opportunity to help them in their problems. I cared so much for the women that would care for me. Well, of course some men might scoff and say that I was intentionally manipulating them for my good use, which was NOT true at all! My intentions to be with them were similar to how I would be with myself: Caring, dependent, and looking after their well-being. Every school day, I would be called a "playa" or I would be told that I was a "pimp." Being with these women in and outside of school has even drawn me to be away from them and back into a place where I could be all alone again, to depend on myself again! To this day I would rather be alone and as I am, but I reside with my girlfriend, but still, I find myself wanting to be by myself. Bullying has always been my cause for being alone and I guess, I'd rather be. People are just people. - Andrew G.
I blocked him, but he would message me on social media, harassing me for everything I had ever done and making up ridiculous things that were nowhere near true to make himself feel better.
This entry includes references to self-harm.
Freshman year, I began a relationship with a boy I have always and will always love. We were together from September 2015 until November of 2016. We hung out everyday in the summer. We had stayed together and I finally fell in love with him and then lost my virginity to him (consensually). Things were amazing until August of 2015 when I found out he had cheated on me with a random girl in May. I was heartbroken. I didn't eat for days and I couldn't stop crying. Because I loved him so much, I decided to stay with him. Things were rocky at first but eventually they were good again. Then, he hooked up with one of my closest friends this November. I found out about 2 weeks later. I ended the friendship with her, as well as my best friend since 3rd grade and many other girls because they had not told me, as I was not there the night it happened. He would threaten to kill himself or harm himself if I went anywhere he didn't want me going, talked to someone he didn't want me talking to, didn't hang out with him, or if I decided I wanted to leave him. Again, I stayed with him. How could I let him hurt himself? Since then things were horrible again. One night, I was drunk at a party and hooked up with a boy that had liked me for a while. My boyfriend eventually found out and verbally abused me. This is where the abuse began. To get back at me, he had a party and hooked up with another one of my friends. Then a month later, hooked up with another one of my friends twice. Still, I stayed with him because I loved him and thought it would get better. Then one night I was drunk at a party and hooked up with the same boy again, keep in mind my boyfriend and I were not still dating, just talking and hanging out. He attacked me for days verbally, calling me a slut, a whore, a retard, a bitch, disgusting, stupid, anything you can think of, he said it. Things continued to be rocky but I stayed. We were both going back and forth hooking up and verbally abusing each other, him worse than I. I loved him and I was not strong enough to leave him. Then, a rumor was started that I had hooked up with his best friend, which was not true. The boy I had been with found out. He didn't believe me because of all the things we had been through before. He called me a slut thousands of times, a dumb bitch, a whore, a disgusting person, and everything else in the book. I blocked him, but he would message me on social media, harassing me for everything I had ever done and making up ridiculous things that were nowhere near true to make himself feel better. He then began telling people that the rumor was true and continued to spread it. People began to believe it and everyone hated me or was giving me shit. I had no way to protect myself from the lie and I am still to this day verbally abused by him to the point where I have been hospitalized and am now in group therapy because of how he ruined many things for me this year and because of how badly he has made me look and feel about myself. I still have not found the strength to fully leave him as this rumor was spread recently. The harassment, slut shaming, and threats of suicide are still going on, to the point where I am slut shamed by him for what I'm wearing or who I'm with. I hope one day I am able to leave him, because of how abusive and toxic this relationship is. But until then, I have decided to push through and build the courage and strength to let him go. - Adair, Connecticut
The bullying got worse and the boy sent the video to even MORE people outside of school.
This entry includes references to self-harm.
Senior year. This was almost three years ago, now. I had many friends. I wasn't popular, I just had a decent good-sized group of great friends, or so I thought, at least. Around the beginning of my senior year, I had met a boy. He was very funny and kind, and he was kind of popular, I guess you could say, my high school only having around 350 total students in it. We got close and one day, because teenagers have raging hormones of course, we got intimate. Little did I know, he filmed it. A couple weeks later, his friends had playfully asked me about it. Confused and nervous, I went to him and asked what his friends were talking about. Then he told me. "I recorded us and showed some of my friends." I asked why and he simply told me: "To prove to my friends that I could get 'some.'" You don't know how infuriated and upset I was. I didn't know who all saw it. The next week, apparently everyone knew. He sent it out to everyone after my confrontation with him. Everyone was picking at me and boys were cat-calling, calling me a slut, asking when was it their turn, to me everyday, all day after that. They did it so much, that at one point, I yelled and cussed out a boy in the middle of the cafeteria during lunch, and I ran to the band-hall restroom (I was a band kid and the band hall was somewhat of my safe-haven.) I felt so... I can't even describe what I felt. I felt so many things: violated, shamed, embarrassed, dirty with the filth of my mistake. I felt all of my friends and classmates were judging me. I felt they were all watching me. And yes, I tried to see if the principal could do anything. Mind you, this was also embarrassing because the principal was one of my best friend's father. All he could do was give the boy a stern talking and a slap on the wrist (it's an expression). That just made things worse. The bullying got worse and the boy sent the video to even MORE people outside of school. Before this time, I had been clean from cutting for a year, but at that moment, I relapsed again. About only three of my friends stood up for me, asking me if I wanted them to jump him, of course I said no, I don't like settling things with violence. My best friend though, put him on 'blast' (a term we used in high school) and told him all the reasons he was a terrible person, in front of everyone. A couple months later, everything seemed to have subsided. I could finally relax the rest of my senior year, even though this situation has left a huge mental and emotional scar. If my friends weren't there for me and help defend me, my situation probably could have gotten worse. I haven't retold this story until now. Thanks for listening.
It hurts the most when it comes from someone who supposedly loves you.
I'm a thirty-six year old single female who has had many relationships in the past. Of course I've always wanted to be married and have children, but I just haven't found the right person. Last weekend, I was home visiting my mother and stepfather, and I went out with a male friend one evening. The next day, my stepfather called me into his "office" and said, " I don't mean to make you feel bad, but can I ask you how many boyfriends you've had? You see, I've only had one true love." This statement was coming from a man on his second marriage. We named several of the men I'd dated since college, and there actually was quite a list. He said, "Oh, it's not as bad as I thought." Not as bad as he thought. Why should I feel bad about having numerous relationships and not settling for anything less than someone I trust and love deeply? How can I get to know a man without spending time and dating him? Sometimes it takes a year or more to see a man's true personality, so how is it wrong to be a serial dater? I felt so shamed. It hurts the most when it comes from someone who supposedly loves you. - Sara Wells, Charleston, South Carolina
I have continuously been called slut, whore, and hooker. Just because I have developed breasts.
I am suffering with continuing sexual bullying. When I was in the third grade I started growing boobs. This led to boys noticing me. Through the past three years, I have been looked at by older men and have been touched. When I was 11, a 15 year old was at a birthday party I had been at. It was a sleepover, and my friend had fallen asleep. So had my brother. I had known the family for 5 years and one of the sons of the family's friend tried kissing me. We were half asleep and he dared me to play Seven Minutes in Heaven. He pushed me into a closet and got close to me, I pushed him away. And one of the family members came in and interrupted, thankfully. He didn't get very far he only pushed me closer, but it could've been much worse. I've only told my close friends about this. I have continuously been called slut, whore, and hooker. Just because I have developed breasts. People say I have the biggest breasts in my grade, but I know that isn't true. It's honestly getting annoying, and I'm only in seventh grade.
My 'friend' was going through a tough time and as I look back now, I realise that part of the pain she was feeling, she projected by hurting others.
My story isn't anywhere near as serious as some of the stories shared that I've read on here, however it was and is still a big part of my life and after reading Emily's diary, I feel compelled to tell it in hopes that other people will benefit from it and remove themselves from people that put them in dangerous situations or make them feel sad or depressed. When I was 11, I moved to a new high school. My best friend had moved to a different city 3 hours away and I had been placed in a class where I knew absolutely no one. The first week at the new school, I felt lonely and scared. I would constantly be seen hanging out with my older brother who was in his last year of school and would get annoyed when I sat with him, up until I met a girl in my class who was bubbly, confident and flirtatious. She took me under her wing and I was virtually her lap dog. If she wanted something, I'd get it for her, if I brought money for school lunch, I would buy her something as well. One day, I came to school sporting a fringe (which I had gotten cut the day before to look like Taylor Swift, who was my idol at the time), which looked atrocious! In her eyes at least. She asked me that morning, "Do you like your fringe?" To which I replied, "I don't know kind of." I was already self conscious enough with the new hairstyle which I actually really disliked so when she ignored me for the rest of the day and for the 2 days following I was extremely hurt and embarrassed. It was not until I started pinning my fringe back that she started talking to me again like nothing had happened. I was so desperate for a friend that I didn't even care that she had purposefully ignored me because she thought I looked ugly. She continued to make fun of me behind my back saying things like "Sara is such a bitch" and "let's all ignore Sara and pretend we don't know who she is." This continued for many months until she had pushed me to a breaking point where I actually cut my thighs with a razor. At the time, my 'friend' was going through a tough time (her sister had depression and previously had tried to kill herself) and as I look back now I realise that part of the pain she was feeling, she projected by hurting others. She was sent to the councillors office a lot to talk about her sister and let slip that I, too, had cut myself. I was called into the councillors office in which I spilt all the things that she had said about me to the lady, who called my mum and told her everything. My mum told me not to be friends with her, but who else did I have? After 3 gruelling years I am finally not friends with her and now have great friendships with many people (I don't stick to one person so that I can always lean back on others for support if something happens with another friend). About 2 weeks ago I spoke to her, she spoke to me with such confidence talking sh*t about my own friends for no reason. She told me that I was an innocent little girl who knew nothing because I haven't smoked weed or given a boy a blowjob and many more things that are far more detailed and complicated to understand. That conversation made me so grateful that I wasn't friends with her anymore, although after all the nasty things she did to me I forgive her, because I don't dwell on the past. I only hope she will realise the pain she caused people and apologize for it. - Sara, New Zealand
We ran into a tree. My sister died on impact. I lived, and that's when I started fighting back.
This entry includes descriptions of rape, suicide, and self-harm.
I have never had a good life. It was hard for me growing up, more so than usual kids my age. Everything started in middle school. Somehow people found out about what my dad did to me. My dad would physically abuse me and after he would rape me. I had a twin and I was the eldest, so of course I would do whatever I could to protect her. It just so happened that anytime my dad would start to hurt her I would jump in so she wouldn't get hurt. She was quite literally my only friend. So at school we were in 6th grade and kids had found out what was going on at home. They started to bully me and my sister and of course I would protect her. The boys in school would often come up to us and ask us how much it would cost to get a blow job, but then it escalated. They started trying to sleep with us. We would say no, but then me and my sister were labeled as the school sluts. After a couple months things started to die down and they would start leaving us alone, of course we still got called sluts and whores but we ignored all of the comments. When we got into the 7th grade every one of the girls in school avoided us like the plague and we didn't care, we just wanted to live through everything. Well halfway through 7th grade my sister came to me crying and I couldn't figure out what was wrong. I couldn't even understand her. After I calmed her down she finally told me that a bunch of 8th graders cornered her in the lockers and 3 girls held her down while she was raped by 4 guys. She started to cut from that. In our minds we knew that we couldn't tell anyone what our father was doing to us and what had happened to her, so we kept our mouths shut. It turned out to be a mistake. The kids thought that they got away with raping my sister. So they tried to do it to me. They knew I was physically stronger than my sister so not only did I have the same 3 girls holding me down but the boys had to hold me down, also. They raped me for 2 hours, maybe more, and I believe that the worst thing about it was that they made my sister watch. Me and my sister became a shell. We didn't talk to no one, we didn't do anything, it's like we were on auto pilot. Skip to 8th grade, everything was going okay but we still had problems at home. We were cutting ourselves, drinking and doing drugs. We made it through 8th grade with no rape but got bullied everyday. I had tried hanging myself right before high school started. It didn't work so we thought we had to keep living. We went on. We went to highschool of course we got bullied and we just went through it. It got worse, we got into fights and kept living with everything. Skip forward to 10th grade, me and my sister got gang raped. That night me and my sister got drunk and high, so high that we didn't even know know what was going on. We got in the car and tried to kill ourselves. We ran into a tree. My sister died on impact. I lived, and that's when I started fighting back. I went to fighting classes and I became a fighter. After I got into fighting back against everyone, they left me alone. So my point here is that even though you can go through something like that and you think you need to give up and die, well, don't. Because you let them win and that's all they want to do is break you. I am now a divorced single mother and am happy. My daughter is named after my sister and I will keep on fighting till the day I die because you always have something to live for. - Devon
He asked for pictures and I didn't say no. Then his girlfriend found out he liked me, so he began calling me a whore in school.
The summer of 2015 I met the first guy that would ever break my heart, let's just call him Y. So Y was a really good friend of mine, he had been for years, but out of the blue this summer he began asking me for more. I liked him, I had for a while, so I didn't refuse. I didn't go all the way but we did do quite a lot, some over the phone. When I told him I didn't want to go all the way, he found a girl that would the very next day and completely dumped me. From that point on, he wouldn't even glance my way anymore, we weren't even friends. Him leaving me over something like this made me feel worthless. For months afterward I suffered from anorexia and depression. I would cry myself to sleep. I cared about him and loved him, and it hurt to know that he could just throw me away like that. I began to feel like no guy would ever like me unless I gave them something. I felt like I was never going to be good enough for them unless I gave them exactly what they were asking for. About midway into the next school year (approximately seven months after Y) a jock from my school began to show some interest in me. He told me I was hot, and that my boobs were big. For the first time in seven months, I felt like someone actually found me worthy of them. It was a relief to know that someone besides Y found me attractive. Let's call this new guy T. So T asked for my snapchat and he began calling me cute names and texting me daily. He had a girlfriend, but I was so upset with myself still that I didn't care. He asked for pictures and I didn't say no. Then his girlfriend found out he liked me, so he began calling me a whore in school. He spread rumors that I went all the way with him, which wasn't true. Not many believed him, but it still hurt. He still texted me every once in a while, trying to get something out of me, but I was just a slut to him now. I fell into depression again and decided I no longer cared. Then I met a friend that I felt confident around. I began being happy again. I talked to everyone in a friendly way and was always laughing. This got me called a bitch and slut by T, his girlfriend, and her friends. A guy, who I'll call O, asked me for things. I said I just wanted to be friends. So we were. Then Y came back so I blocked O out completely. He was furious about this and spread rumors that I slept with him and T and Y, and that I gave them an STD. Y apologized to me and I fell for him again. I snuck out to see him often and he always asked for more every time. I didn't disappoint. Then he began getting drunk daily. When he was drunk he was harsh towards me. He would emotionally abuse me by calling me names and tearing me down. I became depressed again and at this point, crying was as normal to me as breathing. Y eventually left again, telling me that I yet again was not good enough for him. This tore me apart. Aside from this, at school I was still being called a slut and other harsh names. Two months later, and this is still occurring. I still feel worthless. I still feel like no guy will ever truly love me. But I am getting better. I am confident against other girls and most guys, I am not happy but I am getting there. I would never wish this kind of hurt upon anyone else. Words hurt. I can not stress that enough.
I walked around for two weeks not knowing that everybody had seen me naked, calling me a whore and easy behind my back.
It all started in spring 2015. I was video chatting with these guys, while my friend "Sara" was sitting in the back. I didn't notice, but my boobs were showing, and one of the guys took a picture. I didn't really mind it because it looked like a bikini. Then I was going to take a shower and my friend turned the camera, and the same boy took a picture, but I was in underwear so it wasn't that big of a deal. Later that night, me and my friend sent some risky photos to one of the boys, "Jake," and he took screenshots. Me and Sara separated and became enemies because of another girl, and then all hell came. The pictures came out and Jake was being a big ass about it, he was basically the one who sent them to everyone. A year had past, and the pictures were history. But then in spring 2016, I became really good friends with Jake, ignoring everything he had done to me. We video chatted all the time, and one time this other boy, Sam, joined us. I had a crush on Sam two years before in 8th grade, but it faded. I started to talk a lot with Sam, but he had a girlfriend. He started telling me things like "I liked you all the time, and I still like you." I felt bad, because he had a girlfriend, but he manipulated me. We had a "relationship" via the phone, but when we went to school we only looked at each other. We started to send pictures, and he told me he loved me. I really trusted him, and told him things I had done with other guys. His girlfriend started suspecting, and found out, but he told her, "She suddenly sends me pictures," putting me on her bad side, so she hated me. After two months, I couldn't take it anymore, and told him we were over. When I did that, he told everyone everything, and he sent Jake the pictures, which he sent and showed everyone. I walked around for two weeks not knowing that everybody had seen me naked, calling me a whore and easy behind my back. I found out and almost killed Sam, but he told me he didn't mean it. I knew he meant to play me and use me so I blocked him. A couple of weeks later, I hooked up with Jake, and everyone called me a slut. He went around for many weeks calling me cheap, disgusting, and a slut. There is a lot more in detail, like that I told Sam's girlfriend, but they didn't break up. It's been a couple of weeks now, and it's almost summer, and everyone is moving next year. I just really hope it's over, so guys stop laughing at me. It's a really shit feeling having to go around, knowing that almost everyone has seen those pictures. I have broken down sometimes , but to be honest I am being very strong, and trying not to show how much it bothers me, especially in front of Jake. And I have also had my friends around me, like Sara (we are now friends), and she went through something similar.
"Do you know what that means? It means you're a slut."
After breaking up with my boyfriend of a year and a half, my mom proceeded to ask me if we had sex. I told her yes and she was so angry with me. She came from a very religious family and my grandmother and her believe in sex after marriage. She told me that sex was supposed to be with someone you love. I did love my boyfriend but some things just don't work out. I went out for the day with my friends and got a text message to be home by 10 and that I can move out when I graduate and that if my room isn't picked up by tomorrow night that she would throw all of my stuff out on the lawn. I got home at 9:15 and went straight up to my room. After about a half an hour I went down stairs to ask her why she was so mad at me. I practiced safe sex and my boyfriend was the only person I've ever had sex with. She said, "Do you know what that means? It means you're a slut." I was so taken back by her words. I went up to my room and just cried all night. People don't understand that words have a huge effect on people's self esteem. Her actions were wrong and I am not a slut.
My new reputation and shame about my actions led to alcohol and drug use, an eating disorder, cutting, and a deep depression with accompanying suicidal ideation.
This entry includes references to self-harm and religious beliefs, which do not represent the views of The UnSlut Project.
When I was 13 I went to a party with a girlfriend and had some drinks. There ended up only being 2 other girls there we didn't know and a whole group of guys which made us uncomfortable so we left. We were in a part of the city we weren't familiar with and had no money for a cab home so just started walking and eventually found our route. We both had on skirts and a tank top as it was the spring. Halfway home a car stopped with 3 men in their twenties offering to drive us home which we greatly accepted but somehow ended up at their house. Because I was intoxicated and not sure what to do I just went along with it. I remember being separated from my friend and the man that stayed with me pulling out his penis and asking for fellatio. I thought with this was weird because I never learned about oral sex before. I did it though and then he began to have sex with me. I was scared but he wasn't being forceful and I was a little curious so let him go ahead. I remember asking him to go slow which he did as he chuckled. When it was over my friend and I (who had had a similar first time experience in the other room) walked the rest of the way home. On Monday when I went to school I told a couple of my close friends what had happened and they were shocked and bothered-more by my behavior than the males. One convinced me to talk to my teacher who drove my friend and I to get checked for STDs and pregnancy which we were lucky not to have happened. However my teacher told my parents and eventually lots of people in the school found out. I began to get propositioned by boys and somehow boys even got my number to ask if I would provide oral sex with them seemingly out of nowhere. I relate to Emily Lindin when she said "I felt like I had to live up to my reputation" because once everyone thought that anyway and I felt used and devalued I figured I may as well continue to get this attention which led to promiscuity. I still to this day feel slut shamed by my parents. My mother wanted to press charges but my father said that would just re-traumatize me and while I don't remember this, apparently the police came and I refused to talk to them. However, my mother always told me it wouldn't have happened if I hadn't gone to a party I wasn't approved to, if I wasn't walking in the dark wearing a skirt and if I wasn't drinking and pointed out that I wanted to do this on some level because I did go back the following weekend which I still find strange behavior reflecting on now. Because I had developed early (I had reached my adult weight, height and breast size at age 13) boys my age were not attracted to me but older men were and because I did not have a healthy positive relationship with my own father I continued to allow sexual forms of attention to replace the love that I truly desired and needed. Looking back on all of my sexual partners, I would not say any were rape or sexual assault (including the only two times I have blacked out from alcohol and slept with someone I was dating before I was ready which ultimately led me to quit binge drinking), only 3 of those men were men I felt comfortable, pleasured and full consent with. My new reputation and shame about my actions led to alcohol and drug use, an eating disorder, cutting and a deep depression with accompanying suicidal ideation which required therapy and medication to recover. I also developed a habit of needing to be high or drunk in order to have sex even with my long term boyfriends. Years ago I became a Christian and experienced great healing through the love and complete acceptance of God. I learned my self worth comes from being His child not others validating me in unhealthy or even healthy ways. I am married to a wonderful man and also like Emily, was able to reinvent my "slut" reputation after high school when I went to university and excelled in my career and new community. This project, though triggering, has really made me think about the potential motives behind sexual behavior or dress, especially among young women. Teaching about sexual relationships are so skewed that it does not allow most young men and women to grow up understanding the repercussions in all spheres when they choose to be intimate with someone. The project allows me to forgive myself, the men involved and my peers who were not educated enough to understand intricacies of these issues. Thank you for the opportunity to share.
I need help but I don't want to ask for it.
Note to the author: Please reach out to a parent or teacher for help immediately. You are NOT alone, and this is NOT your fault. You can overcome it, just like the women who have shared their stories here before you. Please visit this link and check out the resources available to you. I am always here to talk, as well. Love, Emily
This entry includes descriptions of rape, self-harm, and suicide.
I was raped by my 35-year-old neighbor when I was twelve. He still hasn't been charged and it happened one year ago but I decided to keep it a secret because I didn't want anyone making fun of me or for him to follow through with what he said he would do. He said after he raped me, with a knife to my neck, that if I told anyone anything he would kill me and my family. That's why I never told. I didn't want my family to get hurt. Since then I have been an inpatient for depression, self-harm, suicide ideation, suicide attempts, and anxiety twice, each both for a month. I have had 23 suicide attempts and I have cut so many times all because I just can't take the memories anymore. I want to die. I don't want my family to suffer though and if I killed myself they would be devastated... some might even follow in my footsteps and I don't want that to happen. Now at this point in my life I'm feeling very suicidal but I don't want to tell anyone... I'm afraid I'll end up in the hospital again... I don't want that... I just want life to be over but I don't want to make my family hurt. I don't know what to do. The memories and flashbacks of the day I was raped are getting out of control...!!! I need help but I don't want to ask for it. - Anonymous
We made out in the back seat, and I remember being hurt when he said that I was easy. He called me that because I said I didn't want to have sex in his car.
I remember going on a date with this guy, and I kind of implied about going to the park to make out and what not, and he was fine with it. We went, made out in the back seat, and I remember being hurt when he said that I was easy. He called me that because I said I didn't want to have sex in his car, especially because I was a virgin so I wanted my first time special and planned somewhere worth having it at. He called me easy because in this society, even making out on the first date but not wanting to have sex right away is considered easy and slutty. It really hurt me because he was devaluing my worth when I really liked him. He said that if she gives it up to him within 3 days then it's a hit and run for him, if not, he'll consider having a relationship. The second date we went on, I only gave him a blow job because I was hurt and angry that he called me easy and so I didn't want to present myself as that and disrespect myself so I didn't go through with the plan to have sex. He never called me after.
You have full control of your body, you do what YOU want. Not what anyone else wants.
I was 14 at the time (and still am). I'm in Drumline. For those of you who don't know, that's basically marching band but only for percussion. I met a new guy when the season started in December, he was the only new male in our group (everyone else continued from first semester, so I already knew them). I didn't like him right away but we became friends. The one thing I found out right away that we had in common was that we were both open books. He told me a lot about himself in a short period of time, nothing too crazy, just simple things. I, on the other hand, shared my sexuality (bisexual) with him, which I had just figured out a few months before and only one of my close friends knew about it. This surprised both me and him. We continued to be not too close friends, and I developed a crush on him around January. According to other girls in Drumline, I would blush every time he talked to me (I have dark skin so I was really confused on how they noticed), but he was completely oblivious to this, thankfully. We went on our first two-day trip to Pasadena to compete, but we hadn't talked at all. We began talking more a few weeks after that in March and the weekend before spring break we went on our second two-day trip. I had planned out our van seating with a couple other friends much in advance, so we would get in the best van, and of course I wanted to sit with him. Let's call him Mat. I was so disappointed when people we didn't want in the van got in and me and my friend were booted out. We were put in the van with rudest driver and most obnoxious people. I was more than pissed off and didn't have the number of anyone in the van we wanted to be in so I asked my friend for Mat's number and I texted him a very long, angry text. I was venting, and immediately regretted sending it afterward but he felt really bad about it and apologized numerous times. My friend and I managed to still have fun (surprisingly). Once we got there, I apologized to him and everyone else I was rude to. I felt like a total bitch. They all forgave me, but surprisingly Mat and I hung out and actually talked about stuff, like not just small talk but actually TALKED. He told me personal things about himself and talked about how his brother's friend was his "weed source" and things like that, he showed me a new side of himself. When we returned home, I waited a day or two and texted him again, asking him for music advice, because that's what we mainly talked about on the trip. He gave me some and we talked for a while and began (somehow) debating about political ordeals. That's when I realized how different we were, he wanted Trump to win, I love Bernie, He thought reverse racism is real, I don't, he was NOT a feminist and believed in dress codes. I should've drawn the line but I never did, I just liked him so much. I found out he had a girlfriend so me and a friend of mine (a girl) started a fake friends-with-benefits thing that I told him about so he wouldn't suspect that I liked him. His girlfriend ended up getting with another guy the same night she told him she loved him. And me and my "girlfriend" ended things around the same time. Fast forward to April 12th (a Tuesday). My friend from Drumline told me that Mat wanted to have sex with me, and the night we were going to sneak out to smoke he was going to make a move. We had scheduled it for that Friday, and so I said that I'd think about it. She told me he said he was going to go for it. That Friday after watching him perform in the school talent show, I was at home and let him into my room through my window. We smoked, drank some, and then (anticlimactically) he left because I told him to go. I didn't want him to leave, though. I wasn't thinking properly. We texted after and he said that all I had to do was ask him to come back and he would. So I did, and we had sex. I hated it. He was really aggressive when he kissed me, and every time I told him it hurt he would sigh in annoyance. I felt bad, but I still liked him so much. We began dating after that (in secret because my parents were strict). He came over again another day. We got to second base, then the third time he came, I actually enjoyed myself. Sadly, our little relationship ended the next day. My neighbor saw him come in the second time he visited and told my parents. The entire truth eventually unraveled, and I was only able to text him what happened before I got my phone taken away. I texted him again once I got it back. He said that he didn't think it was a good idea for us to talk and I was hurt because of it. I said some rude things, he defended himself and said some rude things back. Then I apologized and told him he was right, if my parents found out we talked again I would be in so much trouble. So we haven't talked since. My point out of this huge long story that I could have made shorter was this: I am in NO WAY saying I was raped, I gave my full consent, but I know that I wasn't physically or mentally ready for that night. The next day I felt like throwing up the entire day, and even during the sex it still felt like I was making a bad decision. If I could go back in time I would tell myself (and any other girls/boys out there in a similar situation) if you're not ready, no matter your age, don't say yes. If they don't want to wait, they don't deserve you. You have full control of your body, you do what YOU want. Not what anyone else wants. Thanks Emily for all the inspiration :)
Since the age of 12 or 13, I’ve been taught – through whistles not words – that I am a tease. This idea, first put forward by a stranger excited at my school uniform, was continually confirmed for the next decade. Whistles were quickly replaced with verbal harassment and physical contact, porn was being flashed in my face at school and bets were being made to lose your virginity. The possibility of freely growing into a woman was replaced with my role as a tease: my role for men. Every comment on my breasts and quick, uninvited grope against a brick wall repeatedly confirmed this. The act of each man – sometimes my own age, sometimes much older – demonstrated that I was a tease. This notion become so embedded within me that cheating, assaults and abuse flooded my youth and fucked my mental health. The words, ‘you can’t kiss me like that and tell me you don’t want it’, took me back to that same scared school girl questioning her own actions and appearance. It took years for me to realise what was wrong with those words; and a decade to realise that these events did not affect me separately, but cumulatively. After several breakdowns, a severe bought of PTSD and conversations with amazing women, I now I know it wasn’t me. Sometimes I was drunk, wearing a skirt and flirting; other times I was wearing my pyjamas and watching TV. If I've learnt anything, it's that how I look or act does not influence how badly I am treated. My clothes, my hair, my voice, my interests, my body, my identity have all changed since that first whistle, but the sexually aggressive acts of men have not. If it was me, wouldn't it have stopped the second I took off that seductive school uniform? - Anonymous in Newcastle
When people laughed at me I laughed back at them. I wanted people to see and understand that I hadn't done anything to be ashamed of. At the end of the day it is my body and I decide what I do with it.
This entry includes references to suicide.
I was in a physically and psychologically abusive relationship for a year. I was not allowed to have any friends while I was with him. I was all under his control and had to do everything he said. I was called a 'slut' for every time I spoke to another male, even in a friendly way. When I wanted to break up he threatened me with naked pictures of myself that I had sent him, so I took pills to kill myself. I was in the hospital for three days. After I came out he made up to me, and we were fine for about a month, until the last week of our relationship. He beat me up on the road and made me apologise to him. He made me feel as if everything I was doing was wrong. He called me a whore, slut, and told me to kill myself all the time. A month after we broke up he found out that I was speaking to someone else. He he put up my naked pictures and videos of us having intercourse on social media. I was so embarrassed. People were laughing at me, sending my images and videos around. My mum thought that I would not go to school but I did not take a single day off. I didn't lock myself in my room. I continued my life like nothing happened, even when the images were being sent to all my friends. When people laughed at me I laughed back at them. I wanted people to see and understand that I hadn't done anything to be ashamed of. At the end of the day it is my body and I decide what I do with it. I didn't let a stupid boy ruin my life, I reported him to the police and took him to court. - Anonymous in the UK
I really hate being called this name, especially by people who I thought were my closest friends or people I trusted.
This entry includes a reference to suicide.
I had my first kiss in 7th grade, I felt pressured into it by my friends and some others I don't really know what to call. He was one of the popular guys but he's a real asshole and I regret it! And I was known as the school "slut" as well as my friend Julia. We stuck together through the hard and rough year but I'm going into eighth grade and I'm hoping to fix my reputation throughout the years. I really hate being called this name, especially by people who I thought were my closest friends or people I trusted. I've thought about suicide but I've realized that wouldn't really stop the talking, would it?? People start group chats on social media and include me in them and call me a slut and a whore and so on... Others text me personally and tell me I should just die because I'm a waste of space for someone better, or they call me things and I brush it past me, but then I go home and I lock myself in my room and cry myself to sleep. There so much more to share but I'll just leave it here.
Guess I should have known that my breasts would eventually provoke a boy to misbehave and I should have been ashamed of myself.
Here's a short one for you. When I was in junior high, way back in the dark ages, I had developed breasts larger than a good percentage of my classmates. Of course, some of the boys had noticed, and one day, when I had worn a shirt with something printed on the front, one of the boys in class kept "pointing" at something in the design, getting closer and closer to touching my breast despite my telling him to stop. Finally, he made his move and touched my breast. I yelled at him for it and we were both sent to see the vice principal. Somehow, despite a clear explanation of what had taken place, both of us were given detention. Sure I yelled in class, but I had my breast touched by some creep after I repeatedly told him to back off. Technically, he assaulted me. Guess I should have known that my breasts would eventually provoke a boy to misbehave and I should have been ashamed of myself. - Michelle, Massachusetts
I am now referred to as the "coke whore." That is my name in my children's house. I am not allowed to see them.
This entry includes reference to sexual assault.
My husband and I had split up. His parents are extremely wealthy. My parents have always been working poor. I had no support financially. I started escorting, and in order to escort I started to use drugs. I needed to drown out the old men who thought I was years younger than I am. My father had sexually assaulted me when I was young and the "tricks" would trigger my PTSD. Drugs helped. Last winter, just before Christmas, my ex found out that I was escorting and using. I never used or had a date with my children present. I did these things for my children... if that makes any sense. I needed to feed them, clothe them, buy slushies and chocolate bars. I had shared custody and no financial support. I did what I had to do. My ex-husband's reaction was to report me to child protection. I lost shared custody of my kids. My drug use went through the roof. I still had visits and phone calls with my kids until my ex met his girlfriend... I am now referred to as the "coke whore." That is my name in my children's house. I am not allowed to see them. It has been four months. I talk to them on random occasions... maybe once every ten days. My daughter is 3 and my son 8. Until we split, I was the primary caregiver. I taught my kids to walk, use the toilet, and to love. I miss them. I'm so lost. Thank you for reading. - Jessica
In the office (in 1988) I was afraid to tell anyone that he groped me, trying to kiss me, and tried driving me to a motel.
This entry includes references to sexual assault.
Anyone who believes that asking a coworker to lunch is an invitation to grab or grope is not in any way acceptable. Such was what happened to me and luckily I was able to leave the location that horrible afternoon without being raped. Had I known the man who had asked me to lunch previously was not the professional he appeared in our office setting, I never would have gone to lunch alone with him. I couldn't even tell he was a possible rapist. In the office (in 1988) I was afraid to tell anyone that he groped me, trying to kiss me, and tried driving me to a motel. Not even my supervisor. I was able to finally get the message to him loudly at work; his harassment wouldn't be allowed with me.
I know he knew that what he was doing was wrong. But he kept doing it.
I was in plumbing school. Most of the guys were fine but this one guy kept "accidentally" grazing his hand over my butt. Each time I turned around he'd say sorry, so I know he knew that what he was doing was wrong. But he kept doing it. After the class ended we had a class party and the same guy offered my friend a ride home, and the rest of us girls got this bad feeling about him and told her to stay with us. He then got mad at us for keeping her away from him.
I didn't fight or scream because I have anxiety and I didn't want to make a scene and have all sorts of attention on me.
This entry includes descriptions of sexual assault.
Went to see a local punk band with my boyfriend. We both were smoking pot and drinking. We started hanging out with some of the "popular" punks and we felt like we had to go along with what they wanted to do. At one point three guys who were not my boyfriend started groping my breasts "as a joke," and my boyfriend laughed. I was uncomfortable but felt pressured into going along with it, try to have fun. We ended up going back to one of the guy's houses and one of them took me into the bathroom, started kissing me and taking off my pants. When I said no, he got mad at me, told his friends, who also got mad at me for being a tease. My boyfriend did nothing as I cried. We were 16 and 17, it was 2am and we were in another city with no way home, so we had to stay the night. I slept between my boyfriend and the guy who tried to kiss me in the bathroom. When my boyfriend was asleep, the guy spent an hour trying to talk me into having sex with him before he forced himself onto me. I didn't fight or scream because I have anxiety and I didn't want to make a scene and have all sorts of attention on me. We left in the morning and I never told my boyfriend.
My body is my own. My mind is my own. I don't owe anyone anything except what I decide to give them.
I am completely mortified and on the verge of tears from all stories here. Sometimes I think demonizing human and, in particular, female sexuality has pushed the bigger part of humanity into an obsession with sex. Having it is bad, not having it is bad, and young people suffer because of this. I was never called names because I was sexually active in elementary or high school - I was called names because I wasn't interested. Having been bullied for years because I've always been shy, silent and a bookworm, this was just something else they slapped at me, another label. I was thirteen and interested in sex, love, relationships, but I didn't want to experiment with any guy I didn't like, and I hadn't met anyone I liked yet. I had crushes in high school, but nothing happened. My classmates would look down on me for being seventeen and a virgin, and my former bullies continued calling me names because I didn't have relationships. My friends' circle at that time was full of cool people (understand really cool, not show-offs), I felt okay with them, but at some point they started hooking up with each other and it was so weird for me. Most of them were much younger than me; I was 18. I liked a guy and he liked me, but then he just stopped talking to me. I felt lonely and didn't even know how to talk to people about what bothered me. And my friends were, like pretty much everyone else, obsessed with sex - not the feelings it should compliment (in my personal opinion), not in spending time with the other person, doing different things, but sex only. And because there were guys in this group, my mum and step-dad would become very suspicious that I was sleeping around. I had only ever kissed one of them and had broken it off shortly afterward. This is why I never spoke to my mum about dating... I lost my virginity when I was 18. I didn't tell anyone. I don't know if my then-boyfriend did, if he did, I never got anything about it. I stopped caring what people called me, but I cared about what he thought, and he turned out to be a manipulator and an abusive guy. He got angry with me when I forgot my phone at home one evening and didn't text him (we were living in different cities at that moment); I didn't want to lose him, and I let myself being emotionally bullied into cyber sex. He bullied me into "real" (corporeal) sex many times after, coming with the argument that I would do it if I loved him, and if I didn't I was a cheap whore who played with his feelings. I'm not proud of how long this lasted, but at some point I had enough, and I just told him to get lost. My proudest moment. I have been far from happy since, but for other reasons, and he was the first and last one I ever let treat me like that. My body is my own. My mind is my own. I don't owe anyone anything except what I decide to give them. I'm in a loving relationship now with someone who respects me. And I keep my fingers crossed for the amazing women who have it - and have had it - worse than me. You are beautiful and strong and you deserve to be happy.
I remember people calling me "weird" for being a girl that masturbated, and labeling me as a slut for seeking self-pleasure.
I was hesitant about sharing this, as my situation differs from others and I was unsure if this right site to be using. Basically, I was a "revenge porn" victim back in high school. And as crazy as it sounds, it's not because I took "naked selfies", but rather because I was unfortunate enough of a person that someone in my neighborhood had seen me masturbating in my own room one night and decided to record it. To sum it up, someone saw me through my room window and posted it on social media without me knowing until people started talking about it around school. I was ignorant as a teenager, as I had a rather large window in my room (took up an entire wall), with see through curtains that it never occurred to me pretty much allowed anyone in the neighborhood to peep in from with the right lighting, as all they had to do was simply look from outside my house. While I was never able to search and remove any of the content posted on social media (the bullies had it on private social media accounts, where you needed to "friend the person" to see, and people didn't really take revenge porn as seriously back then as they do now), people at school began finding out about it one way or another, and began bullying me about it. I remember people calling me "weird" for being a girl that masturbated, and labeling me as a slut for seeking self-pleasure. It was a nightmare. Some would call me "disgusting," and some guy even went as far as following me to class and continuously calling me a "fag" for no apparent reason till the teacher made him stop. Guys especially were extremely cruel to me during this time. One person went as far as jokingly saying he'd rape me to his group of friends whenever I was around them just to get an emotional reaction. While they succeeded in terrifying me, they never did act upon that guy's joke. Others who'd seen the footage, often times went around school whenever they could, and showing classmates/friends the inappropriate content on their phone like it was the latest episode of some popular show. I was never successful in reporting this situation to a teacher as I lacked a proper explanation, and concrete evidence (I couldn't actually say so-and-so has inappropriate images of me on their phone without making it sound insane). For months, I cried several times during class from the consistent bullying, and nearly got held back a grade from my constant absences in school. Friends and family that I opened up to, all told me to simply "ignore" their comments, but it was too traumatizing to deal with at the time. My self-confidence had become completely crushed. As time went on, I began living in fear of being recognized in public, or potentially harmed everywhere I went. I rarely tried to go out anymore, and did my best to keep my head down at all times in public. I had become ashamed of my existence, and depressed. And despite my hopes of the situation ending after high school, some of the bullies ended up at the same community college I attended, and a few were even in the same class as me. During those times they would just sit behind me in the back of the class just so they can pester other students around them about how big of a "slut" I was. Eventually, I sought therapy which helped with the depression, but for a time I was extremely bitter towards the world and couldn't bring myself to accept the situation that happened years ago and move on. These days, while the harassment has gradually died down since I've transferred to a state college within the same city, I still occasionally end up encountering those who have seen the footage in public areas. I find myself temporarily re-living the torment, as they start throwing the usual remarks such as, "Hey, it's that girl..." and "OMG! She's such a slut," or "She's sooo slutty." At this point in life, the real pain for me is no longer being traumatized of having an intimate moment being posted online against my knowing, but rather instead having to deal with the lifetime of verbal-shaming, and unwarranted judgement that strangers have of me because of that one incident.
"One boy said to me, 'You are so ugly that a man will need to rape you for you to get some.'"
When I was in the 8th grade, I was told I was ugly. I have a big nose, small boobs, and a small butt. Boys would tell me the only person to love me would be one with a nose fetish. They also said that I should be a lesbian and have "nose sex" with women instead of bothering with men. After this began happening, the only boy that was not involved and that liked me for me began to join these boys and told me he did not like me anymore because I had nothing to offer and I would not "put out" for him. My so-called best friend even turned her back on me and would say such things behind my back. Then one day the bullying changed when one boy said to me, "You are so ugly that a man will need to rape you for you to get some." After that, rape threats began and many said they would find homeless men, or old-age sex offenders that would want to rape me. I would walk home from school and sometimes they would follow me and taunt me. The only time they touched me was to "check for themselves" if I had butt. They would rub my butt and squeeze it and then laugh and say, "Nothing's there!" At the time I went to teachers and they gave only TWO of the boys a slap on the wrist. I moved on to graduate 8th grade and eventually got over the bullying through the support of my family. Never did I realize how serious the sexual bullying was or could have been. I was very upset at how my school handled the situation and how my classmates just stood by and did nothing. Now as a 16-year-old, I advocate against sexual bullying and violence in my community and I NEVER stand by when I see something that is bullying or suspicious. Also, I would like to thank Emily Lindin because without this project, I would have never totally forgiven myself or realized that what was done to me was wrong. - Anonymous in New York
I am guilty of that. I called girls I disliked sluts because I was either angry, jealous, or just sad. They weren't sluts though.
This entry includes references to sexual assault.
As far back as I can remember, I've been called horrible names not only from my family members but also from the kids at school. The kids at school were never as bad as my family. I remember when my mom would come pick me up from daycare and bring me home to my dad while she went off to work. My dad was always drunk off his a**. He never cared about my family much. Usually he'd be asleep, passed out from the amount of alcohol he drank. But some nights he was awake and when he was, he'd call me names such as pig, whore, slut, worthless, etc. My dad would beat me while yelling at me for things I hadn't even done. Like sleeping with a man or breaking something that we didn't even own. It got exceptionally bad when my mom and brother were out getting food one night, and he sexually assaulted me. I was only 5 or 6. Luckily, I don't remember much of it and he is now in jail for not only assaulting me, but also other little girls. At school, I was never really bullied much. I'd get an occasional insult like calling me ugly, stupid, and rarely, slut. But throughout my middle school years, I noticed that the word SLUT was tossed around as if no one really knew the meaning of it. I am guilty of that. I called girls I disliked sluts because I was either angry, jealous, or just sad. They weren't sluts though. I think it's sad how people shame the things others do. Slut shame. Fat shame. Disability shame. We are humans. With no humanity left inside us. - Kimberly in Georgia
That was my first experience with sexism and sexual harassment, and I was 13. I'm 30 now, and I've been cat called and raped, and I have not yet worked at a job where I didn't have to deal with a male coworker asking inappropriate questions or pressuring me to go on a date or have sex.
This entry includes references to rape, self-harm, and suicide.
When I was a kid, my family and I lived on a compound in Saudi Arabia that was home to many American families. Three times a week, my classmates and I went swimming for Physical Education, but on one of those days, the pool was supposed to be closed for cleaning. No matter. We would just change in the dining hall's single occupancy bathrooms and go swimming anyway. Our school was small enough that the whole junior high, grades 6-9, would have P.E. together, so we would have 20 kids vying for the bathroom, in theory. In reality, only the boys changed one at a time. The girls would have to run a gauntlet of teenage boys jeering at them and cram into the women's bathroom to change together. I was one of two seventh graders, and the two of us were also the heaviest girls of the dozen in the school, so we got stationed by the door. Our job was to keep the boys from trying to force their way into the bathroom, and I was usually positioned so that if the door came open for any reason, the boys saw me and not the sixth graders behind me. We had tried saying something to the teachers, asking if they could hang out in the hallway and make the boys behave, but they just said that boys will be boys and we should just get used to dealing with it. I'm pretty sure my brother was the only boy in that school who didn't get a glimpse of my naked body, and that's because he knew that our mom would have tanned his hide if he behaved like that. That was my first experience with sexism and sexual harassment, and I was 13. I'm 30 now, and I've been cat called and raped, and I have not yet worked at a job where I didn't have to deal with a male coworker asking inappropriate questions or pressuring me to go on a date or have sex. Over the years, I have attempted suicide and engaged in self harm because I just wanted it to stop. I am in counseling, and I'm working on finishing the college degrees I put on hold after the rape. - Megan in Valdosta, Georgia
We need to support each other and stop judging and trash talking and "slut" shaming each other for good.
"Slut" shaming among cousins - family members. How can we expect others to stop "slut" shaming when it is rampant in families? In my extended family my cousins trash talk and "slut" shame other cousins. I am well aware this does not just happen in my family. Then I have the next generation of cousins in their early 20's who are doing just the same with their cousins; the way they dress, the way they pose with their boyfriend, the way her bra was showing in a photo, etc. etc. etc. Can each of us speak with the girls and the women in our families and not stop speaking till we all get it? Get that we need to support each other and stop judging and trash talking and "slut" shaming each other for good. I have started speaking with my younger cousins. Today was not the first time. It definitely will not be the last. It has to stop. Love and support for each other without any judgment. Love and healing. - Rags
I wasn't pregnant, but I did get labeled as a slut, a tramp, and a whore.
When I was younger, I had gone to a party at my friend's house. Her parents were in Texas and her nanny was there. The nanny had gone out with friends and it was just us. My friend brought out alcohol, encouraging everyone to try some. Soon enough our bodies couldn't handle it and we all got drunk. I made the mistake of sleeping with a boy I barely knew. I wasn't pregnant, but I did get labeled as a slut, a tramp, and a whore. It wasn't a good experience and I wanted to share my story and bring the topic to the table, as many push it aside for being stupid, or unreal.
I hope that I can survive a few more years in this school, then graduate and live my life happily and peacefully.
I'm a 9th grader who has been called a slut for about 2 years. I still remember when I was a 7th grader, other students would spread rumours about me, saying that I slept with male students my age and older, but in reality, I can't even talk to a guy! I'm a shy girl. When I transferred to this school I was in 6th grade. I did not talk to anyone and never got involved in any problem. My school is the type of school where they expect you to be popular and have your own group. Just because I didn't join a friend group or became a popular girl, I was named as the slut of the school. I hope that I can survive a few more years in this school then graduate and live my life happily and peacefully. - Anonymous
I've been trying to tell my story for a long time... but it seems no one wants to listen.
This entry includes descriptions of sexual assault and self-harm.
I was molested by my father when I was 12. I never told a soul! Until 2014, when my emotional and mental capacity reached critical mass, and I could no longer keep it to myself. I was a straight A student, pageant winner, fantastic dancer and activist for poverty and injustice. But my secret kept me from actually achieving individual success. When I was 18, I meet a guy at the local university who introduced me to prostitution. Not knowing what I was doing, I followed him... blindly. I worked in strip clubs and eventually found a "sugar daddy." My life was a fucking mess! I eventually met my husband and had 3 babies, but that mentality never left me. After 10 years of marriage, I became angry, distant, vindictive and defiant! I was upset with the reality that my husband who I loved and who saved me was trading me like an incubator for his children and a sex toy with which he played with whenever he got the hankering. I'm not what my past suggests. Recently, because I was faced with homelessness and despair and was willing to go back to the strip club to make ends meet... I'M A "WHORE!" I am not, and neither is any woman forced into this business. I was treated cruelly and I do not want any more women to experience what I have. There's so much more story. I've been trying to tell my story for a long time... but it seems no one wants to listen. I pray someone reaches out to hear my story. Thank you. - Keena
You are beautiful, and you deserve to walk around knowing that you will be safe in the world.
When I was around 9 years old, my mom started letting me watch shows such as Dateline and 20/20. She taught me to hold my head up high, that I shouldn't let what people say get to me. She let me watch documentaries about how women are sexually harassed and manipulated by people they were supposed to trust. She taught me to always stay vigilant of what was happening around me. Boy, would I be thankful for that. A few years later, when I was 11 or 12, I started attending a summer camp. I'm generally what people call curvy, and I had started puberty a little early than other girls my age, so my chest was larger than most. At camp, we would split up into groups of five, including our counselor. There was one guy, who was about 16 or 17, named Daniel, who would always request that I was put in his group. We had gone camping for one trip, and during the campfire, Daniel sat extremely close to me. Almost everyone had left after a few hours, but when I got up to leave, Daniel grabbed me and shoved me onto his lap. He tried to grope my chest and hold my waist. So I slapped him. I shoved him away and slapped him across the face. (Still proud of myself to this day.) Then I ran for it, to the counselor's cabin to report him. When I got there, they asked me some of the stupidest questions ever. "Did you try anything that would suggest that you wanted him to touch you?" "Were you wearing anything suggestive?" I was wearing a tank top and a pair of sweatpants. How suggestive. Nothing ever happened to Daniel, and the next day, when I arrived for breakfast, everyone stared at me. He had spread rumors that I was sending him nudes, asking for sex and harassing him. "Slut. Whore. Hoe. Gross." I was belittled and bullied the entire week of camping, But I remembered what my mom taught me. So I sauntered around the camp with my head hailed high and a proud smile on my face. Most of those girls at camp were sleeping with some of the counselors anyway, so who were they to talk? I arrived home after a few days and told my parents, who quickly pulled me out of camp and threatened to sue. Although that was a bit overboard, I received a forced apology from Daniel, an apology from the camp, and I was still proud of the slap I gave Daniel that night. He should've been glad it wasn't pepper spray. But to all of the girls out there who are being told what and what not to wear, ignore those idiots. You are beautiful, and you deserve to walk around knowing that you will be safe in the world. It's still annoying how women are told, "Don't get raped," instead of men being taught, "Don't rape." You will find someone out there who makes you feel safe and loved, and you don't have to worry about a thing. But for now, I'll stay home during the summer and read fanfiction.
I was so vulnerable and confused I didn't know what to do. I wasn't a virgin, I just didn't want to have sex with this guy.
This entry includes references to self-harm and sexual assault.
So a lot of bad things happened in my high school. I spoke to a few boys to try and boost my confidence as a few complimented me. I then got a threat that if I didn't send this guy a naked picture that he would tell people my personal stuff that I opened up to him about in a deep conversation. I sent one so that he wouldn't, and he showed the entire school. I dealt with it for over a year, self-harming and being bullied and I was so scared all the time that I had to go on medication. When I opened up, the school did literally nothing. I was broken and they didn't do a single thing. Shortly after I stopped going to school, I met a guy and the first day I met him in the afternoon he started to undress me. I was so vulnerable and confused I didn't know what to do. I wasn't a virgin, I just didn't want to have sex with this guy. Before we met he was saying that if we wanted a relationship then he would take things slow because I'd only just turned 15 and he was 18. He said he would take me out and take me for meals and look after me, but instead he forced me to have sex with him, pulling me tightly when I was trying to push away. I was almost in tears and when I went home I cut my wrist so much and so bad. I felt dirty and disgusting and ashamed that I even went near him. I went back to him a few times because he said he was going to apologize and make things better. He continued to try to have sex with me and I would always go home and self harm because it felt like that was all I was worth, and I felt disgusting and dirty. I wish I could start over.
I will use my story and experiences to help others. I will not let HIM feel he won. I will not let the world feel it has won.
This experience includes references to rape.
I was raped when I was 17. It was something I never saw happening to myself, so much so at first I could not recognize that it was indeed rape. After the rape I went to my best friend's house and just cried, she asked what was wrong. I said to her "I think I was raped?" but when I said those words I was not sure. I was not sure because the depictions of rape that I had seen or heard would always be violent and end in the woman being seriously hurt or dead. I had nothing physically wrong with me per say, but I felt dead. My best friend urged me to call my mother. Something I did not want to do, but did. I called my mom and told her to just come get me, she later told me that before I uttered the words she knew what I was going to say. I told her and my aunt what happened. They called 911. An hour later I was at the hospital being examined. I did not decide to call police on my own, I did not decide to press charges on my own... it was something everyone else urged. So I thought, sure. The person, the sick person who did this to me would pay for this... only had I knew I would pay greater than he did. I was shamed by family and friends. Asked "Why would you LET that happen?" "Why didn't you scream?" Then I had to go into a court and defend my life, not just the fact that my innocence was taken, but my LIFE. I was asked personal questions about my body. I was humiliated in front of the boy who raped me. Meanwhile he got off... the case ended in two years. I also had to wait two years to know if he even got charged. One month, which was time served. Meanwhile I was in a dark hell hole for three years, one I am still fighting to get fully out of... The way the world, society, family, friends, and even the law system treat rape victims/survivors is NOT okay and has to be stopped. And if you're wondering how I am today, I am OK. A lot better than I was at 17. (I'm 21 now.) I am working on myself everyday and working to provide a change within the world. I am now the president of a Domestic Violence/Sexual Assault awareness group on my college campus. I will use my story and experiences to help others. I will not let HIM feel he won. I will not let the world feel it has won. Thank you for allowing me to share this (this is my first time sharing publicly). - Anonymous in Ohio
Being a sexual being does not negate a woman's role as a mother or a decent person. It is simply part of being human, and healthy sexuality does not make you a slut.
I am a 60+ year old mother of two. For almost 40 years, I have been in a monogamous relationship with the father of my children (my husband). Before him, I had one other sexual partner. Before me, my husband had one other sexual partner. We fell in love and after almost 3 years of dating exclusively, I got pregnant and we married as soon as we realized we were having a baby. I have devoted my life to my husband, my marriage and my family. I am an active churchgoer and volunteered for many community and religious organizations while my children were young. I worked for many years in a well-paying job once my children were old enough for me to continue my career. I took care of my mother for over a decade during her illness, until her death. I was a dutiful daughter-in-law and sister-in-law to my husband's parents, his siblings and his extended family. Yet despite all this, my husband's mother treated me like a slut for 20 years until her death. When she passed, my sister-in-law (single with no children) and her cousin (also single with no children) carried on the tradition of treating me like a slut, snubbing me and looking down their noses at me. They have made wildly false accusations about me--if I'm at the supermarket longer than they think I should be, they assume I'm secretly barhopping, picking up strange men. Their attitudes and accusations and insinuations are unfounded and slanderous. Nothing I do is ever right in their eyes, and not even the high position I hold in my community, nor my faith practices are enough to convince them that they are wrong about me. They don't feel they don't have have any reason (unlike me) for them to "need" to go to church, so they never go but assume they have some moral superiority because they are too lazy to practice their faith. I went back to college and got my B.A. (graduating with honors) while they have never gotten beyond a high school education. I feel sorry for people like them who "slut" shame in order to cover up their own massive inadequacies and project their negative feelings of their lack of self-worth onto other women in order to make themselves feel better. It stems from not having ownership of their own sexuality and the fear if they do admit that part of being a woman is having a sexual identity, they will have to face their fear of their own sexuality that they have repressed in order to be "good girls." They can't understand that being a sexual being does not negate a woman's role as a mother or a decent person. That it is simply part of being human and healthy sexuality does not make you a slut. It simply affirms that you are human and sex is just another need in every person, be they male or female. (Yet they don't think the worse of my husband for having sexuality!) I feel sorry for the women in my family that are so terrified of their sexuality that they feel the need to bully anyone who isn't a vestal virgin. They are afraid to confront the fact that they have chosen to hide their nature from their own selves, for fear that they might get called sluts if someone finds out they are human and have a sexual nature. Basically, it's a sad thing that (some) women continue to subject other women to "slut" shaming when they should be focusing on living their own lives to the fullest instead of judging other women who do choose to have a complete life--and yes, that includes being a sexual being. There's no shame in that.
He is withholding both my kids from me and I feel powerless and like a bad mom. Truth of the matter is, he kept my head spinning so that it has taken me this long to come to my senses.
Before meeting my children's father, I was a prime citizen and role model for other young black females in my small town. That all came to an end when I moved out of my parents' house at age 15. My home life was going down, with my elderly father being put into the nursing home and my elderly mother's health declined as she became depressed and later had a stroke and remained on dialysis to the end of her life. With no one and nowhere to go, I remained in this abusive, downward spiral of a life. I began acting out by wearing emo or goth styled clothes and gained a lot of weight. Truth was I became a desperate "housewife" at an early age. Dropping in and out of high school due to depression and abuse, I became pregnant. My so-called best friend had told my children's father that I was pregnant despite my wishes for him not to know. That's not all she told him, she also said that I had sex with the guy I'd had a crush on since middle school that also happened to be my best guy friend. She then went on to slander my name throughout my pregnancy, resulting in him moving in with her despite the fact that she was married and her husband was gone to Africa while being in the armed forces. She ruined my life! Furthermore, I let her, by trying to be a good friend. You see, she was the one that executed this behavior and now I know why she did this to me. It was because she was jealous. Not of my looks but of the person I was inside. Because she felt as though she could never be that person, and she was right. I let her back in my life because my dad was a deacon for over 60 years and all those Sunday school teachings stuck! She once again did the same thing and I cut her and a few more of my friends out of my life for good. My children's father continued to be abusive until I left for good in 2013. My main issue now is that he is withholding both my kids from me and I feel powerless and like a bad mom. Truth of the matter is, he kept my head spinning so that it has taken me this long to come to my senses. My main concern is that my son has behavioral issues similar to his father's. My daughter is exactly like me and I fear that this harmful trend will spill over into my daughter's life without guidance. Both my kids are extraordinary. Great scholars, citizens and athletes but will their bright futures be ruined in a small town by slut shaming and an abusive bf/gf like mine? Are they being held prisoners in their own minds, bodies and house?! I've always wanted to be taken seriously on this topic and didn't know how. I am blessed to have come across this project on YouTube. Speak out, speak loud and speak PROUD! - Anonymous in Jacksonville, Florida
Every school day, I would be called a "playa" or I would be told that I was a "pimp."
I have been slut shamed once. It hurts men, too! When I was in highschool, I had always been quiet, for whatever reason I always kept to myself--I just wanted to, I was myself and I had the right to--Anyways, women would always show kindness to me and I would in return as well (my mother and father taught me quite well how to understand women). I took the opportunity to help them in their problems. I cared so much for the women that would care for me. Well, of course some men might scoff and say that I was intentionally manipulating them for my good use, which was NOT true at all! My intentions to be with them were similar to how I would be with myself: Caring, dependent, and looking after their well-being. Every school day, I would be called a "playa" or I would be told that I was a "pimp." Being with these women in and outside of school has even drawn me to be away from them and back into a place where I could be all alone again, to depend on myself again! To this day I would rather be alone and as I am, but I reside with my girlfriend, but still, I find myself wanting to be by myself. Bullying has always been my cause for being alone and I guess, I'd rather be. People are just people. - Andrew G.
I blocked him, but he would message me on social media, harassing me for everything I had ever done and making up ridiculous things that were nowhere near true to make himself feel better.
This entry includes references to self-harm.
Freshman year, I began a relationship with a boy I have always and will always love. We were together from September 2015 until November of 2016. We hung out everyday in the summer. We had stayed together and I finally fell in love with him and then lost my virginity to him (consensually). Things were amazing until August of 2015 when I found out he had cheated on me with a random girl in May. I was heartbroken. I didn't eat for days and I couldn't stop crying. Because I loved him so much, I decided to stay with him. Things were rocky at first but eventually they were good again. Then, he hooked up with one of my closest friends this November. I found out about 2 weeks later. I ended the friendship with her, as well as my best friend since 3rd grade and many other girls because they had not told me, as I was not there the night it happened. He would threaten to kill himself or harm himself if I went anywhere he didn't want me going, talked to someone he didn't want me talking to, didn't hang out with him, or if I decided I wanted to leave him. Again, I stayed with him. How could I let him hurt himself? Since then things were horrible again. One night, I was drunk at a party and hooked up with a boy that had liked me for a while. My boyfriend eventually found out and verbally abused me. This is where the abuse began. To get back at me, he had a party and hooked up with another one of my friends. Then a month later, hooked up with another one of my friends twice. Still, I stayed with him because I loved him and thought it would get better. Then one night I was drunk at a party and hooked up with the same boy again, keep in mind my boyfriend and I were not still dating, just talking and hanging out. He attacked me for days verbally, calling me a slut, a whore, a retard, a bitch, disgusting, stupid, anything you can think of, he said it. Things continued to be rocky but I stayed. We were both going back and forth hooking up and verbally abusing each other, him worse than I. I loved him and I was not strong enough to leave him. Then, a rumor was started that I had hooked up with his best friend, which was not true. The boy I had been with found out. He didn't believe me because of all the things we had been through before. He called me a slut thousands of times, a dumb bitch, a whore, a disgusting person, and everything else in the book. I blocked him, but he would message me on social media, harassing me for everything I had ever done and making up ridiculous things that were nowhere near true to make himself feel better. He then began telling people that the rumor was true and continued to spread it. People began to believe it and everyone hated me or was giving me shit. I had no way to protect myself from the lie and I am still to this day verbally abused by him to the point where I have been hospitalized and am now in group therapy because of how he ruined many things for me this year and because of how badly he has made me look and feel about myself. I still have not found the strength to fully leave him as this rumor was spread recently. The harassment, slut shaming, and threats of suicide are still going on, to the point where I am slut shamed by him for what I'm wearing or who I'm with. I hope one day I am able to leave him, because of how abusive and toxic this relationship is. But until then, I have decided to push through and build the courage and strength to let him go. - Adair, Connecticut
The bullying got worse and the boy sent the video to even MORE people outside of school.
This entry includes references to self-harm.
Senior year. This was almost three years ago, now. I had many friends. I wasn't popular, I just had a decent good-sized group of great friends, or so I thought, at least. Around the beginning of my senior year, I had met a boy. He was very funny and kind, and he was kind of popular, I guess you could say, my high school only having around 350 total students in it. We got close and one day, because teenagers have raging hormones of course, we got intimate. Little did I know, he filmed it. A couple weeks later, his friends had playfully asked me about it. Confused and nervous, I went to him and asked what his friends were talking about. Then he told me. "I recorded us and showed some of my friends." I asked why and he simply told me: "To prove to my friends that I could get 'some.'" You don't know how infuriated and upset I was. I didn't know who all saw it. The next week, apparently everyone knew. He sent it out to everyone after my confrontation with him. Everyone was picking at me and boys were cat-calling, calling me a slut, asking when was it their turn, to me everyday, all day after that. They did it so much, that at one point, I yelled and cussed out a boy in the middle of the cafeteria during lunch, and I ran to the band-hall restroom (I was a band kid and the band hall was somewhat of my safe-haven.) I felt so... I can't even describe what I felt. I felt so many things: violated, shamed, embarrassed, dirty with the filth of my mistake. I felt all of my friends and classmates were judging me. I felt they were all watching me. And yes, I tried to see if the principal could do anything. Mind you, this was also embarrassing because the principal was one of my best friend's father. All he could do was give the boy a stern talking and a slap on the wrist (it's an expression). That just made things worse. The bullying got worse and the boy sent the video to even MORE people outside of school. Before this time, I had been clean from cutting for a year, but at that moment, I relapsed again. About only three of my friends stood up for me, asking me if I wanted them to jump him, of course I said no, I don't like settling things with violence. My best friend though, put him on 'blast' (a term we used in high school) and told him all the reasons he was a terrible person, in front of everyone. A couple months later, everything seemed to have subsided. I could finally relax the rest of my senior year, even though this situation has left a huge mental and emotional scar. If my friends weren't there for me and help defend me, my situation probably could have gotten worse. I haven't retold this story until now. Thanks for listening.
It hurts the most when it comes from someone who supposedly loves you.
I'm a thirty-six year old single female who has had many relationships in the past. Of course I've always wanted to be married and have children, but I just haven't found the right person. Last weekend, I was home visiting my mother and stepfather, and I went out with a male friend one evening. The next day, my stepfather called me into his "office" and said, " I don't mean to make you feel bad, but can I ask you how many boyfriends you've had? You see, I've only had one true love." This statement was coming from a man on his second marriage. We named several of the men I'd dated since college, and there actually was quite a list. He said, "Oh, it's not as bad as I thought." Not as bad as he thought. Why should I feel bad about having numerous relationships and not settling for anything less than someone I trust and love deeply? How can I get to know a man without spending time and dating him? Sometimes it takes a year or more to see a man's true personality, so how is it wrong to be a serial dater? I felt so shamed. It hurts the most when it comes from someone who supposedly loves you. - Sara Wells, Charleston, South Carolina
I have continuously been called slut, whore, and hooker. Just because I have developed breasts.
I am suffering with continuing sexual bullying. When I was in the third grade I started growing boobs. This led to boys noticing me. Through the past three years, I have been looked at by older men and have been touched. When I was 11, a 15 year old was at a birthday party I had been at. It was a sleepover, and my friend had fallen asleep. So had my brother. I had known the family for 5 years and one of the sons of the family's friend tried kissing me. We were half asleep and he dared me to play Seven Minutes in Heaven. He pushed me into a closet and got close to me, I pushed him away. And one of the family members came in and interrupted, thankfully. He didn't get very far he only pushed me closer, but it could've been much worse. I've only told my close friends about this. I have continuously been called slut, whore, and hooker. Just because I have developed breasts. People say I have the biggest breasts in my grade, but I know that isn't true. It's honestly getting annoying, and I'm only in seventh grade.
My 'friend' was going through a tough time and as I look back now, I realise that part of the pain she was feeling, she projected by hurting others.
My story isn't anywhere near as serious as some of the stories shared that I've read on here, however it was and is still a big part of my life and after reading Emily's diary, I feel compelled to tell it in hopes that other people will benefit from it and remove themselves from people that put them in dangerous situations or make them feel sad or depressed. When I was 11, I moved to a new high school. My best friend had moved to a different city 3 hours away and I had been placed in a class where I knew absolutely no one. The first week at the new school, I felt lonely and scared. I would constantly be seen hanging out with my older brother who was in his last year of school and would get annoyed when I sat with him, up until I met a girl in my class who was bubbly, confident and flirtatious. She took me under her wing and I was virtually her lap dog. If she wanted something, I'd get it for her, if I brought money for school lunch, I would buy her something as well. One day, I came to school sporting a fringe (which I had gotten cut the day before to look like Taylor Swift, who was my idol at the time), which looked atrocious! In her eyes at least. She asked me that morning, "Do you like your fringe?" To which I replied, "I don't know kind of." I was already self conscious enough with the new hairstyle which I actually really disliked so when she ignored me for the rest of the day and for the 2 days following I was extremely hurt and embarrassed. It was not until I started pinning my fringe back that she started talking to me again like nothing had happened. I was so desperate for a friend that I didn't even care that she had purposefully ignored me because she thought I looked ugly. She continued to make fun of me behind my back saying things like "Sara is such a bitch" and "let's all ignore Sara and pretend we don't know who she is." This continued for many months until she had pushed me to a breaking point where I actually cut my thighs with a razor. At the time, my 'friend' was going through a tough time (her sister had depression and previously had tried to kill herself) and as I look back now I realise that part of the pain she was feeling, she projected by hurting others. She was sent to the councillors office a lot to talk about her sister and let slip that I, too, had cut myself. I was called into the councillors office in which I spilt all the things that she had said about me to the lady, who called my mum and told her everything. My mum told me not to be friends with her, but who else did I have? After 3 gruelling years I am finally not friends with her and now have great friendships with many people (I don't stick to one person so that I can always lean back on others for support if something happens with another friend). About 2 weeks ago I spoke to her, she spoke to me with such confidence talking sh*t about my own friends for no reason. She told me that I was an innocent little girl who knew nothing because I haven't smoked weed or given a boy a blowjob and many more things that are far more detailed and complicated to understand. That conversation made me so grateful that I wasn't friends with her anymore, although after all the nasty things she did to me I forgive her, because I don't dwell on the past. I only hope she will realise the pain she caused people and apologize for it. - Sara, New Zealand
We ran into a tree. My sister died on impact. I lived, and that's when I started fighting back.
This entry includes descriptions of rape, suicide, and self-harm.
I have never had a good life. It was hard for me growing up, more so than usual kids my age. Everything started in middle school. Somehow people found out about what my dad did to me. My dad would physically abuse me and after he would rape me. I had a twin and I was the eldest, so of course I would do whatever I could to protect her. It just so happened that anytime my dad would start to hurt her I would jump in so she wouldn't get hurt. She was quite literally my only friend. So at school we were in 6th grade and kids had found out what was going on at home. They started to bully me and my sister and of course I would protect her. The boys in school would often come up to us and ask us how much it would cost to get a blow job, but then it escalated. They started trying to sleep with us. We would say no, but then me and my sister were labeled as the school sluts. After a couple months things started to die down and they would start leaving us alone, of course we still got called sluts and whores but we ignored all of the comments. When we got into the 7th grade every one of the girls in school avoided us like the plague and we didn't care, we just wanted to live through everything. Well halfway through 7th grade my sister came to me crying and I couldn't figure out what was wrong. I couldn't even understand her. After I calmed her down she finally told me that a bunch of 8th graders cornered her in the lockers and 3 girls held her down while she was raped by 4 guys. She started to cut from that. In our minds we knew that we couldn't tell anyone what our father was doing to us and what had happened to her, so we kept our mouths shut. It turned out to be a mistake. The kids thought that they got away with raping my sister. So they tried to do it to me. They knew I was physically stronger than my sister so not only did I have the same 3 girls holding me down but the boys had to hold me down, also. They raped me for 2 hours, maybe more, and I believe that the worst thing about it was that they made my sister watch. Me and my sister became a shell. We didn't talk to no one, we didn't do anything, it's like we were on auto pilot. Skip to 8th grade, everything was going okay but we still had problems at home. We were cutting ourselves, drinking and doing drugs. We made it through 8th grade with no rape but got bullied everyday. I had tried hanging myself right before high school started. It didn't work so we thought we had to keep living. We went on. We went to highschool of course we got bullied and we just went through it. It got worse, we got into fights and kept living with everything. Skip forward to 10th grade, me and my sister got gang raped. That night me and my sister got drunk and high, so high that we didn't even know know what was going on. We got in the car and tried to kill ourselves. We ran into a tree. My sister died on impact. I lived, and that's when I started fighting back. I went to fighting classes and I became a fighter. After I got into fighting back against everyone, they left me alone. So my point here is that even though you can go through something like that and you think you need to give up and die, well, don't. Because you let them win and that's all they want to do is break you. I am now a divorced single mother and am happy. My daughter is named after my sister and I will keep on fighting till the day I die because you always have something to live for. - Devon
He asked for pictures and I didn't say no. Then his girlfriend found out he liked me, so he began calling me a whore in school.
The summer of 2015 I met the first guy that would ever break my heart, let's just call him Y. So Y was a really good friend of mine, he had been for years, but out of the blue this summer he began asking me for more. I liked him, I had for a while, so I didn't refuse. I didn't go all the way but we did do quite a lot, some over the phone. When I told him I didn't want to go all the way, he found a girl that would the very next day and completely dumped me. From that point on, he wouldn't even glance my way anymore, we weren't even friends. Him leaving me over something like this made me feel worthless. For months afterward I suffered from anorexia and depression. I would cry myself to sleep. I cared about him and loved him, and it hurt to know that he could just throw me away like that. I began to feel like no guy would ever like me unless I gave them something. I felt like I was never going to be good enough for them unless I gave them exactly what they were asking for. About midway into the next school year (approximately seven months after Y) a jock from my school began to show some interest in me. He told me I was hot, and that my boobs were big. For the first time in seven months, I felt like someone actually found me worthy of them. It was a relief to know that someone besides Y found me attractive. Let's call this new guy T. So T asked for my snapchat and he began calling me cute names and texting me daily. He had a girlfriend, but I was so upset with myself still that I didn't care. He asked for pictures and I didn't say no. Then his girlfriend found out he liked me, so he began calling me a whore in school. He spread rumors that I went all the way with him, which wasn't true. Not many believed him, but it still hurt. He still texted me every once in a while, trying to get something out of me, but I was just a slut to him now. I fell into depression again and decided I no longer cared. Then I met a friend that I felt confident around. I began being happy again. I talked to everyone in a friendly way and was always laughing. This got me called a bitch and slut by T, his girlfriend, and her friends. A guy, who I'll call O, asked me for things. I said I just wanted to be friends. So we were. Then Y came back so I blocked O out completely. He was furious about this and spread rumors that I slept with him and T and Y, and that I gave them an STD. Y apologized to me and I fell for him again. I snuck out to see him often and he always asked for more every time. I didn't disappoint. Then he began getting drunk daily. When he was drunk he was harsh towards me. He would emotionally abuse me by calling me names and tearing me down. I became depressed again and at this point, crying was as normal to me as breathing. Y eventually left again, telling me that I yet again was not good enough for him. This tore me apart. Aside from this, at school I was still being called a slut and other harsh names. Two months later, and this is still occurring. I still feel worthless. I still feel like no guy will ever truly love me. But I am getting better. I am confident against other girls and most guys, I am not happy but I am getting there. I would never wish this kind of hurt upon anyone else. Words hurt. I can not stress that enough.
I walked around for two weeks not knowing that everybody had seen me naked, calling me a whore and easy behind my back.
It all started in spring 2015. I was video chatting with these guys, while my friend "Sara" was sitting in the back. I didn't notice, but my boobs were showing, and one of the guys took a picture. I didn't really mind it because it looked like a bikini. Then I was going to take a shower and my friend turned the camera, and the same boy took a picture, but I was in underwear so it wasn't that big of a deal. Later that night, me and my friend sent some risky photos to one of the boys, "Jake," and he took screenshots. Me and Sara separated and became enemies because of another girl, and then all hell came. The pictures came out and Jake was being a big ass about it, he was basically the one who sent them to everyone. A year had past, and the pictures were history. But then in spring 2016, I became really good friends with Jake, ignoring everything he had done to me. We video chatted all the time, and one time this other boy, Sam, joined us. I had a crush on Sam two years before in 8th grade, but it faded. I started to talk a lot with Sam, but he had a girlfriend. He started telling me things like "I liked you all the time, and I still like you." I felt bad, because he had a girlfriend, but he manipulated me. We had a "relationship" via the phone, but when we went to school we only looked at each other. We started to send pictures, and he told me he loved me. I really trusted him, and told him things I had done with other guys. His girlfriend started suspecting, and found out, but he told her, "She suddenly sends me pictures," putting me on her bad side, so she hated me. After two months, I couldn't take it anymore, and told him we were over. When I did that, he told everyone everything, and he sent Jake the pictures, which he sent and showed everyone. I walked around for two weeks not knowing that everybody had seen me naked, calling me a whore and easy behind my back. I found out and almost killed Sam, but he told me he didn't mean it. I knew he meant to play me and use me so I blocked him. A couple of weeks later, I hooked up with Jake, and everyone called me a slut. He went around for many weeks calling me cheap, disgusting, and a slut. There is a lot more in detail, like that I told Sam's girlfriend, but they didn't break up. It's been a couple of weeks now, and it's almost summer, and everyone is moving next year. I just really hope it's over, so guys stop laughing at me. It's a really shit feeling having to go around, knowing that almost everyone has seen those pictures. I have broken down sometimes , but to be honest I am being very strong, and trying not to show how much it bothers me, especially in front of Jake. And I have also had my friends around me, like Sara (we are now friends), and she went through something similar.
"Do you know what that means? It means you're a slut."
After breaking up with my boyfriend of a year and a half, my mom proceeded to ask me if we had sex. I told her yes and she was so angry with me. She came from a very religious family and my grandmother and her believe in sex after marriage. She told me that sex was supposed to be with someone you love. I did love my boyfriend but some things just don't work out. I went out for the day with my friends and got a text message to be home by 10 and that I can move out when I graduate and that if my room isn't picked up by tomorrow night that she would throw all of my stuff out on the lawn. I got home at 9:15 and went straight up to my room. After about a half an hour I went down stairs to ask her why she was so mad at me. I practiced safe sex and my boyfriend was the only person I've ever had sex with. She said, "Do you know what that means? It means you're a slut." I was so taken back by her words. I went up to my room and just cried all night. People don't understand that words have a huge effect on people's self esteem. Her actions were wrong and I am not a slut.
My new reputation and shame about my actions led to alcohol and drug use, an eating disorder, cutting, and a deep depression with accompanying suicidal ideation.
This entry includes references to self-harm and religious beliefs, which do not represent the views of The UnSlut Project.
When I was 13 I went to a party with a girlfriend and had some drinks. There ended up only being 2 other girls there we didn't know and a whole group of guys which made us uncomfortable so we left. We were in a part of the city we weren't familiar with and had no money for a cab home so just started walking and eventually found our route. We both had on skirts and a tank top as it was the spring. Halfway home a car stopped with 3 men in their twenties offering to drive us home which we greatly accepted but somehow ended up at their house. Because I was intoxicated and not sure what to do I just went along with it. I remember being separated from my friend and the man that stayed with me pulling out his penis and asking for fellatio. I thought with this was weird because I never learned about oral sex before. I did it though and then he began to have sex with me. I was scared but he wasn't being forceful and I was a little curious so let him go ahead. I remember asking him to go slow which he did as he chuckled. When it was over my friend and I (who had had a similar first time experience in the other room) walked the rest of the way home. On Monday when I went to school I told a couple of my close friends what had happened and they were shocked and bothered-more by my behavior than the males. One convinced me to talk to my teacher who drove my friend and I to get checked for STDs and pregnancy which we were lucky not to have happened. However my teacher told my parents and eventually lots of people in the school found out. I began to get propositioned by boys and somehow boys even got my number to ask if I would provide oral sex with them seemingly out of nowhere. I relate to Emily Lindin when she said "I felt like I had to live up to my reputation" because once everyone thought that anyway and I felt used and devalued I figured I may as well continue to get this attention which led to promiscuity. I still to this day feel slut shamed by my parents. My mother wanted to press charges but my father said that would just re-traumatize me and while I don't remember this, apparently the police came and I refused to talk to them. However, my mother always told me it wouldn't have happened if I hadn't gone to a party I wasn't approved to, if I wasn't walking in the dark wearing a skirt and if I wasn't drinking and pointed out that I wanted to do this on some level because I did go back the following weekend which I still find strange behavior reflecting on now. Because I had developed early (I had reached my adult weight, height and breast size at age 13) boys my age were not attracted to me but older men were and because I did not have a healthy positive relationship with my own father I continued to allow sexual forms of attention to replace the love that I truly desired and needed. Looking back on all of my sexual partners, I would not say any were rape or sexual assault (including the only two times I have blacked out from alcohol and slept with someone I was dating before I was ready which ultimately led me to quit binge drinking), only 3 of those men were men I felt comfortable, pleasured and full consent with. My new reputation and shame about my actions led to alcohol and drug use, an eating disorder, cutting and a deep depression with accompanying suicidal ideation which required therapy and medication to recover. I also developed a habit of needing to be high or drunk in order to have sex even with my long term boyfriends. Years ago I became a Christian and experienced great healing through the love and complete acceptance of God. I learned my self worth comes from being His child not others validating me in unhealthy or even healthy ways. I am married to a wonderful man and also like Emily, was able to reinvent my "slut" reputation after high school when I went to university and excelled in my career and new community. This project, though triggering, has really made me think about the potential motives behind sexual behavior or dress, especially among young women. Teaching about sexual relationships are so skewed that it does not allow most young men and women to grow up understanding the repercussions in all spheres when they choose to be intimate with someone. The project allows me to forgive myself, the men involved and my peers who were not educated enough to understand intricacies of these issues. Thank you for the opportunity to share.
I need help but I don't want to ask for it.
Note to the author: Please reach out to a parent or teacher for help immediately. You are NOT alone, and this is NOT your fault. You can overcome it, just like the women who have shared their stories here before you. Please visit this link and check out the resources available to you. I am always here to talk, as well. Love, Emily
This entry includes descriptions of rape, self-harm, and suicide.
I was raped by my 35-year-old neighbor when I was twelve. He still hasn't been charged and it happened one year ago but I decided to keep it a secret because I didn't want anyone making fun of me or for him to follow through with what he said he would do. He said after he raped me, with a knife to my neck, that if I told anyone anything he would kill me and my family. That's why I never told. I didn't want my family to get hurt. Since then I have been an inpatient for depression, self-harm, suicide ideation, suicide attempts, and anxiety twice, each both for a month. I have had 23 suicide attempts and I have cut so many times all because I just can't take the memories anymore. I want to die. I don't want my family to suffer though and if I killed myself they would be devastated... some might even follow in my footsteps and I don't want that to happen. Now at this point in my life I'm feeling very suicidal but I don't want to tell anyone... I'm afraid I'll end up in the hospital again... I don't want that... I just want life to be over but I don't want to make my family hurt. I don't know what to do. The memories and flashbacks of the day I was raped are getting out of control...!!! I need help but I don't want to ask for it. - Anonymous
We made out in the back seat, and I remember being hurt when he said that I was easy. He called me that because I said I didn't want to have sex in his car.
I remember going on a date with this guy, and I kind of implied about going to the park to make out and what not, and he was fine with it. We went, made out in the back seat, and I remember being hurt when he said that I was easy. He called me that because I said I didn't want to have sex in his car, especially because I was a virgin so I wanted my first time special and planned somewhere worth having it at. He called me easy because in this society, even making out on the first date but not wanting to have sex right away is considered easy and slutty. It really hurt me because he was devaluing my worth when I really liked him. He said that if she gives it up to him within 3 days then it's a hit and run for him, if not, he'll consider having a relationship. The second date we went on, I only gave him a blow job because I was hurt and angry that he called me easy and so I didn't want to present myself as that and disrespect myself so I didn't go through with the plan to have sex. He never called me after.
You have full control of your body, you do what YOU want. Not what anyone else wants.
I was 14 at the time (and still am). I'm in Drumline. For those of you who don't know, that's basically marching band but only for percussion. I met a new guy when the season started in December, he was the only new male in our group (everyone else continued from first semester, so I already knew them). I didn't like him right away but we became friends. The one thing I found out right away that we had in common was that we were both open books. He told me a lot about himself in a short period of time, nothing too crazy, just simple things. I, on the other hand, shared my sexuality (bisexual) with him, which I had just figured out a few months before and only one of my close friends knew about it. This surprised both me and him. We continued to be not too close friends, and I developed a crush on him around January. According to other girls in Drumline, I would blush every time he talked to me (I have dark skin so I was really confused on how they noticed), but he was completely oblivious to this, thankfully. We went on our first two-day trip to Pasadena to compete, but we hadn't talked at all. We began talking more a few weeks after that in March and the weekend before spring break we went on our second two-day trip. I had planned out our van seating with a couple other friends much in advance, so we would get in the best van, and of course I wanted to sit with him. Let's call him Mat. I was so disappointed when people we didn't want in the van got in and me and my friend were booted out. We were put in the van with rudest driver and most obnoxious people. I was more than pissed off and didn't have the number of anyone in the van we wanted to be in so I asked my friend for Mat's number and I texted him a very long, angry text. I was venting, and immediately regretted sending it afterward but he felt really bad about it and apologized numerous times. My friend and I managed to still have fun (surprisingly). Once we got there, I apologized to him and everyone else I was rude to. I felt like a total bitch. They all forgave me, but surprisingly Mat and I hung out and actually talked about stuff, like not just small talk but actually TALKED. He told me personal things about himself and talked about how his brother's friend was his "weed source" and things like that, he showed me a new side of himself. When we returned home, I waited a day or two and texted him again, asking him for music advice, because that's what we mainly talked about on the trip. He gave me some and we talked for a while and began (somehow) debating about political ordeals. That's when I realized how different we were, he wanted Trump to win, I love Bernie, He thought reverse racism is real, I don't, he was NOT a feminist and believed in dress codes. I should've drawn the line but I never did, I just liked him so much. I found out he had a girlfriend so me and a friend of mine (a girl) started a fake friends-with-benefits thing that I told him about so he wouldn't suspect that I liked him. His girlfriend ended up getting with another guy the same night she told him she loved him. And me and my "girlfriend" ended things around the same time. Fast forward to April 12th (a Tuesday). My friend from Drumline told me that Mat wanted to have sex with me, and the night we were going to sneak out to smoke he was going to make a move. We had scheduled it for that Friday, and so I said that I'd think about it. She told me he said he was going to go for it. That Friday after watching him perform in the school talent show, I was at home and let him into my room through my window. We smoked, drank some, and then (anticlimactically) he left because I told him to go. I didn't want him to leave, though. I wasn't thinking properly. We texted after and he said that all I had to do was ask him to come back and he would. So I did, and we had sex. I hated it. He was really aggressive when he kissed me, and every time I told him it hurt he would sigh in annoyance. I felt bad, but I still liked him so much. We began dating after that (in secret because my parents were strict). He came over again another day. We got to second base, then the third time he came, I actually enjoyed myself. Sadly, our little relationship ended the next day. My neighbor saw him come in the second time he visited and told my parents. The entire truth eventually unraveled, and I was only able to text him what happened before I got my phone taken away. I texted him again once I got it back. He said that he didn't think it was a good idea for us to talk and I was hurt because of it. I said some rude things, he defended himself and said some rude things back. Then I apologized and told him he was right, if my parents found out we talked again I would be in so much trouble. So we haven't talked since. My point out of this huge long story that I could have made shorter was this: I am in NO WAY saying I was raped, I gave my full consent, but I know that I wasn't physically or mentally ready for that night. The next day I felt like throwing up the entire day, and even during the sex it still felt like I was making a bad decision. If I could go back in time I would tell myself (and any other girls/boys out there in a similar situation) if you're not ready, no matter your age, don't say yes. If they don't want to wait, they don't deserve you. You have full control of your body, you do what YOU want. Not what anyone else wants. Thanks Emily for all the inspiration :)
I want to feel comfortable in my own skin. I want to feel safe.
When I was 14, I had a boyfriend. At first he was sweet to me, and I loved him, but his behaviour changed after we first had sex. If I said I wasn't in the mood, he'd try to convince me with words, or would just kiss me until I would give in. This continued for months. He would only see me to have sex with me, after which I would be expected to leave. I felt depressed and started crying uncontrollably and inexplicably at random moments. It wasn't until I found out he had been cheating on me that I felt empowered enough to get out of the relationship. It wasn't until years later that I realized what had happened. It wasn't my fault. I did say no. And he had absolutely no right to have sex with me against my wishes. I'm 21 now but I still struggle with my sexuality. I want to feel comfortable in my own skin. I want to feel safe. I love sex and I've been exploring this through casual sexual relations, but I feel enormous pressure from friends and family in particular. Someone who sleeps around is a "slut", and there must be something wrong with me. There is nothing wrong with me. I just want to feel powerful and do what I like with whom I like without being judged.
I was CONSTANTLY being shamed for my clothing and being made to change into hand-me-downs, which, for the record, stank like puke.
After reading most of the stories on here, I guess the story that I am to share doesn't even begin equate to the terrible ordeals all of you women have experienced, but still, I'm certain my story is worth sharing anyway. Okay, so, it was the summer of 2015 and I'd just turned 15 in the month of July. My mum decided it'd be nice for me to go to this residential religious youth camp thing being held in August, and being the obedient brown girl that I am, I kind of had no say as to whether I wanted to go or not. Still, I kinda looked forward to it - meeting other people my age and all. Upon arrival, I was allocated a room that me and these two other teenage girls, one my age and the other a year younger than me, would share. Let's call the girl who was the same age as me, A, and the girl who was a year younger than me, X. We were all really tight with each other and got along really well. The adults at the camp gave us the outline of how we'd be spending our 3 days there. Despite having to wake up early for meditation at like 4 in the morning, I really had no other obligations to it. My day started at 3:30am, and 4am was meditation time. Me, A and X had half an hour to get dressed and go down. For meditation, we were expected to wear white clothing. The three of us made our way downstairs on the very first day, only to be policed by one of the female adults about our choice of clothing. She began with me. I was wearing white jeans, a white sleeveless top and had thrown on a thin white cardigan. She said, and I quote, "What do you think you're doing, wearing a sleeveless top, and, what is it with your gown (referring to the thin white cardigan I had on) that's the type of thing you wear to bed, it's indecent." She then began criticising my two friends, A and X, who were wearing white jeans and white half-sleeve T-shirts. "Your shirt is too tight, not at all modest, don't you have any other less revealing clothing?" The three of us were made to sit in a big old room and wait for this lady to bring us a change of clothes, clothing that was more "modest." She returned and brought back 3 baggy, full-sleeve, white T-shirts. This was not the only occasion that me and my friends were told off for dressing indecently. Oh, no, it practically became a regime throughout our stay there. The adults, especially the women, would be quick to notice if we were wearing clothing which was "too tight," "flattered our figures," "too revealing," "showed our shoulders," and the list goes on. By the first day, I'd had enough. I rang my mother and asked her to withdraw me from there because I was CONSTANTLY being shamed for my clothing and being made to change into hand-me-downs, which, for the record, stank like puke. Although my mum understood how unhappy I was, she kept telling me to hold on because there wasn't that long left to go. And that was the first time in my life I'd felt so oversexualized and helpless, at what I believe is a pretty young age! Since then, I'd never spoken about the camp to anyone in a positive light. END oversexualization of the female body. END internalised beliefs about the disempowerment that comes with being dressed too "indecently," or "provocatively." ALL women are entitled to the right to own and express their sexuality, however they choose, or to not express it all. We should not be subjected to misogyny.
I'm the most sweet, caring girl you'll ever meet, but they just don't give me the chance, because to them I'm just another slut.
I'm one of those people who can't really keep secrets and who are very open about themselves. I don't really care to tell people about my sex life or sexual experiences. I don't do it for attention, for sex, or to show off how "lucky" I am. Apparently, most people don't think about it that way. People who've heard of me think I'm easy and call me slut instead of by my name. Even my parents think I'm slutty (I don't share everything with them, I actually don't know where they got it from). Anyway, whenever I meet new people, and they've already heard of me via friends, they always try to get me in bed because "she will do it anyways. She's crazy." But I'm so much more than that... I'm the most sweet, caring girl you'll ever meet, but they just don't give me the chance, because to them I'm just another slut.
My professor proceeded to tell me that if I continue to dress this way that I would have trouble getting people to believe that I got a job for my brains and not my sexuality.
I was recently called into the office of one of my professors who told me my outfit for a presentation was not professional. It was an outfit I had worn many times already that semester and none of my friends (who would have absolutely told me) found issue with it. My professor proceeded to tell me that if I continue to dress this way that I would have trouble getting people to believe that I got a job for my brains and not my sexuality. As a masters student who has worked a ton of different jobs both in the service industry and professional industry, I felt that sounded like a personal problem. This frustration is what led me to The UnSlut Project. The perpetuation of women's sexuality being labeled as "inappropriate" or a problem yields to so many other issues within our society and culture that keep women down instead of lifting them up to their full potential. I hope you keep on keeping on with the strides The UnSlut Project is making. - Nita Jones
My uncle sexually assaulted me. The police asked if I had provoked him with dirty talk before, wore provocative clothing or "stripper heels," or possibly made up the entire thing.
This entry includes descriptions of self-harm and sexual assault.
A little over 2 years ago, I had been friends with this boy named Andrew since elementary school and we had recently became closer. I started opening up to him and falling for him when he listened to my problems. Then as summer began approaching, Andrew started making sexual advances towards me. When we were laughing, he would lay a hand on my thigh and always be all over me. I tried to brush it off until he began to flirt over text as well. After school ended that year, he eventually asked me for nudes and as a huge mistake, I sent them to him. It was my first time ever sending nudes and not exactly ideal "baby steps" into discovering my sexual orientation. Once school started back up in August, I was just a freshman. This was my chance for a new beginning to become the strong, independent woman I have always longed to be. Then the worst thing I could ever imagine happened. Andrew saved my nudes from the past year and spread mine, along with nudes from three of my CLOSE FRIENDS. He had somehow gotten all four of us to send us him nudes, then spread them throughout the entire football team, tons of Andrew's guy friends who saved it and sent it to their guy friends, etc. It eventually made Andrew so cocky to the point where he would literally sit in front of me on the bus showing my nudes off his phone to the guy next to him. I was vulnerable and would not stand up for myself. My depression got to the point where I began to cut myself and fall into complete isolation for about half of the school year. Then came Greg. Mr. Knight in Shining Armor coming to save me. We dated for over a year until this past December. He controlled me by telling me what to wear, who to talk to, how to act, etc. He constantly accused me of cheating yet after our breakup, I discovered that he had tried to get nudes from one of my close friends, Lauren (who is also one of the four girls Andrew spread nudes of freshman year). It's getting complicated, I know. Greg also likes to tell everybody now that we're broken up that I'm a selfish slut and that I'm the one who cheated.
This past July, while I was dating Greg, I went to visit family in Kentucky on my birthday weekend. While I stayed at my grandma's house most of the week, I decided to go stay at my aunt and uncle's near the end of my trip. They live on the outskirts of town so when we ordered pizza, we had to drive down the road to the nearest church because that was the farthest they would deliver. My aunt sent my uncle to pick it up and I tagged along because he had promised me a chance to drive the car. As we drove, my uncle began to ask me overly personal questions about my sex life with Greg. After we had picked up the pizza and were headed back home, my uncle sexually assaulted me, touching on me. Yet again, I didn't have the nerve to speak up. I didn't say yes but I didn't say no either. I just sat there, staring out the window and trying not to cry. I informed my aunt later on that night and called the cops. Then the police turned it against me while I was writing my statement. They asked if I had provoked him with dirty talk before, wore provocative clothing or "stripper heels," or possibly made up the entire thing so that I could be back home on my birthday. They took pictures of the outfit that I was wearing and even went as far as to ask if I was wearing a bra under my shirt. Then months later when I finally worked up the trust to tell Greg about it, the first thing he even thought to ask was, "Well did he make you or did it turn you on?" Now mind you, I'm aware of how atrocious my relationship life can be. I completely believe that we need to start educating young minds about these types of things such as consent and shaming women for their promiscuity. Whether or not I'm wearing sweatpants or standing before you completely naked should not affect your ability to resist temptation. Whether I choose to "save myself" for marriage or have casual sex to fill an emotional void should not affect your lifestyle, so why judge me for it? All women should live freely without concern for others hating on your perspective on love and promiscuity. SO WHAT IF I'M A SLUT. - Destini, Indiana
My family (being extremely religious) has yet to accept me as the person I know myself to be, claiming that I must be a pathological liar amongst other hurtful things.
For years now I have been thought of and talked about as something I am not. Within this last year however, things got more difficult as I tried to find myself within the assumed definition I was given. Putting myself in less than desirable situations and amongst men that did not respect me. I was raped twice, leaving me with a great deal of unsettled emotions. My family (being extremely religious) has yet to accept me as the person I know myself to be, claiming that I must be a pathological liar amongst other hurtful things. Almost every time I speak to them they remind me how many people they think I have been intimate with, including those that forced themselves on me. This has left me so very sad and lost. The lesson I HOPE people will take from this short version of my experience is that: judgment is so harmful to people's souls. That is why it is said that only God can judge. It's not meant for us, therefore it is something I believe we shouldn't even attempt.
She spit in my face, pushed me and the boy in the hallway, and continued with the slut shaming for months.
I am a high school student who had to experience both sexual bullying and slut shaming. In the middle of my junior year of high school, I was at a basketball game and ran into a guy in my grade who I had known forever, but who had not been single. We began being friendly after this, and word got around to his ex-girlfriend that we were hanging out, and "talking". While we were just friends, she began attacking me, screaming in school about what a slut I am, asking why I would tell people we had sex when we didn't (words I'd never said). She texted me when I wasn't in school harassing me, and tweeted horrible things about me and him, and what we were doing. The school got involved for bullying but since no actions were taken it continued. She spit in my face, pushed me and the boy in the hallway, and continued with the slut shaming for months. Nobody should have to deal with slut shaming, no matter what the circumstance.
I never spoke to him again, but I did hear that he was telling people that I'd been having regular sex with him, that I was "loose," that I knew all sorts of things that "only a whore would know."
This entry includes references to sexual violence.
I have thought a lot about which story to share here. I have many, and they are all important and awful, and they all are part of the journey I took to who I am now. I think maybe the most telling story, though, is why and how and to whom I lost my virginity. When I was 13, I already had a reputation as the school slut thanks to a boy I was in band with. He and I were never involved, never even friendly, but he relentlessly spread rumors about me, telling people (and me to my face) that I would do anything sexual with anyone who wanted me to. I proclaimed loudly and often that I was still a virgin, and people seemed to believe me, but they also seemed to believe that I would do "anything but." There was an older (15) boy in my neighborhood who would come over to my house sometimes. We were friends, and sometimes he would kiss me, but nothing more than that. He was handsome and strong and popular, and he made me feel pretty. Then he started wanting to do more, because he'd heard I would, and I wasn't ready. He started being very grabby, squeezing my breasts and shoving his hands down my pants. When I'd squirm away, he'd tell me that he wanted my virginity, that if I didn't give it to him soon he would just take it. He could have - he was very muscular (looking back on his physique and behavior, I'm pretty certain he was on steroids, but I had no idea then). It was scary, and I'd cry, and he'd pet me and kiss me gently and tell me he didn't mean it, that he'd never hurt me like that. This went on for a few months, and it started getting scarier. He'd come over and I wouldn't want to let him in, but he'd threaten to tell everyone that I'd let him do anything and everything, or to stand in the yard and scream what I slut I was to the neighborhood, or to hurt me next time he saw me... anything to get me to open the door. As soon as I let him in he was sweet and gentle... and then eventually he'd again be threatening to rape me so he could "have" my virginity. Then one day it occurred to me that if I had sex with his older (18) brother, it would not only make me less desirable to him by getting rid of my virginity, but would put me under the protection of his brother and keep me "safe." (There were 3 brothers and they were very close - he would never mess with his older brother's "territory.") So I called his brother and invited him over, then explained the situation and asked if he would have sex with me. He said yes, but wanted me to know that he was leaving the next day for Navy boot camp. That was fine with me - I knew I'd still be shielded from his younger brother just by having been with him (not to mention not being a virgin anymore). We got undressed and had sex on my living room floor. He was kind and gentle and kissed me goodbye when it was over. I never saw or spoke to him again. I called the younger brother later that night and told him what happened, told him to ask his brother. I never spoke to him again, either, but I did hear that he was telling people that I'd been having regular sex with him, that I was "loose," that I knew all sorts of things that "only a whore would know." The punchline is, I wasn't even technically a virgin, having been molested as a young girl and raped when I was 12. But those weren't things you talked about, certainly not to the handsome, scary boy who made you feel pretty. To this day I'm still torn about how to feel about the older brother. Yes, he was gentle and kind and only did what I was asking him to do... but he was 18 and I was 13. He didn't offer to tell his brother to leave me alone instead, or even to tell his brother we'd had sex without actually having it. He never contacted me to make sure I was okay after he left. - Lola
Don't listen to anyone if they don't like you for who you are, what you are, and how you are.
Hey, I am a girl in the 7th grade. I often go by "Taco" just cause it's in my name. When I was first in 6th grade I was a little bit shy, but 7th grade is where it really started. Let me start with body size. Boys at my school like "thick" girls with butts and boobs and curves. Boys tell me almost every day that I am "flat chested," with a "flat butt," and "you don't have nothing." And I don't think anything is wrong with having small boobs or a small butt, boys just have to learn that girls grow at different times. So I guess they want every girl to be thick, well, they're not in luck. It's ridiculous how our self esteem goes down just cause of a boy who talks about how we look. JUST STOP. There's this group of girls I hang out with, but the so-called leader is fake. So is her other friend. In my homeroom class, all they do is use me. When I am done with my paper, they would be like, "Let me see," and I would let them see it (don't ask why). Then one of them calls me pretty for no reason. Don't fall for the junk. If you're friends with someone and you think they're fake, and if they call you pretty for no reason, they're just trying to get your self esteem up so they make you feel useful. WRONG. That's not how friendships work. The same girls tease me about how I never had my first kiss, never had a boyfriend. It really gets to you cause it makes you feel like you're unattractive and you're not. Every one is pretty. Don't listen to anyone if they don't like you for who you are, what you are, and how you are. I think it's time to let them go and find new friends. I had way too much drama with girls, and it should end. I hope this helps someone, cause YOU'RE NOT THE ONLY ONE.
This really made me feel awful about myself, that my own father thought I was a slut just because of what I was wearing.
My dad found out I had sex. Soon after that, I was wearing a crop top and a high waisted skirt and he called me a slut for that. I was 18 when this happened and this really made me feel awful about myself, that my own father thought I was a slut just because of what I was wearing. For wearing a crop top or having sex, does not make someone a slut. No mother or father should ever say something like that to their child. They are supposed to boost their kid's self confidence, not make them feel awful about themselves. - Lizzie, New Jersey
At a very awkward stage in my life, I was being called a slut because my sister was pregnant and that must mean I was easy, too.
When I was 13 years old my 15 year old sister got pregnant, and while it had a major impact on her life my family forgot about how it was going to change my life as well. My summer was spent looking after and cooking for my sister. When school started instead of worrying what freshman year was going to be like, I was ordered to escort my sister to the school bus stop every morning as well as being ordered by my pregnant sister to pretend we didn't know each other because she was ashamed of me, a tomboy who hit puberty early and hard. At a very awkward stage in my life, I was being called a slut because my sister was pregnant and that must mean I was easy, too, someone who didn't even have their first kiss yet. This lasted throughout high school up till senior year when everyone including my own father was expecting and accusing me of being pregnant because I was overweight and puberty gave me a body I hadn't grown into yet. To this day, me being 22, I am afraid to show off my curves because anytime I try even strangers say I'm such a slut for showing off my body. Even if I'm wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants they look at my breasts in disgust, as if I was naked in public. Everytime I see a woman showing off what she has I tell her she looks beautiful because doesn't every woman have the right to have self confidence? It should be applauded not criticised. - Jessenia
Why am I considered a whore or slut because I'm expressing my sexuality? The double standard is not fair.
I'm a 21 year old college student and anyone that's in college know that rumors are very real. Well, one day while I was having intercourse with a guy, my roommate came in and began calling me a whore and spreading rumors about me. I lost so-called friends and people began talking about me and looking at me differently. My thing is, why am I considered a whore or slut because I'm expressing my sexuality? The double standard is not fair. I will not let their words hurt me. I will continue to express my sexuality and wear revealing clothes if I feel like it. So I'll be a "whore" or "slut." It's my life and I have the right to express myself.
The thing is that the boy wanted me a week ago, but now I'm nothing but a slag.
I'm going to be honest, I do sleep about, but I'm very safe and take all the cautions that are needed. This does not mean that I'm easy, that I'm vulnerable, or that I do not respect myself. It all started when I was going through college. I'm bubbly and outgoing and I do flirt. Now this boy starting talking to me and things were going great. Unfortunately things didn't work out, and I didn't dwell and moved on. I moved on to another boy in my class who wanted sex and I agreed. I thought I could trust a close friend, to whom in the past I've told many stories. This friend stabbed me in the back and it was the worst thing ever. I started off as this girl who nobody knew. I get called a slag as a "joke" and I get called ugly and easy. The thing is that the boy wanted me a week ago, but now I'm nothing but a slag, yet no one hates my friend for what they have done to me, nobody judges the other guy for wanting to have sex. Yet I always do and it still happens now. I'm finally learning that it doesn't matter and I don't have to care what they think. I'll still do what I love. - Phoebe
A manager referred to me as a 'stupid girl' and a 'slut'.
I attended a work function where I had a bit to drink, and a male work colleague proceeded to make sexual advances, I told him no and to stop, He tried multiple times before he left where I was staying with other work colleagues who had fallen asleep. Attending work and being close to this person after this happened was extremely disturbing as he continued to make sexual comments. I ended up making a formal complaint. Word spread and the story came out. As he was married, many people didn't believe it, even though he was a known office creep for making inappropriate comments and slept with other women in the office. A manager referred to me as a 'stupid girl' and a 'slut'. Regardless of me also being married, I felt many people sided with him. Managers also asked what I was wearing that night, how much I had to drink, and if I was confused and if I did anything to encourage his behaviour. This was a terrible time in my life and I ended up going through a dark depression and feeling worthless. The shame and embarrassment was unbelievable and looking back, I see that I was an easy target, for the offender and for my managers. Making it the woman's fault as a 'mere male' shouldn't have to control himself. I would urge all girls and women to be strong and if anyone steps over a line to immediately report it and tell them to leave you alone. Don't be too scared like I was, have that strength and know your worth and stand your ground. Don't let people project their energy on you because their perceptions are so backward.
I felt that anyone I spoke to had pinned a label on me. That I was someone to be ashamed of.
I was always thought of as a slut in school because of how many relationships I had been in. But often it was because people shared information that I would have preferred private, sharing pictures of me, spreading rumours like "she'll sleep with anyone", "she got pregnant" or "she cheats". Because they value their gossip more than the people they hurt. Friendships and trust have been destroyed all around me. It always felt like my fault. That I couldn't trust anyone with accepting who I am. I felt that anyone I spoke to had pinned a label on me. That I was someone to be ashamed of. - Marissa Carter, United Kingdom
I thought nothing of it until I started getting recurring notes in my locker, each telling me to kill myself or to go die.
This entry includes references to self-harm.
When I was twelve, in sixth grade, things changed. I had been going to school with the same group of people since kindergarten, and knew many of them pretty well, and I honestly liked school. My "group" was considered very innocent in the eyes of everyone else. Lauren, my best friend at the time, was very conservative and didn't like to speak about sex or anything else. She hated things like homosexuality and dating at a too young age and alcohol. Many of the others, including her cousin, shared the same views. During the beginning of the second semester, I began to stray. It was around that time that I realized that I wasn't like them. I was much more liberal. I started to get tied up with a girl named Jacey. We became best friends pretty quickly, and I soon wasn't talking about the old things. Now Jacey talked about things that I hadn't spoken of ever—sex, drugs, drinking. I knew basically nothing, but slowly I learned. We never took drugs and we never attempted to drink, but Jacey was a sexual person.I remember at our second sleep over at her dad's house, she brought up the topic of sexuality. She said that she thought she may have been bisexual, because she was kind of attracted to girls. Before that, I had never really thought of sexuality before–I live in a very church-based state, so being gay seemed out of the picture. That night, we probably took a dozen of sexuality tests on my phone (she didn't have a phone for a sexting incident earlier that year). Each came up as "bicurious" or "bisexual". Slowly, as the year began to go by, I began to fall for Jacey, and sometimes she spoke of a brunette who she was close with and liked but didn't want to ask her out because she was afraid of rejection. On some level, I knew she was talking about me, but not positive enough to tell her I felt the same way. Jacey was pretty popular in our school, but not in a good way. She was labeled a "slut" and "whore" by our classmates, and being friends with her came with the occasional rumor. Of course I thought nothing of it until I started getting recurring notes in my locker, each telling me to kill myself or to go die. I remember the jagged letters and sometimes I write them down on notebook paper and stare at the paper for a moment. There's one note I remember in particular. It was on a ripped sheet of notebook paper, and the words "ever considered Suicide?" was written roughly on it. I remember gazing at the words for what seemed like an eternity until Jacey saw and hugged me. Then, our English teacher came as well and hugged me before taking the note away, like she had the times before. When I got home, I probably cried and went to my room and began to scratch my arms with my razor. It was never deep cuts, but they definitely hurt. Jacey was the one who had even given me the idea of self harm, but it wasn't her fault. She herself struggled with it.Around me, school stayed the same. Of course I was annually called down to the office to tell my story and people felt sympathy for me, but the majority of people still liked me. They didn't think I was a slut, like the notes had called me. At home, however, fighting with my parents became nightly, and I spent hours alone in my room, staring at a dark computer or simply laying there. I cried a lot, too, during those months, and when I wanted to talk about it, I had Jacey to talk to and a therapist, who I loathed, that my mother made me go to. Jacey and me would rant about everything that we went through, and one night in particular, as we watched boys in our grade play baseball, Jacey and me began talking about our crushes again. She put the photo of the girl (me) on my phone, handed it to me, and then ran. She was embarrassed clearly, but I was overjoyed. I chased after her, and when I caught up to her after she had fallen in the parking lot, I began to talk to her. She said she wanted to stay friends and nothing more because I meant to much to her, and I was definitely disappointed but didn't say anything. Meanwhile, more rumors began to fly around school, and Jacey began to stop caring about the notes that haunted my locker. "She [the principal] acts like the notes are the only thing going on in the school," she once said. In response, I just nodded because I didn't want to make her mad. We rarely got in fights, other than when she talked about her ex, who was in ninth grade. He had broken up with her in August, but even in Spring, she wasn't over him. I was easily jealous, and would be furious at how she liked him... More than me, I guess. She also used to write songs about him, some of which I remember. There were a few lyrics she wrote while I was with her, and at the time, I swore she'd be famous by the time she left high school. "Don't think you know, don't think you know, all the pain I felt inside. Don't think you know, don't think you know, how many tears I cried," she sang during the chorus. It was about Nate, her ex. Sometimes, even today, I wonder if she ever wrote songs about me, during or after our friendship. A girl who bullied Jacey, Madison, was beginning to get on her nerves. I remember one day during lunch Jacey said she was going to punch her in the face, and I didn't honestly think she would, but sure enough, in choir (sixth period) that day, Madison ran screaming from the bathroom holding her face, crying. Jacey was suspended for three days, but her parents took her to the beach and her step father even congratulated her. Personally, I don't think that Madison really bullied her, but I didn't experience what Jacey did so I don't know. In the next couple of weeks, Jacey was all the school was talking about. There weren't many rumors at our school that didn't involve her, after all. The football boys still adored her, but my old group, which I sat with those three days, shamed her. I didn't blame them, however, because she did punch someone. "Violence is never the answer," Laney, Lauren's cousin, once said. Lauren agreed with her. People still referred to her as a slut. I remember a rumor that went around was that she FaceTimed an eighth grader in a too tight bikini, and there was another that she gave a teacher a blowjob. Finally, Jacey began to give into the rumors. The guy who she sent nudes to in the fall of that year came back into her life. He was in eighth grade but could've passed as older and everyone knew he wasn't a virgin. Stevie was his name. One night she stayed on night with Grace, and Stevie lived next to her. Jacey went to his house, made out with him, got undressed, gave him a blow job, before leaving. When she told me, I wasn't upset that she had kissed him or done anything else, I was just upset that it was with him. He had already sent her nudes to a bunch of people, so why did she trust him again? Part of me still liked her as well, but I ignored that part.Jacey began to plan to see him again, saying how she lost her virginity before thirteen. She said she WAS a slut, and she was proud of it. Soon the school year came to an end, and it was the last time I would walk through those halls as a student. That summer, Jacey was at the beach the same time I was, so I visited her and stayed on night—the last time I would do that. That night, I told her I thought I was 100% gay, and it clearly made her uncomfortable. Now, I know that my sexuality is much more varied, but at the moment, I only knew my feelings for her. Her parents figured out that I was gay, and began leaving the doors open and they wouldn't let us go to the bathroom alone. It was humiliating. When I was leaving the beach, we got into a fight. During it she admitted to being uncomfortable and we ended things. The next fall she would eventually ext me and apologize for everything and I would forgive her but I wouldn't become friends with her again. I still don't like to talk to her. For the next two years, I went to a different school. There, I slowly crawled out of my hole of depression and self harm and actually moved on from Jacey to another girl who I only hoped would return my feelings. (Alas, she was straight.) Now I've been down wrong roads just like she had, but I feel safe now, better. I have friends that wouldn't twist things and I am no longer labeled a slut. Somehow, though, I miss sixth grade year. I miss the familiar halls of the middle school and the circular lunch tables and most importantly Jacey. I know I shouldn't because she hurt me in a hard way, but I can't help it. I hope one day, I'll fall in love with a boy or girl who won't twist words and put themselves in front of me. I don't know yet. I'm only part of the way into my life, and so much is unanswered. I never expected to transfer, but I did. I never expected to like girls, but I do. I never expected to be who i am today, but I am and I love myself for it.
Despite that event which was so terrible at that time in my life, I am a caring, compassionate person. I have a spouse and a family. I have an education and I am a professional. I have so much to be grateful for.
This entry includes references to sexual assault and suicide.
I just discovered The Unslut Project and thought I would share my story. My story is not known, or at least that I'm aware of, by anyone in my family (parents, siblings). Close friends knew. It was the summer of 1981. I was 13 years old heading to grade 8 in September. A friend and I went to chase some boy friends in our community; we probably had a mini crush on one of them. There were four boys in the woods that day. At one point, my friend took off and I was alone with the boys. As I started my way home, two boys pinned me down, one watched and one fondled me using his hand to penetrate me. I was a virgin. I had barely kissed a boy before. All I remember was crying and laughing at the same time; I was so confused. What I also remember was saying "Please Don't!" followed by, "STOP!" They twisted my words as they were laughing, saying I was telling them please don't stop. I was late getting away and on my way home, as I was walking down the country lane, my parents came by in the car all angry telling me they were looking for me. They saw the boys because my mom said, "Get in the car and get home so you don't get a name for yourself." Little did they know the damage was done. My high school years were practically ruined. I lost friends when their mothers may have heard things through the grapevine & decided I was a bad influence on their own innocent daughters. My graduation night of grade 12 was ruined because one of the local boys was yelling out that terrible nickname to me as I was getting in my family's car. I kept praying, fighting tears, that my parents wouldn't hear him and ask me why he was saying that. Those are the things that scar you and you never forget. I thought about suicide many times through my teenage years. I remember one summer evening, sitting by myself in a field with a pair of scissors to my neck, wanting to die so badly. Another time I remember sitting in my bathtub with grandmother's medication wanting to swallow every pill. I realize now, it was a cry for help. I didn't really want to die.When I was 18 and graduated from high school, I moved to the big city to escape my hometown. Back then, I didn't have to deal with slut shaming on the internet or someone sending photos of me. It was all word of mouth and even then, word of mouth didn't travel far outside the local communities. I often think about what young girls today have to deal with.
The boy that stood to the side was one of my closest, dearest friends and I think it was 2002 he approached me when he was in town and apologized. He told it weighed heavily on him over the years knowing he wasn't strong enough at the time to stop it. He said if he could go back in time, he would have. I forgave him. Up until last year, I often found myself telling people I was a very happy go lucky teenage girl (despite my past). But it was just last summer (2015) I met up with an old classmate who had kept all of my notes I wrote to him during grade 12. I read them and learned I was a very depressed, sad girl who hated life. It was hard to read because so much time had passed, I had a different perception because I grew past that difficult time in my life. I'm now 47 years old and I survived but not without its impact on me as a human being. Despite that event which was so terrible at that time in my life, I am a caring, compassionate person. I have a spouse and a family. I have an education and I am a professional. I have so much to be grateful for. So, although that event shaped who I am today, I've learned to accept it as part of my life as grew up and I truly like who I am today. - Anonymous in Nova Scotia
No one, except for a select few, know about this. But the self blame has destroyed me more than I ever thought possible.
This entry includes references to sexual assault.
Over year and a half ago I was sexually assaulted, and feared it turning into rape. Since then, I've been struggling with depression, anxiety, and PTSD. As mentioned in your presentation at my school, self blame has consumed my life. I have warped events leading up to the assault and have convinced myself that I misled him, and I was the one in the wrong - as if I deserved what happened to me. This project has given me a source that I can relate to, and I want to thank everyone involved for that. I haven't had rumours spread about me because of this, or anything like that, and I'm thankful for that. No one, except for a select few, know about this. But the self blame has destroyed me more than I ever thought possible. Thank you for showing me that I'm not the only one driving myself crazy. I needed this. - Annapolis Royal, Nova Scotia
I don't know if the worst part was telling my mother, or my daughter.
I live in a small, blue-collar town in Ohio and was irresponsible and got pregnant from a one night stand when I was 42. I had been divorced 8 years and had a 13 year old daughter. I struggled as a single mom for so long and then did this... It really put my parents in a shameful bind since they help me out. I will be 60 when my kids graduate. I don't know if the worst part was telling my mother, or my daughter. I definitely screwed up a lot of lives, if not expectations. - Cyndi, East Liverpool, Ohio
In therapy I remember talking about him and what he did and going, "It's almost like he raped me." And after that it was like, "Oh my gosh. He did."
This entry includes descriptions of rape, self-harm, and suicide.
Almost 7 years have gone by. I blocked out what he had done for 4 years until a memory, a flashback, a realization came in like a flood. And no matter how hard I wanted to, there was no going back. I had to face it. He raped me. He took my virginity and all my innocence. Right in my own bed. There are some things I will never remember. Like the day or days it happened. What exactly was said. But there are many things I do remember. It was right around my 21st birthday. I remember him convincing my sick and over-emotional mind that my neighbor was a predator and that he could protect me. I never imagined that the predator would be my friend's husband. That it was he I needed protecting from. He did everything he could to get my neighbor out of my life. He would spend the night in my bedroom on an air mattress the first few times. And then he sweet talked his way into my bed. And he sweet talked his way inside me. I don't remember exactly what he said. It could have been something like "I'm going to show you how a real man does it" or "Sex will get rid of your headache." He never said so, but he implied that he was protecting me from my neighbor so I needed to thank him. He never said it in those words but that's what he did.
It was soon after that, that I did my last, but serious, suicide attempt. I hated myself, who I had become. That I had slept with my friend's husband (though now I know it was really rape) and what a deadbeat loser I was. Other factors played into it. And I knew it was time to exit the world, that no one would miss me. I downed probably close to a bottle of Tylenol PM, crying the whole time. I must have gotten scared and had second thoughts. Maybe God reached out to me. Because I called myself an ambulance. I went to the ER. They pumped my stomach. Stuck a tube right down my throat and just to be safe, made me drink the gosh-awful charcoal to absorb all the poison in my system. After all that, my neighbor came to the ER. He saw the EMTs take me away and he never felt so sick in all his life. Despite the temporary restraining order my abuser convinced me to get on him, despite everything. He came to see me. To tell me that nothing was worth me dying over. He stayed with me until I was taken to the psych ward. And he came and visited me every day until I returned home We realized we loved each other and didn't want to live a day without one another. We knew we were going to spend the rest of our lives together. He used to hold my hand and make me feel safe until I fell asleep. But he never made me do anything I didn't want to. I decided that summer, the summer I turned 21 (a few months after my rape - rapes - that it was time to get my life together and be someone worth loving. I finally quit cutting, blocked everything out that had to do with him or pain, or my old life. Only moving forward. It was shortly after that, that I received my temporary job trial at the library which ended up becoming permanent. I put everything into becoming a new person. In hindsight, it was probably triggered or set off by the trauma I went through. I had to do anything and everything I could do to forget. Yes, I'd see him, he even showed up at the apartment once or twice. But, I pretended like we were friends and it was normal. I do remember pretending, pretending, pretending. Anything to keep that out of my mind, and my new happy life.
It caught up with me a few years later. I could no longer deny what happened, and that something had to have happened to cause me this much pain and trauma. In therapy I remember talking about him and what he did and going, "It's almost like he raped me." And after that it was like, "Oh my gosh. He did." So, for the past three years I have been going through what I should have right after it happened. It happened almost 7 years ago, but feels like it was not long ago. Now, I'm on the long journey of healing. To finding myself and to forgiving myself. There is no going back, only forward! I have taken great strides and have come so far in my recovery. I still border between survivor and thriver, but I'm working hard to stick with one... Thriving! I have talked openly about what happened to me with my therapist and close friends and by blogging. And while I'll still be blogging, my goals are to focus less on what he did, what happened to me and how I can actively take back my life, and be the best Katie I can be! I'm also going to focus more on my self care, and be more fair to myself. My name is Katie, something bad happened to me but it no longer defines me. I'm not a victim or survivor, I'm just Katie. - Katie
I wasn’t a slut... I was just a girl.
This entry includes references to sexual violence.
I’m pretty relieved to have come across The UnSlut Project. I have been in the process of writing my memoirs about such issues, but it is taking me years because it is such a difficult topic and task. I always had crushes on boys growing up. “Boy crazy” is what we all called it. Yes, there was one boy I really liked, but there were so many cute boys around, I seemed to fall in love with a new boy every day. Maybe my boy-love developed because I was sexually abused at home, starting around the age of three. Maybe I was boy-crazy because I was insecure, and felt mind bubbles whenever a boy flirted with me or called me cute. I don’t know, but I was French kissing in 6th grade and being felt up in 7th. The summer of my 7th grade year my sister’s friend and her cousin came over to our house. Her cousin was talking to me in a room, and threw me down on the bed and tried to start making out with me. He didn’t rape me, but it seemed like he was trying to; I just managed to scurry away from him in time to get outside. On the first day of school after summer break, he pressed me against the wall and started feeling me up. After that, several boys that hung out in that area and were friends with him followed his lead. They started grabbing my ass, my boobs, even putting their hands on my crotch right in front of everyone there. I didn’t know how to stop it. This boy had attacked me twice, and I was trying to find a niche of people I could fit in with. I wanted friends. It didn’t take long for all the girls to start talking about me, calling me slut. Someone wrote “FUCK” next to my name on a poster where kids were acknowledged for academic work. But I wasn’t a slut. I was a broken young girl who had been sexually abused her whole life and was just looking to find someone to actually like me, or maybe one day even love me. I wasn’t a slut... I was just a girl. - Denelle Hobbs
He dared me to send a topless photo and without thinking, I did. The next day I went to school and everyone knew.
I am in grade 8 and just like in the book "UnSlut," there are popular people. Even though most of them hate me and have bullied me since 6th grade, I still want to be like all of them (thin, beautiful, funny, etc.). I have started to notice that because I have a lot of guy friends, that somehow makes me a whore. This past week everyday at lunch I have been hanging out with my guy friends and have been called a slut at least 5 times a day, and personally it really hurts because I suffer with depression and things get to me really easily. February 2nd I was talking to a guy friend in school and we were playing truth or dare on Snap Chat. He dared me to send a topless photo and without thinking, I did. The next day I went to school and everyone knew. I think that's when it all started. It happened all month. ("Oh my gosh, she's such a slut," "Did you hear about Kate?" "What a whore," "She just did it for attention," "She's just an attention seeker.") There was so much name calling everyday for the month of February. In March things started dying down but now it's starting all over again just because I have guy friends. It's just not fair and other girls and I shouldn't have to deal with this just because we have guy friends. You just start to get tired of it all at some point. You know. - Kate
My rapist texted me one day, and when I told him he raped me he called me a whore.
This entry includes references to self-harm, suicide, and rape.
Hello, my name is Emily. I was born to two amazing parents who always wanted me to be open and know I am more than my sexuality. They taught me that God loved me no matter who I love and if I was a virgin or not. And I truly thought they both believed that... I guess you can say words and they can be just that, words. My story starts when I was in 8th grade. I had only had one boyfriend who I had never kissed. After we broke up I met a boy on the internet. He was sweet and charming. He broke my heart. While trying to mend a broken heart I met a guy who told me I was the world. He made me feel loved and desired. But his love came at a cost. Less than a month before my 14th birthday, he talked me into getting naked on Skype for him. It got to the point I would masturbate in front of him. He also broke my heart. The night after I tore my hymen (which I was always taught was the symbol of my virginity), he left me. I became very depressed. In the sixth grade, I had started self-harming. I had been free of that demon for almost four months. The night before I went to church camp I cut myself. At church camp, I broke down. I felt like I was not worthy of calling myself a child of God. I confessed to the church's youth group that I was interested in girls, that I had often gotten naked for a guy I had never met, and the two suicide attempts I had made. They told me it would not leave the circle. Boy was that a lie. When I got home I told my parents about my attempts to kill myself and my not-exactly-straight sexuality. My older brother who had been at church camp later told my mom there was something extremely important I needed to tell her and my father that I hadn't told them. He forced me to tell them about my adventures online. My mom looked at me in disgust and asked me, What would the members of the church think? That I was such a whore to take my clothes off for a stranger. For nearly a year she wouldn't talk to me. To this day she hasn't told me she loves me. She calls my sexuality a phase and does not support my desires to be with a woman.
I ended up becoming a BDSM "slave" to a man by the name of Mike. I learned a year after he left me that he had traded my pictures on a child porn site. When I was fourteen I met a man named Jerry. He didn't promise me love or anything more than a screw. I went to hang out with him. He gave me a tattoo and we fooled around. While giving him a blowjob I tried to stop but he forced himself down my throat and climaxed. After I spit it out he started pleasuring me. When he got on top of me, I asked him to stop. I begged him not to put it in me. I was a virgin and I didn't want to go any further. He just pushed on. Afterward, I had someone pick me up outside the library and I went home and sat in a bathtub for nearly an hour. I never told anyone what had happened. I began to blame myself. My rapist texted me one day, and when I told him he raped me he called me a whore. Said I tasted like a whore, that there was no way I could have been a virgin when we had sex... When I finally told my best friend what happened she said I was asking for it and that I was a whore. She told me never to speak to her again. I tried to kill myself not long after that.
I soon became involved with a married man whose wife was okay with him being in a polyamorous relationship with younger women. After a while, I got a message from her, posing as him, calling me a whore and telling me to stay out of their lives. He soon left her and got into a monogamous relationship with the girl he had met after me. He had promised me love... that he would be mine. We hardly even talk now. He now is no longer monogamous with two young girlfriends living with him. Yet again a promise of love ended in my heart breaking.
I was always told that no matter what, my parents would love me... My mom can hardly look at me. My dad is dating a girl young enough to be my sister and is too obsessed with her to notice I was falling apart. If anyone can learn something from my tale, don't let the idea of sex being the only way you'll be accepted be a drive behind your actions. But you can't let the idea of virginity rule you either. Love yourself. I have found friends who love me for me and would always be a loving friend to someone who struggles with the balance. Love yourself for you are worth more. Love, Emily in Louisiana
Now I'm afraid of looking 'pretty' in case he ever has feelings toward me again.
So when I was in the fifth grade, there was this guy. No liked him, I hated him. He was a creep. But for some reason he had a crush on me. He would tell everybody about how much he loved me and how we were 'dating'. Everyone made fun of me. I started crying myself to sleep. It got worse. He would do these creepily 'nice things' for me, tell everybody about how 'hot' I was. It was a horrible. If I leaned over then he would try and brush past my butt. Sometimes he would just copy and mock me. I felt so insecure and lost. Everyday after school I would listen to music blasted up so I wouldn't have to deal with the world. Until one day I couldn't take it anymore. I broke down at recess and started crying hysterically. My best friends didn't do anything to help. One of them just laughed. The other tried to help but was too shy. I finally told a teacher. She told him if he ever did any of 'this' again then he'd have to go the principal. After a while it stopped. But there was always little comments and rumours going around. The whole thing ended but I was so scared and lost and sad the whole time. Now I'm afraid of looking 'pretty' incase he ever has feelings toward me again. But if anyone out there is reading, fuck those idiots. You're better than them. This is my story.
I wish I would have stood up for her and stopped the rumors because I knew I had the power to do so.
I have had a really good life and have never been called a slut or names, and have never been put through slut shaming. This story is about a different girl who was in my school in 8th grade. Brianna had just come back to our school because before she had moved to another state but moved back because she didn't make any friends there. There were rumors that she had sent nudes to a few boys over the summer. They told everyone before she came in November. When she came she would only talk to certain people and was really quiet. The few times she talked to me was to compliment me which I thought was really nice. She had kissed a few boys and people were talking behind her back. They called her a slut and said really mean things behind her back, even the people she hung out with would tell everybody she was a slut. A guy named Jovanny cheated on his girlfriend to go out with Brianna. However, Brianna didn't know they were together and everyone assumed she did and called her a slut even more. Soon people even came up with a nickname for her which was 'The Silent Thot'. She clearly heard about the rumors but ignored them and stayed strong. Near the end of the year we were voting on superlatives for the year book. It would be two people that won a place which was a girl and a boy. When she left the classroom to go to the bathroom, Dave, a guy that she had kissed before shouted, "Hey everyone vote for Brianna for class flirt!" Everyone did and when she won she got really upset about it and complained about it to the teacher. The teacher changed the title to something positive. So the message here was that I wish I would have stood up for her and stopped the rumors because I knew I had the power to do so. I'm just saying that you shouldn't call anyone a slut or bad names. It's not right and it upsets me because kids these days are cruel and it makes me want to punch them in the face. She didn't deserve a year like that. I am currently in 9th grade and I haven't heard anything of her but just please everyone, think twice before you say things. - Anonymous in Bridgeport, CT
I am 59 years old. Sounds odd, does it not? Why would she have anything to share?
I am 59 years old. Sounds odd, does it not? Why would she have anything to share? I graduated from Gates Chili High school back in 1975 and even before that, in middle school, I was labeled a slut. I had not even kissed a boy but I was labeled. Being blonde, blue eyed, not physically maturing like my Italian class mates at this time was a struggle to begin with. I had crushes for boys but I did not understand why I would be labeled in such a cruel way. Not being liked due to this label made me insecure, unhappy, leaving me with very low self esteem. This continued all the way into high school. I did not get asked to dances and went just to sit there watching others. I was not even asked to the Senior Prom. I went with a family friend who would not talk or dance with me because he told me he was embarrassed to be seen with a slut. How could I be a slut when I did not even go on a date? As I grew up and graduated from college, I still struggled with very low self esteem. Dating was awkward with looking for someone to love me. I married and had a beautiful daughter, but my marriage was not made in heaven. Betrayal by my husband still to this day has caused heartache, the marriage was a scam and I was a paycheck. You know the phrase...married in name only. So as you can see, cruelty and bullying during the early part of growing up causes invisible scars that do not heal. I hope this project will save another young person from the injustice of being branded a slut. - Cee
The next day she had told everyone that I was a fat slut who tried to steal her boyfriend. He was the one making moves the whole time.
This entry includes descriptions of sexual assault and rape.
My first "real" kiss was when I was 12, you know the kind that wasn't a truth or dare kiss or just on the cheek. It was a guy who was dating a friend of mine (he was 15). It was a cast party (for a musical I was in, his girlfriend was in it too) and I went outside for some air. He followed. We were talking and he leaned in to kiss me. I had my back to the house, not realizing that he did this just as his gf had walked outside to see us. This was my first experience with anything sexual really, and also my first time ever being called a slut. She ran right up, slapped ME and called me a slut, grabbed the guy, who laughed and walked away with her. I was lost and so confused. The next day we had another performance of the musical and she had told everyone that I was a fat slut who tried to steal her boyfriend. He was the one making moves the whole time. Only in recent years have I realized that this event contributed to the many years of awful sexual experiences and abuse that I would endure. As a freshman in high school I was assaulted by a freshman in college, who swore I "wanted it" even though I cried the whole time. As a freshman in college I was assaulted by my Resident Advisor in his room and was afraid to tell anyone because I was drunk in the dorms, so I kept it to myself for years. The first time I had sex, I don't even remember it because I was blackout drunk - therefore it could technically be considered rape. I had to be drunk to do anything sexually for the first 10 years of my sexual activity. The first man I was comfortable being with sober was my ex who was an emotional and mentally abusive man for years. When we would fight, he would call such names as well, slut, whore, cunt, things to really keep me down and believe that no one else could love me. Lots of therapy has helped me regain my own self worth, but to trace it back to the start, it was the one experience at 12 years old. Being called a slut back then, now being 30 years old, it's amazing how much weight words can hold. - Caitlin, Massachusetts
He told me he would break up with me if I didn't give him a blowjob. I did so, desperate to keep him, and he broke up with me anyway.
This entry includes a reference to self-harm.
As a freshman at my new highschool, I was constantly given sweeping generalizations and labels regarding who I was by the tight knit community I had joined. I had my first kiss that October with a boy I had known since I was 11 - as soon as word got out that I "allowed him" to touch my boobs, I was given the label of a slut. Every time I mentioned a boy to any of the girls I was called "desperate" and "thirsty". Later that year, I had a boyfriend who I dated for 3 months. He told me he would break up with me if I didn't give him a blowjob. I did so, desperate to keep him, and he broke up with me anyway. I have not given a blowjob or hooked up with a boy since, but people at my school still make hurtful comments about my mistake. This isolation and prejudgment about who I am and where my values are has made me self harm. The focus on my body caused my development of bulimia.
It's mind boggling that my story is one in thousands of similar stories. It shouldn't even be a normal thing that girls/women go through.
This entry includes a description of sexual violence and references to suicide and self-harm.
I was in 8th/9th grade and had a boyfriend. I was with him for about two years and lost my virginity to him. He asked for pictures of me naked, and I wanted him to like me a lot so I did it. He ended up doing this to at least 5 other girls I found out about. He ended up showing all of his friends my pictures and it started from there. He showed all of his friends not only my naked pictures, but other girls' naked pictures, even from girls from other schools. I was branded a slut. I had boys and girls both coming up to me in school and calling me a slut or a whore to my face. I had boys in my neighborhood and from my school asking for nudes, constantly. It never stopped. They always assumed I would give it to them because that was my thing apparently. About two years later I met a boy, a senior in high school. He was being nicer to me than any boy has ever been to me and he always walked me home. He would text me and ask me to give him blowjobs because that's what you do if you like a boy, according to him. I repeatedly told him no. We took a back way one day to my house and he wanted to kiss, which I did. He wanted it to escalate and I didn't want to. He eventually just pulled his penis out in front of me and eventually got me to perform oral sex. He secretly video taped me and showed it to the entire school. You can only imagine how bad it got. Add this with an abusive family and friends that hated me, well, I attempted suicide. I was self inflicting for a few years at this point. I felt alone, I felt as if something was wrong with me. I swallowed a bottle full of pills, I ended up having suicidal thoughts frequently. A minute into it or so I thought about my younger brother who loved me more than anything and got the pills out of my stomach. I'm now 21, happy and full of confidence. I have strong women for friends and I am no longer ashamed of myself. It's mind boggling that my story is one in thousands of similar stories. It shouldn't even be a normal thing that girls/women go through. I want girls to know that there are people out there that have gone through this and overcome it. Change can happen and it can get better. - Ashley in Houston, TX
I've carried so much guilt and shame on my shoulders for over five years. I've never been able to enjoy intimacy.
This entry includes a description of rape.
Even to this day I kind of blame myself because I put myself in a position where I was able to be taken advantage of. However I was a naive innocent child who trusted the good in other people. I grew up in the same small town in New Plymouth. Ever since I was a kid I've always been concerned about my appearance. In my last year of intermediate, boys started to show interest in me. This was quite flattering and overwhelming. Soon after my group of friends at school decided that they'd turn against me for being a slut (I was a virgin). I was bullied. As an escape I wanted to drink and do drugs. When I was 12 years old I bought some cannabis (I have nothing against cannabis) and went to a boys house who said I could smoke it at his house (I was 12; I was scared to smoke in public and had nowhere else to go really). Once I was high this guy proceeded to touch me and I was uncomfortable. He then started to take my pants off and I wasn't wanting to wake up his friend who was on the floor. I was saying no, I don't want to do this. And I guess I didn't resist enough because he said it won't hurt that much and just pushed it in. It didn't last long and I remember going to the dirty toilet and seeing blood then just crying. This was how I lost my virginity. I proceeded to develop feelings for this person who had raped me. He abused me physically and mentally and ever since I've never felt good about myself and I'm not able to function positively in an intimate relationship. This experience has really ruined my young life. I've carried so much guilt and shame on my shoulders for over five years. I've never been able to enjoy intimacy. I feel inadequate as a human being. And yet I was labelled a slut. My innocence was stolen and my naive nature exploited as a child. I have never been the same since. This is the first time I've truly told my story.
It hasn't stopped. I'm posting this to let you know, it helps to talk to someone.
A long time ago, I had a boyfriend. He was nice at the start, but eventually, he started drinking, and one night, he started yelling at me. Calling me a fat slut, a whore, a worthless pile of garbage. He must have had a bad day, but it kept going, until everyone was calling me slut. He spread rumours... lies. My family interfered. But it hasn't stopped. I'm posting this to let you know, it helps to talk to someone. But [for me,] only a family member, NEVER a friend. I have to pretend I'm happy until I really am. So... it does get better. This is the end of my story.
Even my guidance teacher has basically called myself and my friend a slut, saying it to our parents.
This entry includes references to self-harm.
People in my school found out me and my friend send nudes. This started to make them catfish us and walk past us in school shouting "slut." This has been going on for over 5 months. Even my guidance teacher has basically called myself and my friend a slut, saying it to our parents. To be honest it is absolutely ridiculous. This has caused me to self-harm, etc. People in my school have even taken pictures of us and posted them online making fun of us, and the school blamed it on us. It's just stupid now.
I realized that was the only time I felt better or wasn't thinking about hurting myself was when I was dancing.
This entry includes descriptions of self-harm.
Ever since I was in elementary school I was bullied for my physical appearance. It increasingly got worse in middle and high school. People (mostly boys) would make unnecessary comments about my body, pointing out how flat-chested I was, how my stomach was a little chubbier than other girls' or how I had acne, glasses and a horrible lisp due to my mouth expander. They constantly compared me to my much prettier older sister, which made me feel even worse. I had very few friends as well and my family was dealing with other issues... My dad was a raging alcoholic, my oldest sister was away at college, and my mom was desperately trying to save her husband and marriage. It's safe to say I felt completely alone and neglected. I was 12 when I started cutting and I didn't stop until I was 17. I was an incredibly late bloomer. My body didn't develop until I was around 16, and I wasn't considered "pretty" until 17 when I got my braces off. I didn't come clean about the cutting to my mother for years. I was 15 when I told her. I was terrified. She was so angry with me like I knew she would be. She told the rest of my family and all of a sudden they started to realize how depressed I really was. They didn't understand it at all. My father, with whom I am very close, was the only one who really understood once he started his journey towards sobriety. In eighth grade, my best friend, Courtney, at the time was slowly drifting away, being accepted into the group of popular kids. When she found out about the cutting, she was freaked out. She texted me saying how I was just a sad and boring person who had nothing better to do than slit her wrists as a cry for attention. Needless to say, she had finally been accepted as "popular" and didn't want me to damage her new reputation, especially right before the start of high school. All summer the cutting continued. At this point in time, the only people who knew were Courtney and Hayley (my best friend since 7th grade who also struggled with self-harm). I was 14.The rumor got out that I cut myself for attention, and wanted so badly to be popular, which of course wasn't true at all. I didn't like any of the popular kids and had no desire to be in their group. This only made matters worse, since rumors about me were going around. I was already bullied for the way I dressed, how I styled my hair, the makeup I wore. I was the "weird" girl. Very few boys liked me. I did have a couple boyfriends but that's a totally different story... My first two years in high school were rough. I made a few friends but the cutting still persisted. It wasn't until the end of my sophomore year that I decided to try something. I tried out for the school's dance team. I had been taking dance classes and I realized that was the only time I felt better or wasn't thinking about hurting myself was when I was dancing. I made the team, and junior year was a huge improvement for me. My teammates became like family to me and my coach became a tremendous inspiration and friend. They eventually found out about the cutting. They saw my scars because of the way our costumes fit on our bodies. But once I started dancing, I cut less and less. It gave me so much confidence. I felt better about my body and myself as a person. By my senior year I had become best friends with a girl I never thought I'd be friends with. Hannah and I became inseparable and she didn't freak out when I told her about the cutting. She is still my best friend today. She was on dance team with me senior year. I got my braces off before the first football game of the season, and all of a sudden, I was considered "hot". The boys who picked on me started to make comments about how I "transformed" over the summer and how "they'd totally hook up with me now". I remember a few trying to talk to me at a football game and grabbing at my body in my tight dance uniform. This disgusted me honestly, because not only did they make fun of me for years and touch me without my permission, they never got to know me as a person and were only going off my physical appearance to judge my value as a person. I continued to cut myself frequently, most of it due to a horrible breakup I went through in the fall. I had dated this boy for a year and a half. We were each other's first love, so it was really difficult. But anyways, after many years I have learned that self-harm doesn't do any good. All it does is feed the cycle of depression. When I read "UnSlut: A Diary and a Memoir" and watched the documentary, I was so inspired. I have definitely seen acts of bullying and slut-shaming in my schools and I'm pretty lucky that I didn't have to go through that like Emily Lindin and so many other girls. It hurts my heart that it happened to them and that it continues to happen to girls every day. I did experience bullying, though. And obviously years of self-harm. I am now a freshman in college, a dance education major. I hope we as a society can educate young adults about all things regarding sex, sexual violence, relationships, mental health, bullying, feminism, and gender equality. - Madison, North Carolina
I'm a 6th grader and this shouldn't happen to a person this young.
This entry includes references to sexual assault and self-harm.
Note to the author: Please reach out to a parent or teacher for help immediately. You are NOT alone, and this is NOT your fault. You can overcome it, just like the women who have shared their stories here before you. Please visit this link and check out the resources available to you. I am always here to talk, as well. Love, Emily
I'm a 6th grader and this shouldn't happen to a person this young. It all started 1 month ago when my best friend invited me over, and her brother's friends were there. From the beginning they would always harass me and say things like, ''Oh I would bang her till she's begging for more'' and things like that. When I got up to go to the bathroom her brother's friend followed me. He walked in and did things to me that I would not like to do. The next day I went to school and all my friends ignored me. People would come up to me and call me a hoe, slut, and many more. I felt alone and sad. No would talk to me. The only time they would is when they make fun of me. I was pushed into lockers and beat up almost everyday. I was completely done with it so I have been cutting myself. I'm still afraid to tell my mom about this and the bullying is still happening and getting worse.
I am seen as a whore and a homewrecker. Everyone I once knew quit speaking to me.
This entry includes descriptions of violence.
I was married to a man who mentally and physically abused me. He also cheated on me from very early on in our marriage. I had children. I didn't know where I would go if I left. He was arrested for choking me and threatening to kill me. I was assigned a victims advocate and introduced to an organization that helps women get out of abusive relationships. I knew I had to get out but wasn't sure how to do that. Then I met another man. He was kind to me and told me he would help me in anyway he could to get me out of the situation I was in. I filed for divorce and moved into his house. I felt hope for the first time in a long time. I thought my family would support me. My mother had left my dad because he pushed her. Once. And her parents were there for her. And I thought I'd always had a pretty close family. But I'd never went against what they thought was right for me. My ex husband went to them and told them it had been a misunderstanding. He hadn't meant to hit me. He was defending himself from my attack. And that I left him for another man. And they turned their back on me. No one will speak to me. We live in the same small town and they turn their heads when they see me. I eventually asked my mother why she wasn't supportive of me. She knew we had had problems. I'd never told her the whole truth about the abuse. But I figured if I came clean she would be there for me. She always told me growing up that I could come to her for anything. Well she told me that she couldn't deal with the stress of what I was doing to my kids. When I asked what that was she said showing them that you are a slut that will throw away your whole family for another man. I was floored. I couldn't believe this was about me sleeping with another man. How could they ignore all the things I'd been through? How was my sex life a part of any of this? Come to find out everyone believes that my marriage ended because I met someone else. I am seen as a whore and a homewrecker. Everyone I once knew quit speaking to me. I have no friends, no family, no support. I am so lonely. And have nowhere to go.
I did what he said and allowed him to sexually assault me, along with his friends. He blackmailed me and said if I didn't he would bully me until I killed myself.
This entry includes descriptions of sexual assault and self-harm.
Note to the author: Please reach out to a parent or teacher for help immediately. You are NOT alone, and this is NOT your fault. You can overcome it, just like the women who have shared their stories here before you. Please visit www.samaritans.org and check out the resources available to you. I am always here to talk, as well. Love, Emily
It's a long one. I was always the odd one out in school because I was abused by my mother. I was always called fat and ugly in primary school and had no friends at all. I went to secondary school, the first few weeks were great, I made friends and people would often tell me i was one of the prettiest girls in my year. For once in my life I felt great about school but it all changed. I shared my first kiss with a guy I had a crush on for a while, rumours got round about me doing other things (which weren't true!) and before I knew it my entire year appeared behind me and the source of the rumours was a girl who hated me for nothing. She stated I was giving him a blowjob. The rumours started. I heard everything from that I was giving handjobs underneath tables, to having sex, etc. I was still being abused by my mum, too, at the time but I refused to let it beat me! I just used to sit there and be clueless about what people would say. I was walking home one day and a guy from my class along with his friend, pushed me to the ground and practically raped me. By pushing his penis in between my thighs. I went home and cried myself to sleep. He told the entire school I consented. At the time I was a terrified little girl who was scared of being bullied. So I did what he said and allowed him to sexually assault me, along with his friends. He blackmailed me and said if I didn't he would bully me until I killed myself. I said no at one point and the bullying started for real this time. He would tell me I'm ugly, fat, and no one wants me when there's other girls. He said lads will use me for my body. He would bring my ex best friend up saying she's beautiful and I'm not. His friends used to call me a dog and try to hit me. The whole school believed him and I got jumped and called a slut. Enough was enough and I got the police involved. They couldn't do much about the rape but they arrested the people who jumped me. So I grew up a wreck. Tried to throw myself under an express train and cut my wrists open. I was desperate to kill myself. I got my first serious boyfriend and he was sexist and abusive. He would hit me and call me a whore, and he knocked my molars out. I feel like he only got with me because of all the rumours I was easy. He wanted sex every day and in the end the pill failed and I got pregnant, and he forced me into a termination. In college I ruined it for myself by being anxiety-ridden and not talking to people, so I was called odd. I left my boyfriend and met an amazing person who treated me so different and liked me. But I never wanted to see him because I was convinced he was using me. So he broke it off. I ended up going back to my abusive ex and all the cheating accusations started. It started with ask fm questions like, 'ugly slag,' 'why are you so pale, you're scary,' you treat your bf like shit,' (when it was the other way round). So much so one of my abusive boyfriend's friends got in my face and grabbed me. In 2015 I left my abusive ex because he was seeing another woman. I was off the rails, drank so much, did drugs. My male friend pestered me to get with him and when I refused he said once, 'ugly slag' then he said I was mad and it was a joke. So as a big 'fuck you', I got drunk and slept with a guy I liked (my first one night stand). And he happened to be this guy's friend. My guy friend plastered all over I was a slut. And the guy I slept with binned me. I've never felt so low in all my life. The guy just moved on and my guy friend turned everyone against me, even though he was the bad person. I got taken advantage of whilst drunk by some guy I didn't know and I had no idea what happened. Before I knew it rumours were going round like mad (amongst grown adults). I can't have a relationship, never mind the guy I want, because he thinks I'm a slut. My life' s no better. I'm severely depressed, and try to take my own life every week. No one calls me a slut to my face because they also brand me as mental. - Anonymous in England
When I was 14, I had a boyfriend. At first he was sweet to me, and I loved him, but his behaviour changed after we first had sex. If I said I wasn't in the mood, he'd try to convince me with words, or would just kiss me until I would give in. This continued for months. He would only see me to have sex with me, after which I would be expected to leave. I felt depressed and started crying uncontrollably and inexplicably at random moments. It wasn't until I found out he had been cheating on me that I felt empowered enough to get out of the relationship. It wasn't until years later that I realized what had happened. It wasn't my fault. I did say no. And he had absolutely no right to have sex with me against my wishes. I'm 21 now but I still struggle with my sexuality. I want to feel comfortable in my own skin. I want to feel safe. I love sex and I've been exploring this through casual sexual relations, but I feel enormous pressure from friends and family in particular. Someone who sleeps around is a "slut", and there must be something wrong with me. There is nothing wrong with me. I just want to feel powerful and do what I like with whom I like without being judged.
I was CONSTANTLY being shamed for my clothing and being made to change into hand-me-downs, which, for the record, stank like puke.
After reading most of the stories on here, I guess the story that I am to share doesn't even begin equate to the terrible ordeals all of you women have experienced, but still, I'm certain my story is worth sharing anyway. Okay, so, it was the summer of 2015 and I'd just turned 15 in the month of July. My mum decided it'd be nice for me to go to this residential religious youth camp thing being held in August, and being the obedient brown girl that I am, I kind of had no say as to whether I wanted to go or not. Still, I kinda looked forward to it - meeting other people my age and all. Upon arrival, I was allocated a room that me and these two other teenage girls, one my age and the other a year younger than me, would share. Let's call the girl who was the same age as me, A, and the girl who was a year younger than me, X. We were all really tight with each other and got along really well. The adults at the camp gave us the outline of how we'd be spending our 3 days there. Despite having to wake up early for meditation at like 4 in the morning, I really had no other obligations to it. My day started at 3:30am, and 4am was meditation time. Me, A and X had half an hour to get dressed and go down. For meditation, we were expected to wear white clothing. The three of us made our way downstairs on the very first day, only to be policed by one of the female adults about our choice of clothing. She began with me. I was wearing white jeans, a white sleeveless top and had thrown on a thin white cardigan. She said, and I quote, "What do you think you're doing, wearing a sleeveless top, and, what is it with your gown (referring to the thin white cardigan I had on) that's the type of thing you wear to bed, it's indecent." She then began criticising my two friends, A and X, who were wearing white jeans and white half-sleeve T-shirts. "Your shirt is too tight, not at all modest, don't you have any other less revealing clothing?" The three of us were made to sit in a big old room and wait for this lady to bring us a change of clothes, clothing that was more "modest." She returned and brought back 3 baggy, full-sleeve, white T-shirts. This was not the only occasion that me and my friends were told off for dressing indecently. Oh, no, it practically became a regime throughout our stay there. The adults, especially the women, would be quick to notice if we were wearing clothing which was "too tight," "flattered our figures," "too revealing," "showed our shoulders," and the list goes on. By the first day, I'd had enough. I rang my mother and asked her to withdraw me from there because I was CONSTANTLY being shamed for my clothing and being made to change into hand-me-downs, which, for the record, stank like puke. Although my mum understood how unhappy I was, she kept telling me to hold on because there wasn't that long left to go. And that was the first time in my life I'd felt so oversexualized and helpless, at what I believe is a pretty young age! Since then, I'd never spoken about the camp to anyone in a positive light. END oversexualization of the female body. END internalised beliefs about the disempowerment that comes with being dressed too "indecently," or "provocatively." ALL women are entitled to the right to own and express their sexuality, however they choose, or to not express it all. We should not be subjected to misogyny.
I'm the most sweet, caring girl you'll ever meet, but they just don't give me the chance, because to them I'm just another slut.
I'm one of those people who can't really keep secrets and who are very open about themselves. I don't really care to tell people about my sex life or sexual experiences. I don't do it for attention, for sex, or to show off how "lucky" I am. Apparently, most people don't think about it that way. People who've heard of me think I'm easy and call me slut instead of by my name. Even my parents think I'm slutty (I don't share everything with them, I actually don't know where they got it from). Anyway, whenever I meet new people, and they've already heard of me via friends, they always try to get me in bed because "she will do it anyways. She's crazy." But I'm so much more than that... I'm the most sweet, caring girl you'll ever meet, but they just don't give me the chance, because to them I'm just another slut.
My professor proceeded to tell me that if I continue to dress this way that I would have trouble getting people to believe that I got a job for my brains and not my sexuality.
I was recently called into the office of one of my professors who told me my outfit for a presentation was not professional. It was an outfit I had worn many times already that semester and none of my friends (who would have absolutely told me) found issue with it. My professor proceeded to tell me that if I continue to dress this way that I would have trouble getting people to believe that I got a job for my brains and not my sexuality. As a masters student who has worked a ton of different jobs both in the service industry and professional industry, I felt that sounded like a personal problem. This frustration is what led me to The UnSlut Project. The perpetuation of women's sexuality being labeled as "inappropriate" or a problem yields to so many other issues within our society and culture that keep women down instead of lifting them up to their full potential. I hope you keep on keeping on with the strides The UnSlut Project is making. - Nita Jones
My uncle sexually assaulted me. The police asked if I had provoked him with dirty talk before, wore provocative clothing or "stripper heels," or possibly made up the entire thing.
This entry includes descriptions of self-harm and sexual assault.
A little over 2 years ago, I had been friends with this boy named Andrew since elementary school and we had recently became closer. I started opening up to him and falling for him when he listened to my problems. Then as summer began approaching, Andrew started making sexual advances towards me. When we were laughing, he would lay a hand on my thigh and always be all over me. I tried to brush it off until he began to flirt over text as well. After school ended that year, he eventually asked me for nudes and as a huge mistake, I sent them to him. It was my first time ever sending nudes and not exactly ideal "baby steps" into discovering my sexual orientation. Once school started back up in August, I was just a freshman. This was my chance for a new beginning to become the strong, independent woman I have always longed to be. Then the worst thing I could ever imagine happened. Andrew saved my nudes from the past year and spread mine, along with nudes from three of my CLOSE FRIENDS. He had somehow gotten all four of us to send us him nudes, then spread them throughout the entire football team, tons of Andrew's guy friends who saved it and sent it to their guy friends, etc. It eventually made Andrew so cocky to the point where he would literally sit in front of me on the bus showing my nudes off his phone to the guy next to him. I was vulnerable and would not stand up for myself. My depression got to the point where I began to cut myself and fall into complete isolation for about half of the school year. Then came Greg. Mr. Knight in Shining Armor coming to save me. We dated for over a year until this past December. He controlled me by telling me what to wear, who to talk to, how to act, etc. He constantly accused me of cheating yet after our breakup, I discovered that he had tried to get nudes from one of my close friends, Lauren (who is also one of the four girls Andrew spread nudes of freshman year). It's getting complicated, I know. Greg also likes to tell everybody now that we're broken up that I'm a selfish slut and that I'm the one who cheated.
This past July, while I was dating Greg, I went to visit family in Kentucky on my birthday weekend. While I stayed at my grandma's house most of the week, I decided to go stay at my aunt and uncle's near the end of my trip. They live on the outskirts of town so when we ordered pizza, we had to drive down the road to the nearest church because that was the farthest they would deliver. My aunt sent my uncle to pick it up and I tagged along because he had promised me a chance to drive the car. As we drove, my uncle began to ask me overly personal questions about my sex life with Greg. After we had picked up the pizza and were headed back home, my uncle sexually assaulted me, touching on me. Yet again, I didn't have the nerve to speak up. I didn't say yes but I didn't say no either. I just sat there, staring out the window and trying not to cry. I informed my aunt later on that night and called the cops. Then the police turned it against me while I was writing my statement. They asked if I had provoked him with dirty talk before, wore provocative clothing or "stripper heels," or possibly made up the entire thing so that I could be back home on my birthday. They took pictures of the outfit that I was wearing and even went as far as to ask if I was wearing a bra under my shirt. Then months later when I finally worked up the trust to tell Greg about it, the first thing he even thought to ask was, "Well did he make you or did it turn you on?" Now mind you, I'm aware of how atrocious my relationship life can be. I completely believe that we need to start educating young minds about these types of things such as consent and shaming women for their promiscuity. Whether or not I'm wearing sweatpants or standing before you completely naked should not affect your ability to resist temptation. Whether I choose to "save myself" for marriage or have casual sex to fill an emotional void should not affect your lifestyle, so why judge me for it? All women should live freely without concern for others hating on your perspective on love and promiscuity. SO WHAT IF I'M A SLUT. - Destini, Indiana
My family (being extremely religious) has yet to accept me as the person I know myself to be, claiming that I must be a pathological liar amongst other hurtful things.
For years now I have been thought of and talked about as something I am not. Within this last year however, things got more difficult as I tried to find myself within the assumed definition I was given. Putting myself in less than desirable situations and amongst men that did not respect me. I was raped twice, leaving me with a great deal of unsettled emotions. My family (being extremely religious) has yet to accept me as the person I know myself to be, claiming that I must be a pathological liar amongst other hurtful things. Almost every time I speak to them they remind me how many people they think I have been intimate with, including those that forced themselves on me. This has left me so very sad and lost. The lesson I HOPE people will take from this short version of my experience is that: judgment is so harmful to people's souls. That is why it is said that only God can judge. It's not meant for us, therefore it is something I believe we shouldn't even attempt.
She spit in my face, pushed me and the boy in the hallway, and continued with the slut shaming for months.
I am a high school student who had to experience both sexual bullying and slut shaming. In the middle of my junior year of high school, I was at a basketball game and ran into a guy in my grade who I had known forever, but who had not been single. We began being friendly after this, and word got around to his ex-girlfriend that we were hanging out, and "talking". While we were just friends, she began attacking me, screaming in school about what a slut I am, asking why I would tell people we had sex when we didn't (words I'd never said). She texted me when I wasn't in school harassing me, and tweeted horrible things about me and him, and what we were doing. The school got involved for bullying but since no actions were taken it continued. She spit in my face, pushed me and the boy in the hallway, and continued with the slut shaming for months. Nobody should have to deal with slut shaming, no matter what the circumstance.
I never spoke to him again, but I did hear that he was telling people that I'd been having regular sex with him, that I was "loose," that I knew all sorts of things that "only a whore would know."
This entry includes references to sexual violence.
I have thought a lot about which story to share here. I have many, and they are all important and awful, and they all are part of the journey I took to who I am now. I think maybe the most telling story, though, is why and how and to whom I lost my virginity. When I was 13, I already had a reputation as the school slut thanks to a boy I was in band with. He and I were never involved, never even friendly, but he relentlessly spread rumors about me, telling people (and me to my face) that I would do anything sexual with anyone who wanted me to. I proclaimed loudly and often that I was still a virgin, and people seemed to believe me, but they also seemed to believe that I would do "anything but." There was an older (15) boy in my neighborhood who would come over to my house sometimes. We were friends, and sometimes he would kiss me, but nothing more than that. He was handsome and strong and popular, and he made me feel pretty. Then he started wanting to do more, because he'd heard I would, and I wasn't ready. He started being very grabby, squeezing my breasts and shoving his hands down my pants. When I'd squirm away, he'd tell me that he wanted my virginity, that if I didn't give it to him soon he would just take it. He could have - he was very muscular (looking back on his physique and behavior, I'm pretty certain he was on steroids, but I had no idea then). It was scary, and I'd cry, and he'd pet me and kiss me gently and tell me he didn't mean it, that he'd never hurt me like that. This went on for a few months, and it started getting scarier. He'd come over and I wouldn't want to let him in, but he'd threaten to tell everyone that I'd let him do anything and everything, or to stand in the yard and scream what I slut I was to the neighborhood, or to hurt me next time he saw me... anything to get me to open the door. As soon as I let him in he was sweet and gentle... and then eventually he'd again be threatening to rape me so he could "have" my virginity. Then one day it occurred to me that if I had sex with his older (18) brother, it would not only make me less desirable to him by getting rid of my virginity, but would put me under the protection of his brother and keep me "safe." (There were 3 brothers and they were very close - he would never mess with his older brother's "territory.") So I called his brother and invited him over, then explained the situation and asked if he would have sex with me. He said yes, but wanted me to know that he was leaving the next day for Navy boot camp. That was fine with me - I knew I'd still be shielded from his younger brother just by having been with him (not to mention not being a virgin anymore). We got undressed and had sex on my living room floor. He was kind and gentle and kissed me goodbye when it was over. I never saw or spoke to him again. I called the younger brother later that night and told him what happened, told him to ask his brother. I never spoke to him again, either, but I did hear that he was telling people that I'd been having regular sex with him, that I was "loose," that I knew all sorts of things that "only a whore would know." The punchline is, I wasn't even technically a virgin, having been molested as a young girl and raped when I was 12. But those weren't things you talked about, certainly not to the handsome, scary boy who made you feel pretty. To this day I'm still torn about how to feel about the older brother. Yes, he was gentle and kind and only did what I was asking him to do... but he was 18 and I was 13. He didn't offer to tell his brother to leave me alone instead, or even to tell his brother we'd had sex without actually having it. He never contacted me to make sure I was okay after he left. - Lola
Don't listen to anyone if they don't like you for who you are, what you are, and how you are.
Hey, I am a girl in the 7th grade. I often go by "Taco" just cause it's in my name. When I was first in 6th grade I was a little bit shy, but 7th grade is where it really started. Let me start with body size. Boys at my school like "thick" girls with butts and boobs and curves. Boys tell me almost every day that I am "flat chested," with a "flat butt," and "you don't have nothing." And I don't think anything is wrong with having small boobs or a small butt, boys just have to learn that girls grow at different times. So I guess they want every girl to be thick, well, they're not in luck. It's ridiculous how our self esteem goes down just cause of a boy who talks about how we look. JUST STOP. There's this group of girls I hang out with, but the so-called leader is fake. So is her other friend. In my homeroom class, all they do is use me. When I am done with my paper, they would be like, "Let me see," and I would let them see it (don't ask why). Then one of them calls me pretty for no reason. Don't fall for the junk. If you're friends with someone and you think they're fake, and if they call you pretty for no reason, they're just trying to get your self esteem up so they make you feel useful. WRONG. That's not how friendships work. The same girls tease me about how I never had my first kiss, never had a boyfriend. It really gets to you cause it makes you feel like you're unattractive and you're not. Every one is pretty. Don't listen to anyone if they don't like you for who you are, what you are, and how you are. I think it's time to let them go and find new friends. I had way too much drama with girls, and it should end. I hope this helps someone, cause YOU'RE NOT THE ONLY ONE.
This really made me feel awful about myself, that my own father thought I was a slut just because of what I was wearing.
My dad found out I had sex. Soon after that, I was wearing a crop top and a high waisted skirt and he called me a slut for that. I was 18 when this happened and this really made me feel awful about myself, that my own father thought I was a slut just because of what I was wearing. For wearing a crop top or having sex, does not make someone a slut. No mother or father should ever say something like that to their child. They are supposed to boost their kid's self confidence, not make them feel awful about themselves. - Lizzie, New Jersey
At a very awkward stage in my life, I was being called a slut because my sister was pregnant and that must mean I was easy, too.
When I was 13 years old my 15 year old sister got pregnant, and while it had a major impact on her life my family forgot about how it was going to change my life as well. My summer was spent looking after and cooking for my sister. When school started instead of worrying what freshman year was going to be like, I was ordered to escort my sister to the school bus stop every morning as well as being ordered by my pregnant sister to pretend we didn't know each other because she was ashamed of me, a tomboy who hit puberty early and hard. At a very awkward stage in my life, I was being called a slut because my sister was pregnant and that must mean I was easy, too, someone who didn't even have their first kiss yet. This lasted throughout high school up till senior year when everyone including my own father was expecting and accusing me of being pregnant because I was overweight and puberty gave me a body I hadn't grown into yet. To this day, me being 22, I am afraid to show off my curves because anytime I try even strangers say I'm such a slut for showing off my body. Even if I'm wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants they look at my breasts in disgust, as if I was naked in public. Everytime I see a woman showing off what she has I tell her she looks beautiful because doesn't every woman have the right to have self confidence? It should be applauded not criticised. - Jessenia
Why am I considered a whore or slut because I'm expressing my sexuality? The double standard is not fair.
I'm a 21 year old college student and anyone that's in college know that rumors are very real. Well, one day while I was having intercourse with a guy, my roommate came in and began calling me a whore and spreading rumors about me. I lost so-called friends and people began talking about me and looking at me differently. My thing is, why am I considered a whore or slut because I'm expressing my sexuality? The double standard is not fair. I will not let their words hurt me. I will continue to express my sexuality and wear revealing clothes if I feel like it. So I'll be a "whore" or "slut." It's my life and I have the right to express myself.
The thing is that the boy wanted me a week ago, but now I'm nothing but a slag.
I'm going to be honest, I do sleep about, but I'm very safe and take all the cautions that are needed. This does not mean that I'm easy, that I'm vulnerable, or that I do not respect myself. It all started when I was going through college. I'm bubbly and outgoing and I do flirt. Now this boy starting talking to me and things were going great. Unfortunately things didn't work out, and I didn't dwell and moved on. I moved on to another boy in my class who wanted sex and I agreed. I thought I could trust a close friend, to whom in the past I've told many stories. This friend stabbed me in the back and it was the worst thing ever. I started off as this girl who nobody knew. I get called a slag as a "joke" and I get called ugly and easy. The thing is that the boy wanted me a week ago, but now I'm nothing but a slag, yet no one hates my friend for what they have done to me, nobody judges the other guy for wanting to have sex. Yet I always do and it still happens now. I'm finally learning that it doesn't matter and I don't have to care what they think. I'll still do what I love. - Phoebe
A manager referred to me as a 'stupid girl' and a 'slut'.
I attended a work function where I had a bit to drink, and a male work colleague proceeded to make sexual advances, I told him no and to stop, He tried multiple times before he left where I was staying with other work colleagues who had fallen asleep. Attending work and being close to this person after this happened was extremely disturbing as he continued to make sexual comments. I ended up making a formal complaint. Word spread and the story came out. As he was married, many people didn't believe it, even though he was a known office creep for making inappropriate comments and slept with other women in the office. A manager referred to me as a 'stupid girl' and a 'slut'. Regardless of me also being married, I felt many people sided with him. Managers also asked what I was wearing that night, how much I had to drink, and if I was confused and if I did anything to encourage his behaviour. This was a terrible time in my life and I ended up going through a dark depression and feeling worthless. The shame and embarrassment was unbelievable and looking back, I see that I was an easy target, for the offender and for my managers. Making it the woman's fault as a 'mere male' shouldn't have to control himself. I would urge all girls and women to be strong and if anyone steps over a line to immediately report it and tell them to leave you alone. Don't be too scared like I was, have that strength and know your worth and stand your ground. Don't let people project their energy on you because their perceptions are so backward.
I felt that anyone I spoke to had pinned a label on me. That I was someone to be ashamed of.
I was always thought of as a slut in school because of how many relationships I had been in. But often it was because people shared information that I would have preferred private, sharing pictures of me, spreading rumours like "she'll sleep with anyone", "she got pregnant" or "she cheats". Because they value their gossip more than the people they hurt. Friendships and trust have been destroyed all around me. It always felt like my fault. That I couldn't trust anyone with accepting who I am. I felt that anyone I spoke to had pinned a label on me. That I was someone to be ashamed of. - Marissa Carter, United Kingdom
I thought nothing of it until I started getting recurring notes in my locker, each telling me to kill myself or to go die.
This entry includes references to self-harm.
When I was twelve, in sixth grade, things changed. I had been going to school with the same group of people since kindergarten, and knew many of them pretty well, and I honestly liked school. My "group" was considered very innocent in the eyes of everyone else. Lauren, my best friend at the time, was very conservative and didn't like to speak about sex or anything else. She hated things like homosexuality and dating at a too young age and alcohol. Many of the others, including her cousin, shared the same views. During the beginning of the second semester, I began to stray. It was around that time that I realized that I wasn't like them. I was much more liberal. I started to get tied up with a girl named Jacey. We became best friends pretty quickly, and I soon wasn't talking about the old things. Now Jacey talked about things that I hadn't spoken of ever—sex, drugs, drinking. I knew basically nothing, but slowly I learned. We never took drugs and we never attempted to drink, but Jacey was a sexual person.I remember at our second sleep over at her dad's house, she brought up the topic of sexuality. She said that she thought she may have been bisexual, because she was kind of attracted to girls. Before that, I had never really thought of sexuality before–I live in a very church-based state, so being gay seemed out of the picture. That night, we probably took a dozen of sexuality tests on my phone (she didn't have a phone for a sexting incident earlier that year). Each came up as "bicurious" or "bisexual". Slowly, as the year began to go by, I began to fall for Jacey, and sometimes she spoke of a brunette who she was close with and liked but didn't want to ask her out because she was afraid of rejection. On some level, I knew she was talking about me, but not positive enough to tell her I felt the same way. Jacey was pretty popular in our school, but not in a good way. She was labeled a "slut" and "whore" by our classmates, and being friends with her came with the occasional rumor. Of course I thought nothing of it until I started getting recurring notes in my locker, each telling me to kill myself or to go die. I remember the jagged letters and sometimes I write them down on notebook paper and stare at the paper for a moment. There's one note I remember in particular. It was on a ripped sheet of notebook paper, and the words "ever considered Suicide?" was written roughly on it. I remember gazing at the words for what seemed like an eternity until Jacey saw and hugged me. Then, our English teacher came as well and hugged me before taking the note away, like she had the times before. When I got home, I probably cried and went to my room and began to scratch my arms with my razor. It was never deep cuts, but they definitely hurt. Jacey was the one who had even given me the idea of self harm, but it wasn't her fault. She herself struggled with it.Around me, school stayed the same. Of course I was annually called down to the office to tell my story and people felt sympathy for me, but the majority of people still liked me. They didn't think I was a slut, like the notes had called me. At home, however, fighting with my parents became nightly, and I spent hours alone in my room, staring at a dark computer or simply laying there. I cried a lot, too, during those months, and when I wanted to talk about it, I had Jacey to talk to and a therapist, who I loathed, that my mother made me go to. Jacey and me would rant about everything that we went through, and one night in particular, as we watched boys in our grade play baseball, Jacey and me began talking about our crushes again. She put the photo of the girl (me) on my phone, handed it to me, and then ran. She was embarrassed clearly, but I was overjoyed. I chased after her, and when I caught up to her after she had fallen in the parking lot, I began to talk to her. She said she wanted to stay friends and nothing more because I meant to much to her, and I was definitely disappointed but didn't say anything. Meanwhile, more rumors began to fly around school, and Jacey began to stop caring about the notes that haunted my locker. "She [the principal] acts like the notes are the only thing going on in the school," she once said. In response, I just nodded because I didn't want to make her mad. We rarely got in fights, other than when she talked about her ex, who was in ninth grade. He had broken up with her in August, but even in Spring, she wasn't over him. I was easily jealous, and would be furious at how she liked him... More than me, I guess. She also used to write songs about him, some of which I remember. There were a few lyrics she wrote while I was with her, and at the time, I swore she'd be famous by the time she left high school. "Don't think you know, don't think you know, all the pain I felt inside. Don't think you know, don't think you know, how many tears I cried," she sang during the chorus. It was about Nate, her ex. Sometimes, even today, I wonder if she ever wrote songs about me, during or after our friendship. A girl who bullied Jacey, Madison, was beginning to get on her nerves. I remember one day during lunch Jacey said she was going to punch her in the face, and I didn't honestly think she would, but sure enough, in choir (sixth period) that day, Madison ran screaming from the bathroom holding her face, crying. Jacey was suspended for three days, but her parents took her to the beach and her step father even congratulated her. Personally, I don't think that Madison really bullied her, but I didn't experience what Jacey did so I don't know. In the next couple of weeks, Jacey was all the school was talking about. There weren't many rumors at our school that didn't involve her, after all. The football boys still adored her, but my old group, which I sat with those three days, shamed her. I didn't blame them, however, because she did punch someone. "Violence is never the answer," Laney, Lauren's cousin, once said. Lauren agreed with her. People still referred to her as a slut. I remember a rumor that went around was that she FaceTimed an eighth grader in a too tight bikini, and there was another that she gave a teacher a blowjob. Finally, Jacey began to give into the rumors. The guy who she sent nudes to in the fall of that year came back into her life. He was in eighth grade but could've passed as older and everyone knew he wasn't a virgin. Stevie was his name. One night she stayed on night with Grace, and Stevie lived next to her. Jacey went to his house, made out with him, got undressed, gave him a blow job, before leaving. When she told me, I wasn't upset that she had kissed him or done anything else, I was just upset that it was with him. He had already sent her nudes to a bunch of people, so why did she trust him again? Part of me still liked her as well, but I ignored that part.Jacey began to plan to see him again, saying how she lost her virginity before thirteen. She said she WAS a slut, and she was proud of it. Soon the school year came to an end, and it was the last time I would walk through those halls as a student. That summer, Jacey was at the beach the same time I was, so I visited her and stayed on night—the last time I would do that. That night, I told her I thought I was 100% gay, and it clearly made her uncomfortable. Now, I know that my sexuality is much more varied, but at the moment, I only knew my feelings for her. Her parents figured out that I was gay, and began leaving the doors open and they wouldn't let us go to the bathroom alone. It was humiliating. When I was leaving the beach, we got into a fight. During it she admitted to being uncomfortable and we ended things. The next fall she would eventually ext me and apologize for everything and I would forgive her but I wouldn't become friends with her again. I still don't like to talk to her. For the next two years, I went to a different school. There, I slowly crawled out of my hole of depression and self harm and actually moved on from Jacey to another girl who I only hoped would return my feelings. (Alas, she was straight.) Now I've been down wrong roads just like she had, but I feel safe now, better. I have friends that wouldn't twist things and I am no longer labeled a slut. Somehow, though, I miss sixth grade year. I miss the familiar halls of the middle school and the circular lunch tables and most importantly Jacey. I know I shouldn't because she hurt me in a hard way, but I can't help it. I hope one day, I'll fall in love with a boy or girl who won't twist words and put themselves in front of me. I don't know yet. I'm only part of the way into my life, and so much is unanswered. I never expected to transfer, but I did. I never expected to like girls, but I do. I never expected to be who i am today, but I am and I love myself for it.
Despite that event which was so terrible at that time in my life, I am a caring, compassionate person. I have a spouse and a family. I have an education and I am a professional. I have so much to be grateful for.
This entry includes references to sexual assault and suicide.
I just discovered The Unslut Project and thought I would share my story. My story is not known, or at least that I'm aware of, by anyone in my family (parents, siblings). Close friends knew. It was the summer of 1981. I was 13 years old heading to grade 8 in September. A friend and I went to chase some boy friends in our community; we probably had a mini crush on one of them. There were four boys in the woods that day. At one point, my friend took off and I was alone with the boys. As I started my way home, two boys pinned me down, one watched and one fondled me using his hand to penetrate me. I was a virgin. I had barely kissed a boy before. All I remember was crying and laughing at the same time; I was so confused. What I also remember was saying "Please Don't!" followed by, "STOP!" They twisted my words as they were laughing, saying I was telling them please don't stop. I was late getting away and on my way home, as I was walking down the country lane, my parents came by in the car all angry telling me they were looking for me. They saw the boys because my mom said, "Get in the car and get home so you don't get a name for yourself." Little did they know the damage was done. My high school years were practically ruined. I lost friends when their mothers may have heard things through the grapevine & decided I was a bad influence on their own innocent daughters. My graduation night of grade 12 was ruined because one of the local boys was yelling out that terrible nickname to me as I was getting in my family's car. I kept praying, fighting tears, that my parents wouldn't hear him and ask me why he was saying that. Those are the things that scar you and you never forget. I thought about suicide many times through my teenage years. I remember one summer evening, sitting by myself in a field with a pair of scissors to my neck, wanting to die so badly. Another time I remember sitting in my bathtub with grandmother's medication wanting to swallow every pill. I realize now, it was a cry for help. I didn't really want to die.When I was 18 and graduated from high school, I moved to the big city to escape my hometown. Back then, I didn't have to deal with slut shaming on the internet or someone sending photos of me. It was all word of mouth and even then, word of mouth didn't travel far outside the local communities. I often think about what young girls today have to deal with.
The boy that stood to the side was one of my closest, dearest friends and I think it was 2002 he approached me when he was in town and apologized. He told it weighed heavily on him over the years knowing he wasn't strong enough at the time to stop it. He said if he could go back in time, he would have. I forgave him. Up until last year, I often found myself telling people I was a very happy go lucky teenage girl (despite my past). But it was just last summer (2015) I met up with an old classmate who had kept all of my notes I wrote to him during grade 12. I read them and learned I was a very depressed, sad girl who hated life. It was hard to read because so much time had passed, I had a different perception because I grew past that difficult time in my life. I'm now 47 years old and I survived but not without its impact on me as a human being. Despite that event which was so terrible at that time in my life, I am a caring, compassionate person. I have a spouse and a family. I have an education and I am a professional. I have so much to be grateful for. So, although that event shaped who I am today, I've learned to accept it as part of my life as grew up and I truly like who I am today. - Anonymous in Nova Scotia
No one, except for a select few, know about this. But the self blame has destroyed me more than I ever thought possible.
This entry includes references to sexual assault.
Over year and a half ago I was sexually assaulted, and feared it turning into rape. Since then, I've been struggling with depression, anxiety, and PTSD. As mentioned in your presentation at my school, self blame has consumed my life. I have warped events leading up to the assault and have convinced myself that I misled him, and I was the one in the wrong - as if I deserved what happened to me. This project has given me a source that I can relate to, and I want to thank everyone involved for that. I haven't had rumours spread about me because of this, or anything like that, and I'm thankful for that. No one, except for a select few, know about this. But the self blame has destroyed me more than I ever thought possible. Thank you for showing me that I'm not the only one driving myself crazy. I needed this. - Annapolis Royal, Nova Scotia
I don't know if the worst part was telling my mother, or my daughter.
I live in a small, blue-collar town in Ohio and was irresponsible and got pregnant from a one night stand when I was 42. I had been divorced 8 years and had a 13 year old daughter. I struggled as a single mom for so long and then did this... It really put my parents in a shameful bind since they help me out. I will be 60 when my kids graduate. I don't know if the worst part was telling my mother, or my daughter. I definitely screwed up a lot of lives, if not expectations. - Cyndi, East Liverpool, Ohio
In therapy I remember talking about him and what he did and going, "It's almost like he raped me." And after that it was like, "Oh my gosh. He did."
This entry includes descriptions of rape, self-harm, and suicide.
Almost 7 years have gone by. I blocked out what he had done for 4 years until a memory, a flashback, a realization came in like a flood. And no matter how hard I wanted to, there was no going back. I had to face it. He raped me. He took my virginity and all my innocence. Right in my own bed. There are some things I will never remember. Like the day or days it happened. What exactly was said. But there are many things I do remember. It was right around my 21st birthday. I remember him convincing my sick and over-emotional mind that my neighbor was a predator and that he could protect me. I never imagined that the predator would be my friend's husband. That it was he I needed protecting from. He did everything he could to get my neighbor out of my life. He would spend the night in my bedroom on an air mattress the first few times. And then he sweet talked his way into my bed. And he sweet talked his way inside me. I don't remember exactly what he said. It could have been something like "I'm going to show you how a real man does it" or "Sex will get rid of your headache." He never said so, but he implied that he was protecting me from my neighbor so I needed to thank him. He never said it in those words but that's what he did.
It was soon after that, that I did my last, but serious, suicide attempt. I hated myself, who I had become. That I had slept with my friend's husband (though now I know it was really rape) and what a deadbeat loser I was. Other factors played into it. And I knew it was time to exit the world, that no one would miss me. I downed probably close to a bottle of Tylenol PM, crying the whole time. I must have gotten scared and had second thoughts. Maybe God reached out to me. Because I called myself an ambulance. I went to the ER. They pumped my stomach. Stuck a tube right down my throat and just to be safe, made me drink the gosh-awful charcoal to absorb all the poison in my system. After all that, my neighbor came to the ER. He saw the EMTs take me away and he never felt so sick in all his life. Despite the temporary restraining order my abuser convinced me to get on him, despite everything. He came to see me. To tell me that nothing was worth me dying over. He stayed with me until I was taken to the psych ward. And he came and visited me every day until I returned home We realized we loved each other and didn't want to live a day without one another. We knew we were going to spend the rest of our lives together. He used to hold my hand and make me feel safe until I fell asleep. But he never made me do anything I didn't want to. I decided that summer, the summer I turned 21 (a few months after my rape - rapes - that it was time to get my life together and be someone worth loving. I finally quit cutting, blocked everything out that had to do with him or pain, or my old life. Only moving forward. It was shortly after that, that I received my temporary job trial at the library which ended up becoming permanent. I put everything into becoming a new person. In hindsight, it was probably triggered or set off by the trauma I went through. I had to do anything and everything I could do to forget. Yes, I'd see him, he even showed up at the apartment once or twice. But, I pretended like we were friends and it was normal. I do remember pretending, pretending, pretending. Anything to keep that out of my mind, and my new happy life.
It caught up with me a few years later. I could no longer deny what happened, and that something had to have happened to cause me this much pain and trauma. In therapy I remember talking about him and what he did and going, "It's almost like he raped me." And after that it was like, "Oh my gosh. He did." So, for the past three years I have been going through what I should have right after it happened. It happened almost 7 years ago, but feels like it was not long ago. Now, I'm on the long journey of healing. To finding myself and to forgiving myself. There is no going back, only forward! I have taken great strides and have come so far in my recovery. I still border between survivor and thriver, but I'm working hard to stick with one... Thriving! I have talked openly about what happened to me with my therapist and close friends and by blogging. And while I'll still be blogging, my goals are to focus less on what he did, what happened to me and how I can actively take back my life, and be the best Katie I can be! I'm also going to focus more on my self care, and be more fair to myself. My name is Katie, something bad happened to me but it no longer defines me. I'm not a victim or survivor, I'm just Katie. - Katie
I wasn’t a slut... I was just a girl.
This entry includes references to sexual violence.
I’m pretty relieved to have come across The UnSlut Project. I have been in the process of writing my memoirs about such issues, but it is taking me years because it is such a difficult topic and task. I always had crushes on boys growing up. “Boy crazy” is what we all called it. Yes, there was one boy I really liked, but there were so many cute boys around, I seemed to fall in love with a new boy every day. Maybe my boy-love developed because I was sexually abused at home, starting around the age of three. Maybe I was boy-crazy because I was insecure, and felt mind bubbles whenever a boy flirted with me or called me cute. I don’t know, but I was French kissing in 6th grade and being felt up in 7th. The summer of my 7th grade year my sister’s friend and her cousin came over to our house. Her cousin was talking to me in a room, and threw me down on the bed and tried to start making out with me. He didn’t rape me, but it seemed like he was trying to; I just managed to scurry away from him in time to get outside. On the first day of school after summer break, he pressed me against the wall and started feeling me up. After that, several boys that hung out in that area and were friends with him followed his lead. They started grabbing my ass, my boobs, even putting their hands on my crotch right in front of everyone there. I didn’t know how to stop it. This boy had attacked me twice, and I was trying to find a niche of people I could fit in with. I wanted friends. It didn’t take long for all the girls to start talking about me, calling me slut. Someone wrote “FUCK” next to my name on a poster where kids were acknowledged for academic work. But I wasn’t a slut. I was a broken young girl who had been sexually abused her whole life and was just looking to find someone to actually like me, or maybe one day even love me. I wasn’t a slut... I was just a girl. - Denelle Hobbs
He dared me to send a topless photo and without thinking, I did. The next day I went to school and everyone knew.
I am in grade 8 and just like in the book "UnSlut," there are popular people. Even though most of them hate me and have bullied me since 6th grade, I still want to be like all of them (thin, beautiful, funny, etc.). I have started to notice that because I have a lot of guy friends, that somehow makes me a whore. This past week everyday at lunch I have been hanging out with my guy friends and have been called a slut at least 5 times a day, and personally it really hurts because I suffer with depression and things get to me really easily. February 2nd I was talking to a guy friend in school and we were playing truth or dare on Snap Chat. He dared me to send a topless photo and without thinking, I did. The next day I went to school and everyone knew. I think that's when it all started. It happened all month. ("Oh my gosh, she's such a slut," "Did you hear about Kate?" "What a whore," "She just did it for attention," "She's just an attention seeker.") There was so much name calling everyday for the month of February. In March things started dying down but now it's starting all over again just because I have guy friends. It's just not fair and other girls and I shouldn't have to deal with this just because we have guy friends. You just start to get tired of it all at some point. You know. - Kate
My rapist texted me one day, and when I told him he raped me he called me a whore.
This entry includes references to self-harm, suicide, and rape.
Hello, my name is Emily. I was born to two amazing parents who always wanted me to be open and know I am more than my sexuality. They taught me that God loved me no matter who I love and if I was a virgin or not. And I truly thought they both believed that... I guess you can say words and they can be just that, words. My story starts when I was in 8th grade. I had only had one boyfriend who I had never kissed. After we broke up I met a boy on the internet. He was sweet and charming. He broke my heart. While trying to mend a broken heart I met a guy who told me I was the world. He made me feel loved and desired. But his love came at a cost. Less than a month before my 14th birthday, he talked me into getting naked on Skype for him. It got to the point I would masturbate in front of him. He also broke my heart. The night after I tore my hymen (which I was always taught was the symbol of my virginity), he left me. I became very depressed. In the sixth grade, I had started self-harming. I had been free of that demon for almost four months. The night before I went to church camp I cut myself. At church camp, I broke down. I felt like I was not worthy of calling myself a child of God. I confessed to the church's youth group that I was interested in girls, that I had often gotten naked for a guy I had never met, and the two suicide attempts I had made. They told me it would not leave the circle. Boy was that a lie. When I got home I told my parents about my attempts to kill myself and my not-exactly-straight sexuality. My older brother who had been at church camp later told my mom there was something extremely important I needed to tell her and my father that I hadn't told them. He forced me to tell them about my adventures online. My mom looked at me in disgust and asked me, What would the members of the church think? That I was such a whore to take my clothes off for a stranger. For nearly a year she wouldn't talk to me. To this day she hasn't told me she loves me. She calls my sexuality a phase and does not support my desires to be with a woman.
I ended up becoming a BDSM "slave" to a man by the name of Mike. I learned a year after he left me that he had traded my pictures on a child porn site. When I was fourteen I met a man named Jerry. He didn't promise me love or anything more than a screw. I went to hang out with him. He gave me a tattoo and we fooled around. While giving him a blowjob I tried to stop but he forced himself down my throat and climaxed. After I spit it out he started pleasuring me. When he got on top of me, I asked him to stop. I begged him not to put it in me. I was a virgin and I didn't want to go any further. He just pushed on. Afterward, I had someone pick me up outside the library and I went home and sat in a bathtub for nearly an hour. I never told anyone what had happened. I began to blame myself. My rapist texted me one day, and when I told him he raped me he called me a whore. Said I tasted like a whore, that there was no way I could have been a virgin when we had sex... When I finally told my best friend what happened she said I was asking for it and that I was a whore. She told me never to speak to her again. I tried to kill myself not long after that.
I soon became involved with a married man whose wife was okay with him being in a polyamorous relationship with younger women. After a while, I got a message from her, posing as him, calling me a whore and telling me to stay out of their lives. He soon left her and got into a monogamous relationship with the girl he had met after me. He had promised me love... that he would be mine. We hardly even talk now. He now is no longer monogamous with two young girlfriends living with him. Yet again a promise of love ended in my heart breaking.
I was always told that no matter what, my parents would love me... My mom can hardly look at me. My dad is dating a girl young enough to be my sister and is too obsessed with her to notice I was falling apart. If anyone can learn something from my tale, don't let the idea of sex being the only way you'll be accepted be a drive behind your actions. But you can't let the idea of virginity rule you either. Love yourself. I have found friends who love me for me and would always be a loving friend to someone who struggles with the balance. Love yourself for you are worth more. Love, Emily in Louisiana
Now I'm afraid of looking 'pretty' in case he ever has feelings toward me again.
So when I was in the fifth grade, there was this guy. No liked him, I hated him. He was a creep. But for some reason he had a crush on me. He would tell everybody about how much he loved me and how we were 'dating'. Everyone made fun of me. I started crying myself to sleep. It got worse. He would do these creepily 'nice things' for me, tell everybody about how 'hot' I was. It was a horrible. If I leaned over then he would try and brush past my butt. Sometimes he would just copy and mock me. I felt so insecure and lost. Everyday after school I would listen to music blasted up so I wouldn't have to deal with the world. Until one day I couldn't take it anymore. I broke down at recess and started crying hysterically. My best friends didn't do anything to help. One of them just laughed. The other tried to help but was too shy. I finally told a teacher. She told him if he ever did any of 'this' again then he'd have to go the principal. After a while it stopped. But there was always little comments and rumours going around. The whole thing ended but I was so scared and lost and sad the whole time. Now I'm afraid of looking 'pretty' incase he ever has feelings toward me again. But if anyone out there is reading, fuck those idiots. You're better than them. This is my story.
I wish I would have stood up for her and stopped the rumors because I knew I had the power to do so.
I have had a really good life and have never been called a slut or names, and have never been put through slut shaming. This story is about a different girl who was in my school in 8th grade. Brianna had just come back to our school because before she had moved to another state but moved back because she didn't make any friends there. There were rumors that she had sent nudes to a few boys over the summer. They told everyone before she came in November. When she came she would only talk to certain people and was really quiet. The few times she talked to me was to compliment me which I thought was really nice. She had kissed a few boys and people were talking behind her back. They called her a slut and said really mean things behind her back, even the people she hung out with would tell everybody she was a slut. A guy named Jovanny cheated on his girlfriend to go out with Brianna. However, Brianna didn't know they were together and everyone assumed she did and called her a slut even more. Soon people even came up with a nickname for her which was 'The Silent Thot'. She clearly heard about the rumors but ignored them and stayed strong. Near the end of the year we were voting on superlatives for the year book. It would be two people that won a place which was a girl and a boy. When she left the classroom to go to the bathroom, Dave, a guy that she had kissed before shouted, "Hey everyone vote for Brianna for class flirt!" Everyone did and when she won she got really upset about it and complained about it to the teacher. The teacher changed the title to something positive. So the message here was that I wish I would have stood up for her and stopped the rumors because I knew I had the power to do so. I'm just saying that you shouldn't call anyone a slut or bad names. It's not right and it upsets me because kids these days are cruel and it makes me want to punch them in the face. She didn't deserve a year like that. I am currently in 9th grade and I haven't heard anything of her but just please everyone, think twice before you say things. - Anonymous in Bridgeport, CT
I am 59 years old. Sounds odd, does it not? Why would she have anything to share?
I am 59 years old. Sounds odd, does it not? Why would she have anything to share? I graduated from Gates Chili High school back in 1975 and even before that, in middle school, I was labeled a slut. I had not even kissed a boy but I was labeled. Being blonde, blue eyed, not physically maturing like my Italian class mates at this time was a struggle to begin with. I had crushes for boys but I did not understand why I would be labeled in such a cruel way. Not being liked due to this label made me insecure, unhappy, leaving me with very low self esteem. This continued all the way into high school. I did not get asked to dances and went just to sit there watching others. I was not even asked to the Senior Prom. I went with a family friend who would not talk or dance with me because he told me he was embarrassed to be seen with a slut. How could I be a slut when I did not even go on a date? As I grew up and graduated from college, I still struggled with very low self esteem. Dating was awkward with looking for someone to love me. I married and had a beautiful daughter, but my marriage was not made in heaven. Betrayal by my husband still to this day has caused heartache, the marriage was a scam and I was a paycheck. You know the phrase...married in name only. So as you can see, cruelty and bullying during the early part of growing up causes invisible scars that do not heal. I hope this project will save another young person from the injustice of being branded a slut. - Cee
The next day she had told everyone that I was a fat slut who tried to steal her boyfriend. He was the one making moves the whole time.
This entry includes descriptions of sexual assault and rape.
My first "real" kiss was when I was 12, you know the kind that wasn't a truth or dare kiss or just on the cheek. It was a guy who was dating a friend of mine (he was 15). It was a cast party (for a musical I was in, his girlfriend was in it too) and I went outside for some air. He followed. We were talking and he leaned in to kiss me. I had my back to the house, not realizing that he did this just as his gf had walked outside to see us. This was my first experience with anything sexual really, and also my first time ever being called a slut. She ran right up, slapped ME and called me a slut, grabbed the guy, who laughed and walked away with her. I was lost and so confused. The next day we had another performance of the musical and she had told everyone that I was a fat slut who tried to steal her boyfriend. He was the one making moves the whole time. Only in recent years have I realized that this event contributed to the many years of awful sexual experiences and abuse that I would endure. As a freshman in high school I was assaulted by a freshman in college, who swore I "wanted it" even though I cried the whole time. As a freshman in college I was assaulted by my Resident Advisor in his room and was afraid to tell anyone because I was drunk in the dorms, so I kept it to myself for years. The first time I had sex, I don't even remember it because I was blackout drunk - therefore it could technically be considered rape. I had to be drunk to do anything sexually for the first 10 years of my sexual activity. The first man I was comfortable being with sober was my ex who was an emotional and mentally abusive man for years. When we would fight, he would call such names as well, slut, whore, cunt, things to really keep me down and believe that no one else could love me. Lots of therapy has helped me regain my own self worth, but to trace it back to the start, it was the one experience at 12 years old. Being called a slut back then, now being 30 years old, it's amazing how much weight words can hold. - Caitlin, Massachusetts
He told me he would break up with me if I didn't give him a blowjob. I did so, desperate to keep him, and he broke up with me anyway.
This entry includes a reference to self-harm.
As a freshman at my new highschool, I was constantly given sweeping generalizations and labels regarding who I was by the tight knit community I had joined. I had my first kiss that October with a boy I had known since I was 11 - as soon as word got out that I "allowed him" to touch my boobs, I was given the label of a slut. Every time I mentioned a boy to any of the girls I was called "desperate" and "thirsty". Later that year, I had a boyfriend who I dated for 3 months. He told me he would break up with me if I didn't give him a blowjob. I did so, desperate to keep him, and he broke up with me anyway. I have not given a blowjob or hooked up with a boy since, but people at my school still make hurtful comments about my mistake. This isolation and prejudgment about who I am and where my values are has made me self harm. The focus on my body caused my development of bulimia.
It's mind boggling that my story is one in thousands of similar stories. It shouldn't even be a normal thing that girls/women go through.
This entry includes a description of sexual violence and references to suicide and self-harm.
I was in 8th/9th grade and had a boyfriend. I was with him for about two years and lost my virginity to him. He asked for pictures of me naked, and I wanted him to like me a lot so I did it. He ended up doing this to at least 5 other girls I found out about. He ended up showing all of his friends my pictures and it started from there. He showed all of his friends not only my naked pictures, but other girls' naked pictures, even from girls from other schools. I was branded a slut. I had boys and girls both coming up to me in school and calling me a slut or a whore to my face. I had boys in my neighborhood and from my school asking for nudes, constantly. It never stopped. They always assumed I would give it to them because that was my thing apparently. About two years later I met a boy, a senior in high school. He was being nicer to me than any boy has ever been to me and he always walked me home. He would text me and ask me to give him blowjobs because that's what you do if you like a boy, according to him. I repeatedly told him no. We took a back way one day to my house and he wanted to kiss, which I did. He wanted it to escalate and I didn't want to. He eventually just pulled his penis out in front of me and eventually got me to perform oral sex. He secretly video taped me and showed it to the entire school. You can only imagine how bad it got. Add this with an abusive family and friends that hated me, well, I attempted suicide. I was self inflicting for a few years at this point. I felt alone, I felt as if something was wrong with me. I swallowed a bottle full of pills, I ended up having suicidal thoughts frequently. A minute into it or so I thought about my younger brother who loved me more than anything and got the pills out of my stomach. I'm now 21, happy and full of confidence. I have strong women for friends and I am no longer ashamed of myself. It's mind boggling that my story is one in thousands of similar stories. It shouldn't even be a normal thing that girls/women go through. I want girls to know that there are people out there that have gone through this and overcome it. Change can happen and it can get better. - Ashley in Houston, TX
I've carried so much guilt and shame on my shoulders for over five years. I've never been able to enjoy intimacy.
This entry includes a description of rape.
Even to this day I kind of blame myself because I put myself in a position where I was able to be taken advantage of. However I was a naive innocent child who trusted the good in other people. I grew up in the same small town in New Plymouth. Ever since I was a kid I've always been concerned about my appearance. In my last year of intermediate, boys started to show interest in me. This was quite flattering and overwhelming. Soon after my group of friends at school decided that they'd turn against me for being a slut (I was a virgin). I was bullied. As an escape I wanted to drink and do drugs. When I was 12 years old I bought some cannabis (I have nothing against cannabis) and went to a boys house who said I could smoke it at his house (I was 12; I was scared to smoke in public and had nowhere else to go really). Once I was high this guy proceeded to touch me and I was uncomfortable. He then started to take my pants off and I wasn't wanting to wake up his friend who was on the floor. I was saying no, I don't want to do this. And I guess I didn't resist enough because he said it won't hurt that much and just pushed it in. It didn't last long and I remember going to the dirty toilet and seeing blood then just crying. This was how I lost my virginity. I proceeded to develop feelings for this person who had raped me. He abused me physically and mentally and ever since I've never felt good about myself and I'm not able to function positively in an intimate relationship. This experience has really ruined my young life. I've carried so much guilt and shame on my shoulders for over five years. I've never been able to enjoy intimacy. I feel inadequate as a human being. And yet I was labelled a slut. My innocence was stolen and my naive nature exploited as a child. I have never been the same since. This is the first time I've truly told my story.
It hasn't stopped. I'm posting this to let you know, it helps to talk to someone.
A long time ago, I had a boyfriend. He was nice at the start, but eventually, he started drinking, and one night, he started yelling at me. Calling me a fat slut, a whore, a worthless pile of garbage. He must have had a bad day, but it kept going, until everyone was calling me slut. He spread rumours... lies. My family interfered. But it hasn't stopped. I'm posting this to let you know, it helps to talk to someone. But [for me,] only a family member, NEVER a friend. I have to pretend I'm happy until I really am. So... it does get better. This is the end of my story.
Even my guidance teacher has basically called myself and my friend a slut, saying it to our parents.
This entry includes references to self-harm.
People in my school found out me and my friend send nudes. This started to make them catfish us and walk past us in school shouting "slut." This has been going on for over 5 months. Even my guidance teacher has basically called myself and my friend a slut, saying it to our parents. To be honest it is absolutely ridiculous. This has caused me to self-harm, etc. People in my school have even taken pictures of us and posted them online making fun of us, and the school blamed it on us. It's just stupid now.
I realized that was the only time I felt better or wasn't thinking about hurting myself was when I was dancing.
This entry includes descriptions of self-harm.
Ever since I was in elementary school I was bullied for my physical appearance. It increasingly got worse in middle and high school. People (mostly boys) would make unnecessary comments about my body, pointing out how flat-chested I was, how my stomach was a little chubbier than other girls' or how I had acne, glasses and a horrible lisp due to my mouth expander. They constantly compared me to my much prettier older sister, which made me feel even worse. I had very few friends as well and my family was dealing with other issues... My dad was a raging alcoholic, my oldest sister was away at college, and my mom was desperately trying to save her husband and marriage. It's safe to say I felt completely alone and neglected. I was 12 when I started cutting and I didn't stop until I was 17. I was an incredibly late bloomer. My body didn't develop until I was around 16, and I wasn't considered "pretty" until 17 when I got my braces off. I didn't come clean about the cutting to my mother for years. I was 15 when I told her. I was terrified. She was so angry with me like I knew she would be. She told the rest of my family and all of a sudden they started to realize how depressed I really was. They didn't understand it at all. My father, with whom I am very close, was the only one who really understood once he started his journey towards sobriety. In eighth grade, my best friend, Courtney, at the time was slowly drifting away, being accepted into the group of popular kids. When she found out about the cutting, she was freaked out. She texted me saying how I was just a sad and boring person who had nothing better to do than slit her wrists as a cry for attention. Needless to say, she had finally been accepted as "popular" and didn't want me to damage her new reputation, especially right before the start of high school. All summer the cutting continued. At this point in time, the only people who knew were Courtney and Hayley (my best friend since 7th grade who also struggled with self-harm). I was 14.The rumor got out that I cut myself for attention, and wanted so badly to be popular, which of course wasn't true at all. I didn't like any of the popular kids and had no desire to be in their group. This only made matters worse, since rumors about me were going around. I was already bullied for the way I dressed, how I styled my hair, the makeup I wore. I was the "weird" girl. Very few boys liked me. I did have a couple boyfriends but that's a totally different story... My first two years in high school were rough. I made a few friends but the cutting still persisted. It wasn't until the end of my sophomore year that I decided to try something. I tried out for the school's dance team. I had been taking dance classes and I realized that was the only time I felt better or wasn't thinking about hurting myself was when I was dancing. I made the team, and junior year was a huge improvement for me. My teammates became like family to me and my coach became a tremendous inspiration and friend. They eventually found out about the cutting. They saw my scars because of the way our costumes fit on our bodies. But once I started dancing, I cut less and less. It gave me so much confidence. I felt better about my body and myself as a person. By my senior year I had become best friends with a girl I never thought I'd be friends with. Hannah and I became inseparable and she didn't freak out when I told her about the cutting. She is still my best friend today. She was on dance team with me senior year. I got my braces off before the first football game of the season, and all of a sudden, I was considered "hot". The boys who picked on me started to make comments about how I "transformed" over the summer and how "they'd totally hook up with me now". I remember a few trying to talk to me at a football game and grabbing at my body in my tight dance uniform. This disgusted me honestly, because not only did they make fun of me for years and touch me without my permission, they never got to know me as a person and were only going off my physical appearance to judge my value as a person. I continued to cut myself frequently, most of it due to a horrible breakup I went through in the fall. I had dated this boy for a year and a half. We were each other's first love, so it was really difficult. But anyways, after many years I have learned that self-harm doesn't do any good. All it does is feed the cycle of depression. When I read "UnSlut: A Diary and a Memoir" and watched the documentary, I was so inspired. I have definitely seen acts of bullying and slut-shaming in my schools and I'm pretty lucky that I didn't have to go through that like Emily Lindin and so many other girls. It hurts my heart that it happened to them and that it continues to happen to girls every day. I did experience bullying, though. And obviously years of self-harm. I am now a freshman in college, a dance education major. I hope we as a society can educate young adults about all things regarding sex, sexual violence, relationships, mental health, bullying, feminism, and gender equality. - Madison, North Carolina
I'm a 6th grader and this shouldn't happen to a person this young.
This entry includes references to sexual assault and self-harm.
Note to the author: Please reach out to a parent or teacher for help immediately. You are NOT alone, and this is NOT your fault. You can overcome it, just like the women who have shared their stories here before you. Please visit this link and check out the resources available to you. I am always here to talk, as well. Love, Emily
I'm a 6th grader and this shouldn't happen to a person this young. It all started 1 month ago when my best friend invited me over, and her brother's friends were there. From the beginning they would always harass me and say things like, ''Oh I would bang her till she's begging for more'' and things like that. When I got up to go to the bathroom her brother's friend followed me. He walked in and did things to me that I would not like to do. The next day I went to school and all my friends ignored me. People would come up to me and call me a hoe, slut, and many more. I felt alone and sad. No would talk to me. The only time they would is when they make fun of me. I was pushed into lockers and beat up almost everyday. I was completely done with it so I have been cutting myself. I'm still afraid to tell my mom about this and the bullying is still happening and getting worse.
I am seen as a whore and a homewrecker. Everyone I once knew quit speaking to me.
This entry includes descriptions of violence.
I was married to a man who mentally and physically abused me. He also cheated on me from very early on in our marriage. I had children. I didn't know where I would go if I left. He was arrested for choking me and threatening to kill me. I was assigned a victims advocate and introduced to an organization that helps women get out of abusive relationships. I knew I had to get out but wasn't sure how to do that. Then I met another man. He was kind to me and told me he would help me in anyway he could to get me out of the situation I was in. I filed for divorce and moved into his house. I felt hope for the first time in a long time. I thought my family would support me. My mother had left my dad because he pushed her. Once. And her parents were there for her. And I thought I'd always had a pretty close family. But I'd never went against what they thought was right for me. My ex husband went to them and told them it had been a misunderstanding. He hadn't meant to hit me. He was defending himself from my attack. And that I left him for another man. And they turned their back on me. No one will speak to me. We live in the same small town and they turn their heads when they see me. I eventually asked my mother why she wasn't supportive of me. She knew we had had problems. I'd never told her the whole truth about the abuse. But I figured if I came clean she would be there for me. She always told me growing up that I could come to her for anything. Well she told me that she couldn't deal with the stress of what I was doing to my kids. When I asked what that was she said showing them that you are a slut that will throw away your whole family for another man. I was floored. I couldn't believe this was about me sleeping with another man. How could they ignore all the things I'd been through? How was my sex life a part of any of this? Come to find out everyone believes that my marriage ended because I met someone else. I am seen as a whore and a homewrecker. Everyone I once knew quit speaking to me. I have no friends, no family, no support. I am so lonely. And have nowhere to go.
I did what he said and allowed him to sexually assault me, along with his friends. He blackmailed me and said if I didn't he would bully me until I killed myself.
This entry includes descriptions of sexual assault and self-harm.
Note to the author: Please reach out to a parent or teacher for help immediately. You are NOT alone, and this is NOT your fault. You can overcome it, just like the women who have shared their stories here before you. Please visit www.samaritans.org and check out the resources available to you. I am always here to talk, as well. Love, Emily
It's a long one. I was always the odd one out in school because I was abused by my mother. I was always called fat and ugly in primary school and had no friends at all. I went to secondary school, the first few weeks were great, I made friends and people would often tell me i was one of the prettiest girls in my year. For once in my life I felt great about school but it all changed. I shared my first kiss with a guy I had a crush on for a while, rumours got round about me doing other things (which weren't true!) and before I knew it my entire year appeared behind me and the source of the rumours was a girl who hated me for nothing. She stated I was giving him a blowjob. The rumours started. I heard everything from that I was giving handjobs underneath tables, to having sex, etc. I was still being abused by my mum, too, at the time but I refused to let it beat me! I just used to sit there and be clueless about what people would say. I was walking home one day and a guy from my class along with his friend, pushed me to the ground and practically raped me. By pushing his penis in between my thighs. I went home and cried myself to sleep. He told the entire school I consented. At the time I was a terrified little girl who was scared of being bullied. So I did what he said and allowed him to sexually assault me, along with his friends. He blackmailed me and said if I didn't he would bully me until I killed myself. I said no at one point and the bullying started for real this time. He would tell me I'm ugly, fat, and no one wants me when there's other girls. He said lads will use me for my body. He would bring my ex best friend up saying she's beautiful and I'm not. His friends used to call me a dog and try to hit me. The whole school believed him and I got jumped and called a slut. Enough was enough and I got the police involved. They couldn't do much about the rape but they arrested the people who jumped me. So I grew up a wreck. Tried to throw myself under an express train and cut my wrists open. I was desperate to kill myself. I got my first serious boyfriend and he was sexist and abusive. He would hit me and call me a whore, and he knocked my molars out. I feel like he only got with me because of all the rumours I was easy. He wanted sex every day and in the end the pill failed and I got pregnant, and he forced me into a termination. In college I ruined it for myself by being anxiety-ridden and not talking to people, so I was called odd. I left my boyfriend and met an amazing person who treated me so different and liked me. But I never wanted to see him because I was convinced he was using me. So he broke it off. I ended up going back to my abusive ex and all the cheating accusations started. It started with ask fm questions like, 'ugly slag,' 'why are you so pale, you're scary,' you treat your bf like shit,' (when it was the other way round). So much so one of my abusive boyfriend's friends got in my face and grabbed me. In 2015 I left my abusive ex because he was seeing another woman. I was off the rails, drank so much, did drugs. My male friend pestered me to get with him and when I refused he said once, 'ugly slag' then he said I was mad and it was a joke. So as a big 'fuck you', I got drunk and slept with a guy I liked (my first one night stand). And he happened to be this guy's friend. My guy friend plastered all over I was a slut. And the guy I slept with binned me. I've never felt so low in all my life. The guy just moved on and my guy friend turned everyone against me, even though he was the bad person. I got taken advantage of whilst drunk by some guy I didn't know and I had no idea what happened. Before I knew it rumours were going round like mad (amongst grown adults). I can't have a relationship, never mind the guy I want, because he thinks I'm a slut. My life' s no better. I'm severely depressed, and try to take my own life every week. No one calls me a slut to my face because they also brand me as mental. - Anonymous in England
I would run to the girls restroom and hide in the stalls. I was so depressed.
This entry includes references to self-harm.
I am Tristany, and my story starts with a rumor. Rumors about me making out with guys and girls in the stalls of the girls restroom. I was branded a 'slut,' 'prostitute,' and 'hoe'. I hated myself! I had a history of cutting. I had gotten help for it but when the rumors started I relapsed and it was the worst thing. People would walk up and ask for blowjobs, girls would walk up and ask if I fucked anyone yet. I wouldn't answer. I would run to the girls restroom and hide in the stalls. I was so depressed. I told my mom, but I didn't know if she would do anything. Then I found this website and read the book 'Unslut: A Diary and A Memoir' and it helped me realize I wasn't alone. - Tristany
I wanted to speak out but before I could, they'd already told everyone that I was "sleeping" with them, when all I had done was cry and express discomfort over them touching me. I was branded a slut and nobody wanted to talk to me in school.
This entry includes references to sexual assault and self-harm.
I was 12, unaware of sexual abuse and what it consisted of. Sex education in my country is something I can't see happening; India as a country still views sex as a taboo. I was friends with a couple of guys in my class, you know, the casual friendships you have. I was targeted by people saying I'm friends with them for "other reasons." Yes, that's how bad the situation is. A girl can't be friends with guys unless she fucks them? These guys ultimately believed that I wanted to "be" with them and these 3 guys assaulted me for the first time. Unaware as I was, I didn't think much of it. I was disturbed and hated it. I didn't like them touching me that way when I visited them to watch movies. After 5 months I did find out what they were doing was wrong. I wanted to speak out but before I could, they'd already told everyone that I was "sleeping" with them, when all I had done was cry and express discomfort over them touching me. I was branded a slut and nobody wanted to talk to me in school. I wasn't respected by anyone. Now I ask, why is it necessary for women to be modest to be respected? Why is a woman's worth based on her sexual history? The sexual assault and the wrongly aimed slut shaming I received led me to be a self harmer because I was always told it was my fault. Now 4 years after the incident, I've finally realised that people talk shit and you have to give a deaf ear to it.
I've been "slut" shamed the past 5 days because my mom read the messages and was mortified, considering she thought I didn't know anything at all about sex.
I have switched schools multiple times for being slut shamed. I have only have had 2 boyfriends when other girls are actually having sex. In my opinion, people often forget the definition of "slut." It means untidy, but our generation often uses it differently. This incident just recently happened. I have been home from school the past 4 days. Two weeks before my birthday, invitations were supposed to be handed out, but instead the two girls I thought were my friends decided to look through my messages and send them to everyone. No, they weren't nudes (yes, some Christians send nudes, but no). I thought my boyfriend would break up with me if I didn't talk dirty, but that wasn't the case. We are no longer together anymore, but we're best friends. It's really hard to just forget about him, but he doesn't know that I've been slut shamed the past 5 days because my mom read the messages and was mortified, considering she thought I didn't know anything at all about sex. An "exposed" page was made about me on Instagram. The bio said, "Payback's a bitch, huh honey," then she changed it to "baby cakes." My counselor for my mom and my relationship is my rock, and always finds a way to make me feel better. I'm basically alive because of her and, well, Jesus of course. She proved to me that the account was taken down and she says the person who made it spelled "exposed" wrong. I am attending school tomorrow, aka HELL. I have been sexually assaulted twice and it really makes me feel awful when I'm getting called slut and my parents are making me feel more awful than I already am. And this was definitely a wake up call. PEOPLE ARE ENTITLED TO THEIR OPINION. NO ONE CAN DEFINE YOU BUT YOU. AND IF YOU'RE A "SLUT," WHO CARES? IF YOU'RE HAPPY DOING WHAT YOU LOVE, DO IT. This story has inspired me so much. I would like to say thank you for being such an inspiration to people like me, and I know people have it worse than me, but I just had to vent.
As far as I knew, it was my job to convince my partners to have sex, and their jobs to prevent me, as all good Catholic girls do.
I just heard the NPR One podcast about this project and when I look back at my behavior, I am fully regretful for how I dealt with the learning of sex. I grew up in the DC area, and many of the young women I dated in high school were from one of many Catholic schools. I had no training in courtship, no advice from my father on how to behave with an intimate partner. As far as I knew, it was my job to convince my partners to have sex, and their jobs to prevent me, as all good Catholic girls do. I never forced myself on another person, but after a few terrifying attempts to have sex with a man, I realized how frustrating and paralyzing uncertainty and sex can be. I could have said, "You know, I don't think this is my thing," and the man was my good friend, but I felt trapped. In a way intimacy can turn from warm to ice cold, at the turn of a thought. - Chris
I always felt like it wasn't a big deal, there was nothing I could do about it, as I was a 'slut' that shouldn't have been there in the first place. So I never told anyone.
This entry includes references to self-harm and rape.
I am an ordinary girl (well a bit more than ordinary as I'm creative and fun!) doing Textiles at University. I was looking forward to coming to university, I felt like I had made it. I was so excited about the people I was going to meet and the great new course I was starting. Making new friends and finding my feet was fun but I have a tendency to trust everyone. I was newly single, too, I felt sexy, I had a new confidence, all these students who wanted to know me was overwhelming. If I wanted to get with someone I would go ahead and do it. But with that, my new friends would start to have something to say about it. At first it was a bit of a laugh and I'd roll my eyes, but then it started to circulate. Boys started using me because they knew I was "loose', boys I genuinely liked would drop me as soon as they were done. I felt alone. I would cry every night. I felt like I couldn't turn to girl friends because I thought they would blame me, that it was my own wrong doing. I would get drunk and cut my skin on my arm to make the pain I felt in my heart go away. I fantasied about having a boyfriend, someone who would love me no matter what, but I felt like everyone knew my sexual history. I would be smiley through the day at lectures, so no one would know my heart would break every time someone was in a new relationship. I would go out and get so drunk that I didn't care, meeting new boys wasn't fun anymore as I would only want them to come back for company. I ended up going back to a student house with a friend and two boys one night. I knew one of the boys liked my friend so they disappeared off. I was left with one, and he had his hands all over me. I didn't like him, he made my skin crawl. But I thought I had to give him something as I had come back with him, so I thought a kiss wouldn't hurt. This was the wrong idea as he whipped his pants off and started to writhe around on top of me. The room was dark, and I started to feel a bit turned on as he kissed my neck but before I knew it, he shoved his penis inside me, pulling my knickers aside. I got frightened, my body was stiff, I knew I didn't want him to have sex with me. With a few aggressive thrusts, he groaned and rolled over onto his side. I lay there in the dark, dazed. I always felt like it wasn't a big deal, there was nothing I could do about it, as I was a 'slut' that shouldn't have been there in the first place. So I never told anyone. And even to this day I don't know his name. I am still at Uni, currently in third year. I am on anti-depressants and I have a boyfriend. I am so much happier than I was, I never want to be in that lonely dark place again. I know I still have a long way to go and in some ways I am still in denial, I have lied to my boyfriend about how many people I have slept with. He hasn't met many of the university peeps either so I am in my own bubble. People still have something to say occasionally and I feel like I have to justify myself because I have a boyfriend now and it was a 'phase'. Fuck that, if a girl wants to have fun and fuck because it feels good, thats okay. I was unhappy because of the people around me, and the label people who did not know me chose to give me, not because of my actions. I hope there are more ordinary girls out there that feel the same because I felt alone for so long. - Anonymous, from a university in England
They thought I acted smart just because I wanted attention from boys. They called me a slut and a bitch behind my back. I never understood why.
I never like gossiping, I don't even like it now. While the girls used to sit and gossip on the playground, I and my best friend used to play football with the boys. I didn't care if you were a boy or a girl. I just wanted to play. At first, they used to say, you just want attention and popularity. But it was never like this, I hate back bitching or spreading hurtful rumours or calling anyone slut. But then, my best friend transferred to Canada and I was left alone. No girl talked with me. So I became best friends with a guy in my class. So he was damn good looking, all the girls thought. Soon all of them started getting jealous of me, all the girls who used to act like I didn't exist. Soon I heard someone saying "bitch" behind my back, but it didn't matter to me. Me and my best friend (the guy) drifted apart as our classes shuffled. We still talked but had not much time, as studying was the first priority. I thought it might be a great start as the classes had shuffled, but it wasn't. They thought I tried to look hot just because I was tall. They thought I acted smart just because I wanted attention from boys. But this isn't true. I never cared about how I act in front of boys or how good I look, I don't even care now. They called me a slut and a bitch behind my back. I never understood why. This whole thing stopped when I stood up for myself and then slowly, slowly, everyone started supporting me a bit. It was because - We all have feelings. We can't control them. You wake up every morning and realize you're going to have a horrible day again, this used to happen with me. Girls have every right to be free. And anyway if someone wants to have sex with a guy, that's their own business, why does someone else have to poke their noses in and comment unnecessary things? If you want a physical relationship with a guy, go on. It's your life, you can do it if you feel right. Remember calling someone slut or whore won't make you any better. And of course for my last words - "We accept the love we think we deserve."
It is pretty challenging to find mainstream stories, yet, of trans people negotiating relationships and relations in the real world.
I am a trans woman who has been (still) passing as a gay man for 35+ years and am just now finding my confidence, my voice. 1970's sexual liberation typically did not extend to LGBT folk who still had generally to fear for their lives, their jobs, their families and their communities - even in San Francisco. But at least gay liberation was visible in the 70's, even if mainstreamed as a freak show. The only trans woman I remember as a kid, however, was the ineffable tennis star Renee Richards. Funny, upon reflection, until the beginning of high school I was 'mildly' bullied by girls more than boys and internally fought my perceived orientation as well. The turning point was being stalked and groped in the Paris Metro at 15, this time by a middle aged man, before I could accept truths about gender or orientation apparent to everyone however hard I fought it. It was thrilling and perilous to join the gay liberation in 1980 - including reckless but unknowing behavior just before AIDS - but that's another story. By 18 and fully 'out', I could battle any homophobic indignity at school or the work place - and without question put career and the picket fence ahead of always surfacing realities of gender authenticity. With all the progress in Marriage Equality and the Trans Movement today, the latter in media infancy, we still have so few images of ourselves in pop culture. I thank you for your discussion of 'saints and sinners'. I hear a lot of stories about successful and failed marriages of transitioning people. I also don't need to tell you how many stories I hear, heart warming and heart wrenching and salacious, of trans people who are sex workers. But like gay and lesbian folk during the years from Stonewall to DODT, it is pretty challenging to find mainstream stories, yet, of trans people negotiating relationships and relations in the real world. As a designer, I speak my truth on exactly that - the meaning and image of Truth and Beauty as we all individually and collectively perceive it. I invite you to the conversation at my blog. Bon Courage! - Danielle Sylvie Brody
I get shamed for being a woman, I get shamed for doing the same thing a man would get praised for. Do I feel bad? No.
It was the summer before freshman year when I gave a boy oral sex and I experienced the first ever slut shaming in my life. The boy had told everyone and being 14, new to a school, and having barely anyone like you is bad, but being 14, and having rumors about you giving blow jobs is worse. It was known around the school that I had given a blow job to the boy. At that point, everyone would swarm me with questions like "Did you like it? What was it like?" And patriarchally bred little girls my age would ask me, "Do you have any respect for yourself?" Why is it that, when a woman engages in a sex act that's not with her husband or a long time lover her self respect and self worth is lessoned and questioned? If I was a guy bragging about how I had sexual intercourse with a girl who wasn't my spouse or partner I would be deemed "the man." Rumors kept circulating around me and in a highschool as big as the one I went to, things tend to get speculated and made up. Rumors went around that I was engaging in oral sex with 8 guys at one time, that I had let a senior have sex with me in a teacher-staff conference room, that I had gave head in a garage. I was the butt of so many jokes, girls would try to offer advice to me. I was getting slut shamed, and that shit hurts more than a insult like "Her shoes are ugly" or "Ew, she's not that cute." Because your value gets deteriorated and you're looked at as a less deserving, non respected harlot. The thing is, I was a naive, little girl who knew nothing about how women were supposed to be looked at in this society. I let guys sell me dreams, have sexual relations with me, then throw me away. And all the times it happened, I was never pitied, I was looked at as the perpetrator more than the victim. The truth is, I like being a "slut." I like wearing tight clothes, I like exploring my sexuality, and I like being sexual. Now that I have matured, I know when and who to give my sexual energy towards, and who not to. But I still get shamed. I get shamed for being a woman, I get shamed for doing the same thing a man would get praised for. Do I feel bad? No. But, it took lots of doubts through contemplated self harm, depression, and alteration of my personality to get to the point where I understood misogynistic roles for women in this society, and understood I was doing nothing wrong. I want slut shaming to stop, because not only does it perpetuate century old double standards, but it also influences misogynistic idealism, that should not be taught to any child.
We must remember and acknowledge how strong we are (as women) and not make useless efforts to convince those who don't want to believe.
To share my story is not a means to place guilt or blame on anybody. We all learn, and as we do we experience things we would like to forget, eventually. I'm now old enough to be the mother to many of you (boys and girls). Yet, many of my experiences may seem just as fresh and current as they are to the youngest reader. I was brought up believing in respect for my body, to keep myself till the day of my wedding and to expect sex as proof of love and everlasting commitment. Yes, I held those convictions for longer than many of you have (perhaps). Even if at the age of eight I was to experience my first fondling by a girl three years my elder. I recall being afraid, ashamed and not understanding any of it. This went on for a few months till we moved to another house. Of course, nobody knew about it. Later on, as I went into a mixed school, as we called it, boys came into the picture, some nice, some not so nice. I was taught to stay away, but, though I was not a pretty girl, I was very cute and boys seemed to like that very much. Many approached me with well defined intentions to date and many others did not even ask. They simply assumed I wanted to be touched because well, I was a girl. Yes, it happened a few times in school, though not to the point of rape. Blame? Guilt? Shame was the feeling that filled me for many years of my young life. I did not blame myself or the boys who did not respect me. I lamented the lack of power to reject those advances. I wished for the power to punish those who did not listen to me. As I said, this is no longer the case because, in time, I understood the pressure both boys and girls experience. a boy who does not "chase girls" is considered less than a man. A girl who does not submit to a request from a man is not cool... and so on. Is there a solution? Perhaps, if we found a way to stop the social decay that's corroding the marrow of our own culture we may be able to begin a new era in which we may reach a better understanding of the beauty of being a boy or a girl. Perhaps, we (women) must stopped striving to be more like men and instead do the best we can without forgetting how beautiful it is to be a woman. Perhaps if we raise our boys with the knowledge necessary to be capable of understanding that instinct alone is not what gives pleasure. Perhaps.... There is so much to be done and the key is to find the understanding within and to begin a one-on-one education that will last for the rest of our lives. The remedy for us, the women who fell victim to abuse or molestation, is not to find a place for guilt or blame. We must remember and acknowledge how strong we are (as women) and not make useless efforts to convince those who don't want to believe. We ought to walk forward, with our heads high, assured that we are capable of doing the most amazing things. After all, we are intelligent and beautiful; we are strong and delicate. We are tender, but capable of defending our honor and the lives of our children. Remember! Being who we are is the greatest treasure we could offer to the world. Love you all. - Tracie Andersen
I tried to take my life but I was caught and hospitalized. Everyone knew, somehow, what had happened.
This entry includes references to self-harm and suicide.
When I was in 7th grade I had my first boyfriend and he manipulated me in to giving him a hand job. He told all of his friends and I became labelled as a "whore". Everyone knew about it and I began getting notes in my locker telling me to kill myself or that I should become a prostitute. I tried to keep myself up but everything and everyone seemed to be pulling me down. One night I couldn't handle it anymore. I broke down and cried until I couldn't cry anymore. I became depressed from the bullying and would hide from the girls whom I had once called my friends. I wanted it to be over. I tried to take my life but I was caught and hospitalized. Everyone knew, somehow, what had happened. So I started drinking and smoking. I WAS OUT OF CONTROL. My dad took me in and I switched schools. I had a new start... or so I thought. I became really close with a girl and I told her my story. She told everyone and it all happened again. At this point I felt numb and just stopped giving a damn. I started hooking up with guys and thought I'll give them a reason to call me that name. My parents and the few friends I had tried to comfort me because they saw I had given up. I began cutting and drinking even more. I would hear the girls pointing at me and whispering loud enough to for me to hear all the foul things they called me. This all started three years ago and it still hurts me to think about it. - Catherine Mendoza-Bartels
I'm now 27 years old and I've realized over the years that my dad was wrong. I wasn't a slut and I didn't dress like one.
I never imagined that I would be called a slut by my own parent. I was in Jr. High and I was playing dress up at my house. I wore a short dress that went to my knees, and was wearing lipstick. The dress I wore didn't show anything and I wasn't going to go outside dressed like that. I was playing dress up, where's the harm in that? Almost every young girl plays dress up. That afternoon my dad stopped by which was unusual for me because he has never been around and rarely came to see my sister and I so I was shocked to open the door and see him there. He looked at me and said, " You look like a slut". I was so embarrassed and even a bit ashamed. It affected my self-esteem as the years went by. I believed my dad, and I was always careful of what I would wear. I didn't want to look like what my father accused me of. I started hating myself and would change shirts to make sure the crack wasn't showing, there was a period where I thought I was ugly. I'm now 27 years old and I've realized over the years that my dad was wrong. I wasn't a slut and I didn't dress like one. I was playing dress up. It was all innocent. We are not sluts and once we are labeled that, it changes how we feel about our selves. It needs to stop. - Brandy Miller
People think I'm a slut because of my past, because of my sexuality, because I have to lie to make it all better for them, because I have to fake confidence, because I'm ME.
This entry includes references to rape and self-harm.
Maybe it was the fact that no one had ever liked me before in that way, but when I first came into secondary school, I basked in the attention. I mean, guys, liking me? I was finally feeling confident, and God did it feel great for people to finally realise that yes, I was a real person who wasn't meant to be ignored (which happened in primary school for almost 3 years, wherein some people didn't even know my name or of existence). Then summer came, and this faux confidence came crashing down round my ears. You see, my mom was pregnant. Until the fact she had a stillborn birth, was stuck in the ICU for the better part of 2 months, and we didn't know whether she was living or dying. After that point, I was stuck between two moods: intense, reckless euphoria, and mopey depression. I was so reckless I even let a boy touch me under the table several times. Me, a person who was usually independent and feministic, was submissive as my ex-boyfriend's friend came up to me, in school and in front of the teachers, and touched my boobs. No one did anything of course, because it was just a harmless prank. Of course. When my mom came out the hospital, I began to experiment deeper into my love life. It was great, because I thought 3 guys liked me. And that's what I needed at that time; someone to care about me. Because I hate to admit it, but when my mom was dying, me and my brother were pushed off to the side, and I was dealing with heavy emotional irregularities, and I couldn't deal. I was weak beforehand. I had been going through a depressive state for the better part of year 5-7, and I had tried to kill myself multiple times. After the last attempt in April, I told myself I would live - not for me, but for the bump on my mother's stomach. And when the baby died, I lost hope. I wanted to die and drown, but it would've killed my recovering mom. I felt numb and reckless, so when an older guy began to take interest in me when I had a boyfriend, I did what any numb and immoral teen would do, and cheated on the said boyfriend with the older guy. I sent pics, too, to the both of them. It gave me a thrill, and I needed to feel anything but the badness in me. In a burst of insanity, I told my boyfriend I cheated on him. Despite the fact he was the resident player who cared about no girl, he cried. Told his dad. Then told everyone I sent pictures (of my boobs) to him and promised him things - which only intensified the rumours which circulated that I was an easy lay, which my ex-boyfriend had provided in explicit detail. So there I was, school slut. I hate to admit it, but after that, I was depressed. I was a slut, my parents knew (they came upon one of my convos with my ex) and were disappointed, and I was easy. Insert another suicide attempt. Next came the day I planned my co-suicide with my friend. And I cut lines across my leg and God help me, but I didn't feel anything. I fucking laughed when the blood dropped with the shower down the drain, and I wanted to die because I had no reason to live. When I came back to school, some guys lied to their mates and said I had sent nudes, and that I had big boobs (which I do for my age). I had brief moments where I felt the horrible things that I did, and sometimes I would get into these episodes where I would burst into tears and scratch mindlessly at my skin because I felt dirty. I felt ashamed of my body and curves and beauty I had because I was objectified and was just another notch on some boys bed. Maybe the repercussions of this on my psyche and mind are worse than the events, but the events are still this thing I can't say allowed - I'm surprised I can even type this. Because now, a few years later, I have panic attacks whenever I'm confronted with this period in my life, and my parents pretend I don't suffer from a mental illness because I'm the only one with a problem in my family, and everyone negates and belittles the things I went through, and I still hate my body. I hate showing my body off, and then, I worsen that fact by wearing "slutty" clothing because isn't that what's expected of me? The school's closet slut? And I still have to fight this stupid thing where I have to try and fight the urge to cut again, and I can't tell anyone because my parents have made everyone believe I'm an attention whore calling for attention. Even the school's therapist has stopped caring. Because when I was going through one of my worse panic attacks, I can remember her vividly yelling at me that I was lying to get out of lesson, that I was overreacting. Worse thing is though, that I believe most of it. Because fuck, I like both male and female, I'm bisexual (it feels good to admit it!), which makes me a "slut." I'm mentally ill, which makes me a pathological liar because of course, mental illnesses don't exist in POC (according to my Asian parents). And people think I'm a slut because of my past, because of my sexuality, because I have to lie to make it all better for them, because I have to fake confidence, because I'm ME. Hopefully, I can find a place in this world and the next where I can feel loved and accepted for my past, present and future.
My mother told me about a few of her friends' stories and I've learned how to be safe from them. Please tell someone. You aren't alone.
This entry includes references to sexual abuse.
This is much about myself, but more about my mother. My mother is an inspiration and all of my friends see her as pretty, smart, brave and a tad sassy - but she wasn't always as powerful as she is today. My mother is the strongest person I know. She's helped me overcome a variety of mental issues and trauma and I can't thank her enough. I've gotten permission to share her story. In September, 2012, my mother was single, and had four kids: My younger sister, my younger brother, my older sister and myself. I was just 10 years old, the eldest being only 12. Every week we would all pile into the car and head to the market around the corner: Weekly shopping. Every time there would be the same man (let's call him 'R') serving at the same register. All was normal. Suddenly, our mother started asking us to wait out the front whilst she bought the groceries. We had no idea why, but we obeyed. She would come back, bags in hands, baffled each time. We still didn't know. Then one night, my older sister and I woke up to go to the toilet (we shared a room, it was impossible to stay asleep). Half way down the hall, we heard footsteps. We weren't worried that much, because mum would make herself a tea and read a book at odd hours of the night. But when I peered out, a man stood in the hallway, dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. He saw me, and whispered, "Stay quiet, your mama is sleeping." I had never been so terrified in my life. I had just watched Scream 4 (great idea!) and I screamed. Everyone of course woke up, and he ran out the door. Everyone thought I was crazy, that I saw nothing. Every night after that I checked the hallway for him, so I could scream again, louder this time. I never saw him. But he was still there. He started posting notes that I didn't understand on my mother's door, like "Whenever you're ready for me," or "I can't wait for you to show me yourself." Later on I found out it was sexual abuse, and the notes got more personal, from "I want to taste you," to "I'm getting hard in your hallways." My mum pretended it didn't scare her, but I knew it did. Then my mum started dating. She dated a guy, call him 'J', and they are still together today. The notes stopped, until one morning mum woke up to find someone had done 'inappropriate things' to her underwear. Basically, the man left her underwear soiled that morning. J called the police. We did a DNA test with everyone mum knew, including her brothers, father, ex-boyfriends (they all agreed happily) and ...the grocery man. It was him. He was arrested. I don't know what happened to him, but everything stopped. As far as I know, he's in jail for something else. But it goes to show that no matter how random someone may be, they can hurt you. I'm really happy that my mum is happy, and recently she and J had a baby, a new addition to the family. We are all happy that everything is back to 'normal' (even if that means projectile vomiting is 'normal'). If you have any sexual assault, rape, bullying or abuse stories, please tell someone. My mother told me about a few of her friends' stories and I've learned how to be safe from them. Please tell someone. You aren't alone. Thank you for reading, and I hope all of you have a wonderful day.
I loved that swim suit. After camp one of my friends told me that as soon as I was out of earshot all of the female counselors started to talk about it negatively.
I was 12, almost 13. I was a B cup, which I know isn't that big but I already had an hourglass body shape. My mom and I looked at 3 different stores looking for bathing suits for me, because I am very picky when it comes to that sort of thing and I wanted something that made me feel good about my body. I wanted to get a one piece, but none of them fit right. The straps would fall or the cups inside the bathing suit wouldn't be the right size. I ended up getting 2 bikinis from Macy's that made me feel great about my body and looked good. At Macy's, the only bikinis they had ALL had padding in them. And were push-up bikinis. But they fit and I liked them, so we got them. The first night at summer camp all of the girls in my age group had to go into one cabin for a talk. The talk was about what to do if you get your period at camp and more. It also was about boys. How you didn't have to be "Touchy-touchy" with them. Their words, not mine. The first year I was in that age group we were told not to make purple. Boys were blue and girls were pink, and we were not to make purple. Back to the story! So I am gay, and while they were saying what to do if a boy asks you dance I said, quite loudly, "What if you have a girlfriend?" All of the counselors pretended not to hear. At camp it was excruciatingly hot. Like every day was above 95 degrees hot. You were not allowed to wear crop tops. On the second day I wore one to breakfast and was told to go change it, so I put on a tank top that had spaghetti straps. I was told to change it. One of the girls in my cabin hadn't brought a swimsuit, and you swim a lot at that camp. At camp they have things kids can take if they forget something, so she took a swimsuit. The bikini was the type that the boob-portion is like triangles and the bottom portion looks best if set a bit above the hips, and is comfier if set above the hips. Nobody said anything. That night there was a pool party for our age group. I wore one of the bikinis I brought, but it was the first time I wore it at camp. I loved that swim suit. After camp one of my friends told me that as soon as I was out of earshot all of the female counselors started to talk about it negatively. Normally I wear swimming trunks along with my bikini bottoms while I swim because they make me feel more comfortable, but the ones I was wearing that night got kind of annoying so I took them off. That was when it happened. A boy came up behind me and tried to untie my bikini top. It was double knotted, thank god, but I was enraged. He was laughing and then jumped into the pool. I grabbed him and dragged him around looking for somebody who spoke Spanish because he did not speak English. When I found somebody who spoke Spanish and I told them what happened, the boy and the person spoke. I was told that he was "just playing." Pretty much all of the girls my age knew what happened. They all asked me if I was okay, and we all bitched about him. I was furious and none of the counselors did anything about it. I knew that all of the female counselors knew because they were all in a huddle, constantly looking at me. I was ready to cry by the time the pool party was over. I just wanted to get into bed and go to sleep, but my counselor had a different plan. I was still in my soaking wet bikini when she said that she thought that next year at camp the dress code would be updated so that you could only wear one-pieces and what she was wearing. She was wearing an ugly tankini that looked like a one piece. I was disgusted and ready to sleep. She then said that we had to wear a "swim top and swim shorts" while swimming, and that all of the other girls had to, too. She said that I had to choose a swim top right then. I had so many reasons not to, but I was tired and already on the verge of tears. Normally I tend to overreact, but when I'm tired it gets worse. I was really tired. I curled up in a ball and cried my eyes out into the towel that was previously in my hands. It got so bad that they called in the unit leader. The unit leader and I DID NOT get along at all. I was one or two years away from being a senior at camp. She told me, and I quote, "You do this every year. The Seniors don't put up with this." And more, basically telling me that I was being a baby and that I was crying for no reason. She grabbed the towel away from me and told me to get up. When I didn't she tried to make me get up by grabbing my arm and pulling me across the room. When I get emotional I tend to have a death grip on things. I had a death grip on my knees, and I refused to unfurl the ball I was in. SHE PULLED ME AGAINST MY WILL AND COULDN'T UNDERSTAND WHY I WOULDN'T STOP CRYING. They almost called in the camp leaders. When I stopped crying I went to bed, but I couldn't stop thinking about what happened. I cried myself to sleep that night. The next day I was forced to get a swim shirt. It was hard enough getting it on because it was too small, but in the water it became extremely clingy and sometimes I needed help getting it off. My counselor ignored my complaints about it. During our water activities I saw that it was just my cabin that was forced to wear a swim shirt and swimming trunks. After camp they sent home a survey for the kids to complete. One of the questions was, "How much has camp improved your self image?" With 5 being a lot, 3 being it's the same, and 1 being it made it much worse. I rated 2.5. If you made it to the end of this thing, thank you for reading and please, don't let yourself be pushed around like I was. Stand up for your rights. - Kai
All that waiting for nothing, and gone in a moment, along with any self worth I had. I felt like I had nothing to offer anyone anymore.
This entry includes references to rape.
I'm nervous because I don't know how my friends and family will respond to me standing so strongly for anti slut shaming and being so sex positive. But I'm hoping I'm able to explain my experience in a way so that they will be able to understand why this is such an important and personal issue to me. I want to share my story with anyone it can help and eventually with my family but I'm very scared for some reason to do it, so this is my first attempt. Even though it's anonymous it's a step in the right direction. So here is my story... I was raised mostly conservative and because of that I believed that my virginity was what I should value most and that's what would make me worth something to a guy. And while I'm not denying that a girl's virginity is a big deal to most of us, and we should be in control of who, when and how we lose it, it is not what makes us valuable. And I learned that the hard way. My goal is to help every other girl feel confident in their self worth and their choices, with or without their virginity. I have been both virgin shamed and slut shamed by the cruel society we live in and I am ready to take a stand against both, because it really took its toll on me and was incredibly harmful emotionally and physically. I am a 21-year-old female and I was a virgin until I was 20 because I felt like that's what made me worth anything. I was supposed to wait for my wedding night. And then one day I didn't have a choice anymore. I found myself in a non consensual situation with a guy and my virginity was just taken from me. All that waiting for nothing, and gone in a moment, along with any self worth I had. I felt like I had nothing to offer anyone anymore. And then everywhere I looked, I started noticing people throwing around the words "slut" and "whore" and saying stuff like, "Look at what she's wearing, she wants some tonight," and I started to take all of it personally. Was I that girl? I would hear older conservative ladies talking about young girls - they didn't even know if they were sexually active or not - calling them sluts because of the way they dress or act around men. And I just started to feel worthless. I lost all respect for myself and ended up getting into some really unhealthy ways of living and thinking. This went on for several months and I lived in denial of the fact that I was raped, and tried to ignore it. I told myself that I was in a bikini and I had been flirting with him so he probably thought I wanted it. I told him to stop but he said I had been leading him on and no one would have waited 2 whole days and been as patient with me as he had. I believed all of it. It was my fault. But one day it got to the point where I couldn't take it anymore. I wasn't enjoying life, I felt like a piece of trash, and I told someone what happened to me. It was the start of me learning how to value myself for the first time. I learned that I have the right to say no, and that I don't owe a guy anything no matter what I am wearing or how I am acting. That I can be in control. I had to learn for the first time how to love myself as a person. And I realized that my virginity didn't actually have anything to do with who I was as a person. A lot of people I grew up with do not agree with my strong stance on sex positivity and anti slut shaming, but I hope that someday through sharing my personal experiences they can understand why I have taken this on as my personal battle. I lived too long listening to everyone else's opinions about sex. And whether I was a virgin or had been in a sexual relationship with someone I was shamed by society. And I felt so alone. I don't want ANYONE else to ever feel as alone as I did, or not be able to value themselves because they don't think they are living up to someone else's standards of how they should be living. Every single one of us humans are beautiful and complicated beings and WE are the only ones who get to decide our worth. And it's time that we demand the respect we deserve. I stand for every man or woman who has been shamed or devalued for how we choose to control our bodies. And I hope you will do the same! -Someone fed up with trying to live up to other people's standards
I didn't fully understand that I had been raped, I just knew that what had happened was very, very wrong. I didn't know how to handle the things that happened to me. I truly thought I had become a "slut."
This entry includes references to rape, self-harm, and suicide.
I was the new girl in a small town in 7th grade and at the time I didn't know that everyone was small minded and arrogant. I was quickly branded a "slut" for being different. I was shocked because I had never kissed a boy or even held hands with one. My first week of 8th grade, I was raped by a family member. I'm not going to go into details but it broke me. I quickly fell into deep depression and thought if anyone found out they would blame me. I didn't fully understand that I had been raped, I just knew that what had happened was very, very wrong. I didn't know how to handle the things that happened to me. I truly thought I had become a "slut." Throughout high school I dated guys off and on, and I didn't know how to say no because I thought I wouldn't be liked if I ever said no... So I did many things I am not proud of. I started cutting. My parents didn't notice the cuts for years. Not until 12th grade. My mom just told me that I was stupid, weak, and pathetic for doing it. Already struggling with depression, I tried to commit suicide. Clearly that failed but I'm glad it did. I was raped the first semester of my freshman year of college in the newspaper room. I cried for days and nights. My boyfriend of a year that I live with couldn't touch me or comfort me and it really almost destroyed our relationship... Being raped changed everything about my life. I wish I had known to speak up and tell someone what had happened; it may have changed things. - Jewell in Georgia
He told his mates the nasty things I promised, probably even embellished most of the facts, so there I was, nearly 13 with double-d-cups, and already classed as 'sexually mature' - a.k.a. a whore.
This entry includes references to self-harm and rape.
I remember I was happy once, and surprise surprise, it was with a guy, and I'm not even sure why I was happy with him. This guy, he seemed like a godsend back then (my brother had died in a stillbirth, my dad was shattered, and my mom was dying, whilst my 7 year old brother didn't understand). He was in the same popularity group as I was, we hung around the same people, and he thought I was attractive - a feat for me. Also, my best friend was setting me up with him, whilst her boyfriend helped. The actual relationship was okay, not stellar, but okay. Sure, he let his friends make jokes about my curvaceous body, about sex, letting his friends sometimes run up to me and squeeze my larger than average breasts, but it was okay, right? Because he was my boyfriend, and I should let it slide. I ignored the wrongness of it at the time, because I was young (12 years old, and yes, the people in my age group were this mature and inappropriate). I guess I was desperate for acceptance and love, living with a family in which I felt only isolation. I was showing obvious signs of ill mental health, and due to my parents' heritage, we pretended that I was making it all up. Like what my friends would think if I ever told this story. So, back to the story. After our on-and-off relationship, his mom forced him to break up with me due to the fact she had somehow been told I self-harmed. And he broke up with me eventually, and this is the 'burn' bit in the phrase "crash and burn." I forced myself to believe he was the one I needed, I idolised him, and I just needed someone who seemed as if they understood, so I was easily pliable to him. We didn't have any form of relationship when he asked me for sex, nudes, etc. I said I would, I promised, and thankfully I realised my stupidity soon before that. I made jokes with my best friend at the time about it, and I guess that was my defence mechanism. Jokes. But then it stopped being such a great joke. School ended, and then it began months later. He told his mates the nasty things I promised, probably even embellished most of the facts, so there I was, nearly 13 with double-d-cups, and already classed as 'sexually mature' - a.k.a. a whore. I would love to say it wasn't my 13-year-old peers who made me feel isolated, but I would be lying. Because right now, in my generation, you'd be naïve to believe that we were the kids who pulled each other's pigtails in the stories my mom told me of the 80's. In comes guy number 2, and my not extremely surprising depression and isolation. I had done something for him over the summer, and because of my skewed thinking, I lied to him, too. I sent a picture, and after that, I ended our relationship with a fabrication that I had kissed a guy to cheat on him, when I had done much worse in my opinion. I was reckless, and young, and wanted to feel anything apart from the numbness that I felt in those days. So I made my life worse. So guy no. 2, to add to the first rumours, spread and told dirty secrets like he told about the other many girls he'd dated. So the rumours were ripe, with me labelled as an easy girl. Guy no. 2 even had the audacity to try and touch me under the table, sliding his hand a little higher, whilst I sat petrified. I made a joke about it to my friends of course, not telling them of my fears of having my control and consent taken away from me. Even a year after that, I'm still being asked whether or not I did all those nasty things, and I still lie. And I still have to laugh at the jokes my peers jab at me when they ask if I give blowjobs to the new guys in our class, or if I enjoy being a dominatrix. I realise that now, that maybe all these little jokes I made of my issues weren't jokes at all, because now I can't help but see the many faces of the guys that have shamed me in any guy's face, and I can't help but think that my body isn't a temple but a cheap pizzeria to which anyone could get an order. And I still think that, because who wouldn't? I dress in short skirts, ripped tights, low tops, and I have big boobs, a curvy figure, and knowledge about sex. And I keep lying to everyone, breaking hearts because I expect the worse, and telling everyone that I'm okay with being whispered about. But I'm not, because even though some of these things were 3 years ago, I can still feel hands on my skin and the dirtiness of being stared at, and it's all thanks to the disappointed stares burnt in the back of my head by my parents, the lustful ones sent by boys, the disgusted 'beneath-me' glares from the girls, and the hateful state of my own reflection. My 'friends' think I have it easy sometimes, even going as far to say they would love to have my body, the thing that inspired lust and my hate, and I can't help but want to say "have it, it brings no fortunes." Sometimes I love myself, but it's people and little pieces of memories that make me hate myself a little bit more, sometimes I even go as far as to want to gain some freedom and happiness in amnesia, because I can't stand to be me sometimes. - CeCe
My father brought me from doctor office to doctor office, telling the nurse or assistant the reason behind it loud enough for the other people to hear. He wanted to find a place where they did some sort of virgin test.
This entry includes references to self-harm.
I guess that it all started when I just entered high school (where I'm from - Jamaica - we enter high school in the seventh grade) but I've had my awkwardness ever since. In the sixth grade I met a boy who went to high school, or so he said. We talked on the phone for about two days when he said that he wanted to have sex with me. Silly little me went all excited and said yes cause I'd always wanted to have sex cause I had heard girls talking about it in school and they always make it sound pretty. That night when I was talking to him on the phone my older brother, who had been watching me, snatched the phone away from me and scolded both me and the boy. If it wasn't for him I wouldn't have been a virgin right now. But life goes on and so does my story. I met another boy who wasn't the best looker but I somehow fell for him. Let's call him Raymond. He never forced anything on me. At that time I had graduated and gone to high school and was in the seventh grade. I was twelve years old. One day I followed him to his house and stayed with him for the night without telling my mother. The day after, someone saw me and brought me to the police station. A little while after my mother and sister came, and didn't even look at me. Suddenly my sister started sobbing and said, "Why did you do that to me, Fiona, why?" Ever since then my eldest sister stopped talking to me and stopped visiting and when I came back my father brought me from doctor office to doctor office, telling the nurse or assistant the reason behind it loud enough for the other people to hear. He wanted to find a place where they did some sort of virgin test. It was so embarrassing. But what was even more embarrassing was that it didn't end there. I found out that Raymond had intended to cheat on me, told him it was over and cried for days. People started coming to me and asked me if we had sex. Since I was pretty much a complete loser in primary school I loved the attention that I was getting from the students and I said yes. My whole entire first year of high school was complete torture just because of that one answer. I literally had no friends at all and the friends that I'd once had had turned their backs on me cause they didn't want to be friends with the girl who went by "slut" these days. Every time I walked through the corridors it was like the school school had been waiting on me and started to call me the usual names like slut, bitch, and even 'whorona'. The bus wasn't any different but I had no choice cause I lived a far distance. Whenever I sat down next to someone they either grumbled under their breath or just started teasing me. In class a girl even told our homeroom teacher in front of me and the class what a whore I was. I became aggressive and got myself into trouble often realising too late that I had made a grave mistake. The teacher told my mother and when I went home she bested me with an iron spoon and told me never to tell lies about myself again. I know that even though my mother acts like nothing happened she still doesn't trust me even though she lies and says that she does. Whenever I had an argument she would bring it up, and keeps telling me that it was my fault. But the list of stupid things that Fiona Wright had done never stopped growing. The pressure got to my head. I threw tantrums often, whenever the pressure of being bullied at school and being scolded at home went to my head. My mother had a hell of a time controlling me since beatings with wooden sticks didn't work anymore. I was screaming and crying and my mother had to drag me back into the house whenever I denied her cause I knew she didn't understand. I blamed her for everything cause she never taught me the things that I really needed to know. She's been through much worse than me and she still doesn't understand. All they saw was a stray lamb who needed to be stoned and kicked in order for her to find her way back. But they just didn't understand, how could they. I remember placing a knife's sharp edge at the base of my stomach sobbing and crying saying to myself that this was for the best, that I was relieving everybody of their stressfully sinful relative. It was one thing being looked down on by the whole world but it was another thing being looked down on by the people that were supposed to love you no matter what. But in the end I couldn't do it. I tried again by mixing together chemicals, then poured it over myself, but I had to wash it off cause it was burning me too much. Things continued to happen to me but I am afraid that I'll have to end my story here for now. Things aren't so bad now that I'm a senior. I made friends and I have a best friend whom I love and cherish and would do anything for. But my past still haunts me and what happened to me has had a drastic effect on my life as I have never fallen in love again and don't do good in relationships. Even right now as I am writing this I can feel the anger that has been hidden inside me for all these years and had only been let out during fights or arguements. It still hurts to be called slut even though I'm sixteen now and still "own my V card." Shout out to the lady who invented this project, a lot of us really needed it. - Fiona Wright
My parents told them that I was being bullied by a group of girls. They denied it and said that they were 'a nice, lovely, group of girls and would never do such a thing.'
So when I was in fifth class (6th grade), there was this group of girls. Everyone didn't like them but they were 'popular'. I, on my first day at my new school had no idea that they were cruel, disrespecting, backstabbing, hating people. I started hanging out with them in September 2014 until May 2015. In January, my friend 'Grace' liked a guy named 'Fred' and he liked her. I remember when they first started dating: the 27th of January 2015. How do I know that? Well, I have a diary where I deeply described what had happened. I remember still, because when they broke up in March, the group of girls said I liked 'Fred' and that I hated 'Grace' and hoped that she would 'break her f*#%ing delicate neck.' I never said any of this. I would never say any of it, but the leader 'Beth' hated me because I liked and still like a guy called 'Dylan' and she liked him. She thought I was 'trying to steal her man', but I had no idea she liked Dylan until she started hating me, publicly. She made up rumors, like how I was suicidal, anorexic, self-harmed, had depression, and that I had a crush on her. What? I am human, too! I have feelings just like you! She told my principal and teacher. My TEACHER AND PRINCIPAL said I had issues! Because I used to go to a therapist. They called the Social Workers and my parents were in trouble for something that wasn't their or my problem. My parents told them that I was being bullied by a group of girls. They denied it and said that they were 'a nice, lovely, group of girls and would never do such a thing.' I mean, they should at least check it out. That was only a few weeks ago, and I am still trying to fix everything, and I am winning. I am finishing school soon, so this will finish soon enough, anyways. Thank you for listening.
Summer came around, and I hoped things would change, but they followed me online. Some people threatened to hurt me, to come find me and kill me themselves, some were just being hateful. So my routine became staying in the confinement of my room, only leaving to use the bathroom.
This entry includes references to self-harm.
When I was in about 6-7 grade people saw me as a "slut" because of my best friend, or so I thought. We went to school together and everything was fine but one day, one of the boys she liked took a liking to me, and she began to hate me without talking to me about any of it. The following year I moved about a town away, and she began spreading the dirtiest rumors you could think of. Either that I had sex with the whole football, soccer and basketball team or that I got pregnant by one of the boys and I "killed the baby." Now on top of all of that, I had no clue until one day I made an appearance to the town and saw her with other girls that I didn't know her to even like. As she passed, she called me a whore and slut and other filthy names, and the other girls would laugh (mind you we are in 8th grade). Then I asked someone else I knew that was still in that town and they told me. After like a month or so, people began sending me all sorts of hate. That I was a "baby killer," that I should have just taken my own life, and they questioned why I was still alive, and for the longest time I was having this problem that I isolated myself. Moving the next town over it sort of followed me, and my new classmates held that reputation against me, before even knowing my first name. I began to isolate myself at school, too. I skipped class, I skipped lunch, and hid in the girls locker room. At one point that became my routine. Wake up, skip breakfast, head to school, skip class, skip lunch, head home, and go straight to my room. This happened for almost all of 8th grade. My sleeping schedule went from normal to days of sleeping too much or days of sleeping too little. My appetite grew very poor, that when I ate the normal amount I grew very sick, as if I ate too much. Summer came around, and I hoped things would change, but they followed me online. Some people threatened to hurt me, to come find me and kill me themselves, some were just being hateful. So my routine became staying in the confinement of my room, only leaving to use the bathroom. I stopped taking care of myself, stopped showering daily, stopped eating daily, stopped getting out of bed daily, some days went by that all I did was watch TV in the dark. Now, I have two sisters and my mom. At the time this was going on, my sisters were never home and my mom had gotten into a car crash that was so bad she almost died. The crash killed her fiancé and crippled her. She also stayed in bed, some days not moving from that spot, not to eat, or to drink, not to bathe or shower, she just slept, we both just slept. For most of the summer it was like this but when school was coming around I began to stress and hurt myself, and even the mention of school brought me into panic attacks. I missed a whole 2 months of school until finally the school came to my house looking for me. My mom, for the first time in a while, got out of bed and talked to them. After that day things sort of got a whole lot different. I began going to school and although I was still being bullied I went and paid attention. I took care of my mom, and my mom got me into daily therapy. Then I was put on medication, and I got a little better. It is now two years later. I was diagnosed with severe depression, severe panic attacks, bad anger issues, and severe anxiety. A lot of which is still very hard to deal with but I am now able to handle it without medication and without therapy at all. I take care of my health daily. I am now almost fully happy with myself and my issues and have grown to love myself. I have begun to understand that I am not who other people tell me I am. Through all the attempted suicides and the anxiety and anger and depression, when it seemed impossible to get through, it was possible, and I'm glad I did.
I now live half the world away in another country from where the rapes happened, and I still don't feel safe or happy or confident.
This entry includes references to rape and self-harm.
I was a victim of rape and sexual assault when I was a teenager and was told if I went to the police, the photos he had taken would be shown to everyone at the school I was attending. I was too afraid to tell anyone what happened to me. The next week when I turned up at school people where calling me a slut and a whore. I had never been with anyone I had consented to at the time. I was raped and everyone at school started to think I was a "slut." He had told everyone that I slept with heaps of guys. I was traumatized like you wouldn't believe. Photos had been released also. This wasn't the first or last time I have experienced rape. I have fallen victim to four men in total. My life has been ruined. I now suffer with severe mental illness. I'm 25 years old now and not a day passes where I don't have flash backs and anxiety or panic attacks. I have self harmed and attempted to take my life more times than I can count. I'm now in the care of a mental hospital and I've been diagnosed with PTSD and bipolar disorder, which they believe stems from my past experiences. I now live half the world away in another country from where the rapes happened, and I still don't feel safe or happy or confident. My life was taken from me.
I know that that is a societal problem but still I don't want to have to go through the ridicule. I applaud someone who is willing to do so, but that's not for me.
This entry includes references to sexual assault.
When I started college I went through a period of sexual experimentation. I went home with a lot of guys on nights out and I was enjoying it. I don't regret it and I feel I grew as a person from this period. However not all of my encounters were good. I went out one night and I became too drunk to really be responsible for my actions. I went home with a guy but when I got to his house I sobered up just enough to realise that I didn't actually want to do this. I told him this but he didn't listen and he fingered me. I decided to give in because I just didn't feel like it was worth the fight. When I woke up at 6am I got a taxi home and went to sleep in my bed. I never told anyone about it and I never really thought too much about it but every now and then the memory flashes before me and I just feel icky. I don't honestly feel like it has affected my life much but it would be nice to not have the icky memory. I don't know who that guy is and I don't remember exactly where he lived so even if I wanted to confront him I would never find him. I think I don't want to tell anyone about it because they would make a big deal about it and if strangers found out I would be judged because I was drunk and I shouldn't have been. I know that that is a societal problem but still I don't want to have to go through the ridicule. I applaud someone who is willing to do so, but that's not for me. I don't want to be the face of sexual assault victims and I have the right to privacy. I would love to tell someone but everyone I know would freak out about it more than I would want. Only a counsellor would be able to handle it because they don't know me. I hope at some point I find someone that I love who I would feel okay with talking to about this instead of some stranger in an office. However I'm really enjoying life now and even though I have that icky memory I live with it. I accept it happened but I don't dwell on it. There's nothing that I can change about the past. If I find a person I truly love and trust I will tell them but I'm not ready yet and people should be ok with that.
A guy started to follow me around outside of school and when I reported him, the teachers told me I was overreacting and that I was ruining his life, even though all I wanted was to switch classes.
I am 15, and these guys I barely know have been telling everyone I'm a slut because of the way I dress. They call me names and think that I'm a bitch but I have never even talked to them. I've never even been kissed. But because I'm tall and skirts are short on me, I'm a whore. A guy started to follow me around outside of school and when I reported him, the teachers told me I was overreacting and that I was ruining his life, even though all I wanted was to switch classes. I've told a few people about this and they all tell me that I it's because I dress "slutty" and that I should change that, but honestly I like the way I dress and it makes me feel self confident. I tried to dress more conservative this week and I didn't feel the same and I still heard some hurtful things. I just don't know what to do.
I find it disgusting that people will put so much focus on something as silly as shorts being a few inches higher than their rules allow, while REAL LIFE issues are happening like me having already experienced, at age 14, a boy exposing himself to me.
I was 17 and at a new school that had a much stricter dress code than my previous high school. My family didn't have the money for many clothes, and I was struggling with finding something to wear for the next day at school ((I always picked out my outfit the night before). I didn't want to have to wear the same outfit twice in the same week. I had been picked on in the past when I had to do that, but now in hindsight I wish I just did that. I had a pair of shorts that I suspected might have been considered too short, but I wasn't sure, and they weren't against dress codes at my previous school from the year before. I decided to wear the shorts, but in case they were considered too short, I came up with the idea to at least make sure I didn't go to school looking "sexy," so I wore them with a pair of sneakers and my dad's work shirt, which was an olive green, 3-button polo shirt (grungy looking, too, since he had worn it at his job as a journeyman in the electrician field)! I thought for sure this would emphasize that I wasn't trying to come into school looking sexy or "revealing." Immediately when I got to school (I'm not even exaggerating, I didn't even make it down to my locker), I was told by staff my shorts were too short and I had to go to the office, where the principal and his secretary were. When I explained the situation to the secretary about not having anything else, she loudly scoffed, "Pleasssseeee," not believing me. Another student suggested wearing a pair of shop pants (since it was a trade school I went to). I didn't have money to take a bus home, so I had to spend the day in that office just sitting there. My problem wasn't really with "being in trouble," it was with being basically told I was lying about not having something else to wear, when I genuinely tried so hard that previous night to figure out a solution. Also anger over not having money to have the right clothes. I had to be "punished" essentially for that. As the day went on, another student was sent to the office to see the principal. It was someone I used to be friends with when I was 14, but he had stopped associating with me shortly after one day while hanging out he had exposed his privates to me. When he came into the same room to be seen by the principal, my heart started pounding, and I got very nervous and uncomfortable. I came up with the idea to temporarily leave the office, since I had some papers to be taken to another teacher anyway that day. I asked the secretary if I could do that, and the secretary said no. I couldn't tell her why I wanted to really leave (I actually never told anyone what that ex-friend did, until right here, right now). I know the secretary isn't to blame for saying no, but it's just another way that situation had to be so horrible for me. When I got home, my mom managed to scrape together $20 for me to go find a pair of pants to buy (because my mom had talked to that secretary). It took so long to find something with only a $20 budget. The pants I did find didn't even fit well, my mom had to hem them just so they wouldn't drag past my shoes! (Later that year I managed to get my own job, and also some new clothes, too.) Now here's what is really messed up with the situation. Later that year I stayed after school for extra studying and help, and missed one of the after school buses home, so I had to take a public one home. It was getting much later in the day, the latest I ever stayed at school. I passed that same secretary on my way out, and briefly chatted with her. Turns out, while I was then making my way home, my mom was getting really worried and called the school (this was before cell phones). That secretary told my mom she had spoken with me and saw me leave. Did that secretary ever contact my mom later that evening to make sure I got home safe? NO. Did she ever express to me at school any kind of concern over my getting home that night or how she talked to my mom who was worried about me, and calling the school? NO! While that personally was my only incident with this school and their dress code situation, I'd like to mention that my anger is somewhat over how overboard they took it the whole time I went there (I can recall multiple situations), one being when I heard a male administrator saying to another teacher how girl students don't mind the attention from guys until it's a guy they don't like, then they want to complain about it, and a big part of the problem is the clothes they wear! I find it disgusting that people will put so much focus on something as silly as shorts being a few inches higher than their rules allow, while REAL LIFE issues are happening and not even thought twice about, such a worried mom concerned about her daughter alone in the city, and me having already experienced, at age 14, a boy exposing himself to me. While it left me very uncomfortable, I had never even been taught that him doing that was very wrong!!! Thanks for letting me share this experience, and for your website. - Lila W.
He wrote that he was going to be the reason I couldn't sleep at night, the reason I look behind me, the reason I lock my doors, that'll be him.
Over text I was called a whore and a succubus and not a real woman, because I just wanted sex from a guy and not a relationship. He then went on to say that he wasn't done punishing me yet, and that one day I was going to pick the wrong guy, and he was going to be completely crazy instead of just a little bit, and to "be careful how many people you screw over." He then also wrote that he was going to be the reason I couldn't sleep at night, the reason I look behind me, the reason I lock my doors, that'll be him. Then he went to say how this was all really interesting because "once you are in someone's head you don't have to be anywhere else." So this is my story and I have the text messages to prove it all. I just want to fight against things like this. - Bria Parrish
I felt so lonely and isolated and guilty that when I was raped two weeks later I didn't even recognize it for what it was. This is the harm of "slut" shaming.
This entry includes references to rape.
I had sex for my first time with a guy on my college campus who I didn't know - it was a random hookup and I was drunk, but I'd made it my intention to have sex for my first time that night before I started drinking. I always knew to draw a line for myself while sober so I wouldn't have any regrets. And I didn't. It was fun! I felt liberated and enjoyed the sex and the guy was respectful about it being my first time and repeatedly asked me if I was sure I wasn't too drunk. I wasn't. I was having fun. The problem wasn't the random hookup or "losing" my V card (I hate that term). The problem was everyone else's response to the terrible awful thing I'd done (note sarcasm). My friends judged me and worried about me. My mom cried on the phone when I told her and worried about me too. But I was fine! I felt great until they started judging my actions. People around my small college campus started calling me a slut and spreading rumors about a whole host of guys I supposedly also slept with, many of whom I had barely ever talked to. I felt so lonely and isolated and guilty that when I was raped two weeks later I didn't even recognize it for what it was. This is the harm of "slut" shaming. "Slut" shaming is what devalues us and causes us to de-value ourselves, not the actual act of being a "slut." I blame "slut" shaming for my rape and I blame "slut" shaming, in part, for the abusive relationship I endured shortly after for the following 6 months and the countless times I was raped in that relationship. Our bodies are our own. I own my body now and I love myself and I know that will keep me safe from any further "slut" shaming. I'm not ashamed anymore. - Mackenzie
THAT IS NOT A COMPLIMENT. SEXUAL HARASSMENT IS NOT OKAY.
My friend and I went out to Pizza Hut wearing just sweatpants and T-shirts. We paid for our food and sat back down to wait for our take out order when a young man of about 19 years of age slid into the booth next to me, leaned in 6 inches away from my face, and said, "I just wanted to tell you that you have an ass from God." I replied with, "Bye." He then got very defensive that I can't take a compliment. THAT IS NOT A COMPLIMENT. SEXUAL HARASSMENT IS NOT OKAY. - Robin
They didn't understand. The way they saw it, I was the girl who loved having sex and was proud of it. What was I complaining about? No one realized, even "whores" can say no.
This entry includes a description of rape.
I was always the girl who was in love. I had only 3 boyfriends in high school, all pretty lengthy relationships. I was in love with each of them. Sure, some may say I was "too young" to be in love, but I'm a freshman in college now, and I still believe I was in love. But when you're young, life gets in the way and things don't always work out the way they should. When I started my senior year of high school, I was single. For the first time in my entire high school career I was actually single. I wanted to have fun, to have experiences, to make the most of my time before I moved four hours away to start at my university. So I had quite a few one night stands, I started "sleeping around" and gained a reputation for it. It didn't bother me one single bit. I was having fun. I was safe & responsible about my sex life. It was my choice and no one was going to make me feel bad about my choices. I ignored the comments. I actually began to own it. I made jokes about myself. When people asked me about my sexual endeavors I'd say, "yeah, I like to fuck a lot, so what?" Eventually, people started embracing it with me. They joked about it with me. And when someone talked about my sex life in a negative way, others stood up for me saying "Why do you care what Claire does with her body? It doesn't effect your life, so why talk about her?" It felt great. I was so empowered by this, and I felt like I was empowering other girls to be more open about their sexualities as well. But something happened, the night of my senior homecoming dance. It changed everything. I was at a party, and yes, I was drinking. I eventually became so drunk I could hardly stand up. I wasn't worried, I was with people I thought I could trust. I was wrong. A guy on my cheerleading squad began showing interest in me. Let's call him Jake. Jake came up to me, started kissing my neck, and rubbing my shoulders. He was sober, he didn't drink. He eventually asked me to have sex with him. I told him no, that I was too drunk. He asked several more times. Pleading with "Come on I'll make it fun for you." I repeatedly said, "No, I'm way too drunk tonight." The night went on, and Jake was as persistent as ever. I started to keep my distance. I kept drinking, although looking back, I shouldn't have. I was stumbling around, and Jake came up to me. I told him I felt a little sick. He said, "Come with me, you need to lay down." I followed him, thinking he would take me somewhere to sleep. He took me into a room and he shut and locked the door behind him. "What are you doing?" I could hardly make out the words. He didn't answer me. "Jake?" I asked. He ignored me again. I lay back on the couch, too tired to say anything else. I closed my eyes for a few seconds, and when I opened them again, Jake had his penis out, and was rolling a condom on. I asked "Jake what are you doing? Why are you putting a condom on?" He continued and said "So we can fuck." I said "No Jake I'm way too drunk." I think I passed out at this point, because the next thing I remember is a sharp pain inside of me, and I cried out. "Shhh." He said. He was raping me. I didn't know what to do. I froze. I could've tried to push him off, but he was signing with the marines, so he was strong. Really strong. Would it have done any good, or just made him angry? I could've yelled, but I was ashamed that this was happening to me. So I continued to lie there and take it. I didn't move. I didn't make a sound. All of sudden there was a knock on the door, and my friend Liz's voice "Claire, we're leaving." Jake stopped, and climbed off of me. I put my clothes on and ran out. I felt something wet on my thigh. I was bleeding from him forcing himself into me. I went home and pretended nothing had happened. I tried to talk to my friends about it. They didn't understand. The way they saw it, I was the girl who loved having sex and was proud of it. What was I complaining about? No one realized, even "whores" can say no. - Claire Cox
I was 11yrs old in 6th grade, my first year in public schools, I was already looked at like the weird one because I had my own sense of style and didn't wear the expensive brand name clothing that everyone else wore, and then I'm being labeled as a slut because of some kid!
When I was in 6th grade I was constantly getting picked on by this kid, and everyone would always say he just likes you. Okay, cool, whatever. But the problem was, I was getting called names like "tramp" and "slut" for this guy's actions! I never liked him, in fact, I HATED that kid during 6th grade! No one ever said anything to him about what he was doing to me. He wasn't a "slut" or a "tramp", it just got laughed off. Well one day he was picking on me and we were arguing as usual. One of his friends decided to join in on the bullying and start saying, "Kelli gave Jason a 50 Cent Special"! We had gotten those Scholastic book order forms that day and they had a "50 Cent Special" section on the back. So he's singing it and I told him to shut up. I thought everything was cool till I got on the bus. That same kid had ALL the boys who rode our bus (including the kindergarteners) start singing in unison, "Kelli gave Jason a 50 Cent Special," the whole way home! The bus driver did NOTHING! I was so mad, I was almost in tears! I finally got home and I told my mother about it. She was pissed. I went to school the next day and about an hour into class the principal came over the speaker and called all the boys who rode that bus down to the office. About a half hour later, the little shit who started the whole thing came back to class with his head down and wouldn't even look at me. All I could think was "HAHA", but I didn't say anything though. I laugh at it now, but at the time I was mortified! I was 11yrs old in 6th grade, my first year in public schools, I was already looked at like the weird one because I had my own sense of style and didn't wear the expensive brand name clothing that everyone else wore, and then I'm being labeled as a slut because of some kid! I wanted to switch schools so bad!
To my surprise, ten years out of the industry and 12 years having survived being trafficked, at 50 years of age, I am still call ridiculous names like "that stripper" or accused of soliciting men at religious events.
I am a psychotherapist who works with survivors of the commercial sex industry and human trafficking. As a survivor, I am all too familiar with society's reaction to women who have been in the commercial sex industry or who have survived human trafficking. The very reason I went to college was to leave a life I hated and stop the slut shaming I experienced, even from my own family members. To my surprise, ten years out of the industry and 12 years having survived being trafficked, at 50 years of age, I am still call ridiculous names like "that stripper" or accused of soliciting men at religious events. Believe me, I am used to it after 18 years of stripping and 30 total years knowledge about the commercial sex industry, but it doesn't mean it doesn't impact my ability to move on in life, provide for my home, and develop the self esteem that all other professionals do through job satisfaction, professional recognition, and education. My agency SWAN Colorado works to educate about the commercial sex industry, sex worker rights, human trafficking and slut shaming. Empowered women, desirous of wearing tank tops professing "Pussy Power" understand. "Sluts" Unite! - Ms. Billie McIntire, M.A.
This story isn't a demonstration of 'ignore and it will blow over' because it will be found out eventually and you'll be suffering for something that was not your fault.
This entry includes references to sexual assault and self harm.
I'm fourteen, and I come from a family of big breasts and have taken their genes and have got a bra size of 32F. I did not know the mindset of boys when I was younger. And at twelve, I was naturally wearing lower cut tops. I took no notice to the ways boys looked at me or what I could've been getting myself into. It may sound odd, but at twelve I was a bra size 32DD! I was offered to come round a boy's house and thought nothing of it, since we had been friends since I joined secondary school. However he was two years older (14) I went over and we went up to his room. All the sudden he told me to pull down my pants and I said no, my mum had told me no one was to touch that other than myself when I was washing or wiping. So he pushed me over and did it himself. He began to sexually abuse me but for the sake of appropriateness I'll let you decide what he did. I never told my mum what happened, I haven't to this day. I'm scared of what she'll think. However, he went back to school and told all his friends. I just kept my head down and never said anything as I went onto thirteen. By then, I had scars all up my arm and had been deeply self harming because of bullying and issues at home. Don't worry, I'm having therapy and it's being handled now. It had been a year since the event and soon after it did happen, then the whole school knew. I can't tell you how many times I had been called slut or whore or prostitute! I had no friends and was alone. And growing to be fourteen now, there's one question I've always wanted to know. Why, if a girl has sex are they slut shamed? And why, if a boy has sex, are they considered 'well done'. It extremely frustrates me! The boy who had sexually abused me has moved schools as I think he just couldn't handle the thought of me telling anyone, even after he threatened me. However, even though it was so long ago, they find it still alright to taunt me and call me names. But I am thankful to have a special group of friends that support me through everything and I now have a understanding, patient boyfriend who doesn't ever pressure me into having or doing sexual things. What I'm trying to say is, if anything sexual that you DO NOT want to have happened has been done to you or has been threatened, tell someone. No matter what situation. Contact the police IMMEDIATELY. This story isn't a demonstration of 'ignore and it will blow over' because it will be found out eventually and you'll be suffering for something that was not your fault. Bullying can become more than words. If you contact the police, there's a better chance that everything will stop and you will be looked after. Please, take it from a teenage girl that has experienced what perhaps is happening to you. Take my advice and don't forget it. Thank you.
I can't have anything too short because I fear getting called a slut. I mean I've never liked someone, I've never kissed someone, so why should I worry that what I'm wearing will classify me as a slut?
This recently caught my eye. And it's really interesting to read other people's stories, so I wanted to tell my own. I've been bullied. It wasn't really sexual, but it's still bullying, the thing is it was from my so called best friend. She had mentally and physically hurt me for around 5 years. I never had the guts to stop her, I definitely grew up faster than the other girls but I'm smart enough to know when to stop something. But I was just too scared to tell her no, and to stop her. I thought it wouldn't do anything. By the time I had the guts to just tell her to stop I found out she was going to move. I was so happy and relieved that it would finally be over. But it still didn't stop. It's mainly my fault I just can't forget her, when anyone asks about her I just say, "You don't want to know, she's horrible." My best friend right now, we've known each other since third grade and she knows what she was like. She understands when people want to talk about her why I get so emotional. She's the only person who helped me. My parents didn't really know until I told them she was moving. And they were glad. But I'm older now and I realize that looks are really the big thing right now. I know I'm not skinny, but I'm not fat, I know I am pretty. Because that is self confidence. I love my body. But it still hurts when I walk by someone and I get called fat. I'm always self conscious about what I wear. I can't have anything too short because I fear getting called a slut. I mean I've never liked someone, I've never kissed someone, so why should I worry that what I'm wearing will classify me as a slut? Because what I say is a slut is different from someone else's definition of a slut. So what's your definition of a slut?
I wanted a relationship with him but that soon failed after several people kept approaching him telling him that he has herpes from touching me, that he deserves "a princess not a hoe," and telling him remarks like that.
The beginning of my senior year, not even a week into it, everything just started happening. I was my high school's slut. Everyone called me a slut, making remarks about little things that I would do. Once during a football game, girls came to my car in a group of about 10 and all stood around my car and chanted "whore" multiple times. I was talking to this guy I liked and everyone would give him a hard time telling him all I wanted from him was sex, which was not the case at all. I wanted a relationship with him but that soon failed after several people kept approaching him telling him that he has herpes from touching me, that he deserves "a princess not a hoe," and telling him remarks like that. People wrote on my car "slut" "whore" "easy" "trash". My senior year was my hardest year of high school because of this. I wanted to graduate and be done with this mess as soon as I could because I couldn't take it anymore. Crying myself to sleep every night, wondering what I did to deserve any of this. Sitting on the bathroom floor wanting to die because everyone was just so mean to me. Made me hate myself, made me feel like I was worthless....
I just knew that at that point, I had nothing to my name, and if I tried to assert myself about my body and whether or not I had sex, I was going to be out on the street. Which is what it came to.
I'm a 20-something transgirl who got into a relationship with someone who really enjoyed sex, as did I at the time. And things were great at first, until I started realizing I was beginning to neglect my own medical, eating, and professional routines in order to satisfy her desire for sex multiple times per day, every day, for hours at a time, and attempted to tell her so. That's when she became increasingly violent, and the nights where she wasn't out having sex with other people, she was trying to beat down the door to the bedroom in which I had begun barricading myself every night to avoid her violent outbursts. Over the course of the next year, it all got so bad that I was all but bedridden. I begged her to give me enough space at to at least start eating regularly again and hopefully get my strength back. Her response was to forcibly mount me, day after day. I lost the will to even try to get my old life back at some point, I don't really remember when. I didn't even know how long I had been in that condition or even remember that I had been a social, friendly, competent professional in the time before I met her. I just knew that at that point, I had nothing to my name, and if I tried to assert myself about my body and whether or not I had sex, I was going to be out on the street. Which is what it came to. I was so bad off physically and too depressed and ashamed about everything that had happened, that I lived in my poorly running vehicle and went without food or anything else, rather than tell anyone what I'd been living in the last two years or go back to it. During this time, an older man chatted me up while I was out trying to go for a walk one day and offered me a room for a while to get my feet back underneath me. Not having eaten for weeks at a time because I now was free to eat as I pleased, but had no food, I took him up on it. So I was back to the same situation, only without the violence. I was trading my body to a man 40+ years older than me for food and a place to sleep. It felt like I was doing "better" than I had been in that moment, as sad as that is in retrospect. I could only "willingly" do that for a few weeks, and as soon as I wasn't "putting out" every day, I was out once again. By finally being willing to tell friends and family what had been happening for the last few years was I able to get the assistance needed to get on the path to getting my old life back. It's about two years later, and I still can't have anyone touch me. I tense up whenever anything reminds me of her, and spent an entire day at work hyperventilating in a corner because while I'd blocked her on every social media site I could think of and changed my number, I hadn't thought to on LinkedIn, and she tried to 'connect' with me there. I'm just beginning to think of myself as a decent, capable, fun, worthwhile person again, and finally have the confidence to cut ties with anyone who tells me it "couldn't have been that bad" or "I'd love to have a girlfriend like that!" or that that sort of thing is what I should expect if I'm going to live "this lifestyle". Basically, all the opinions and comments that made me too ashamed to speak up about what was happening before it got as bad as it did.
I was so scared. I tried to kill myself because of it and the police got involved again, but they didn't help. They just told me to block him.
This entry includes references to self-harm.
I don't really know how to explain it. A man, he was 20 years old, and I was 12 at the time, he started contacting me on 30th December 2014. I was really sad and I needed someone to talk to; my granddad had cancer and I blamed it on myself. On 1st January 2015, my granddad died, and the man took advantage of my low mood. He asked me to "date" him. He guilt tripped me into sending him nudes, after telling me he gets aroused a lot and he couldn't do anything about it. I ended up sending him a pic, but it got worse, he used to use the pic to get more pics of me, he blackmailed me. I tried to get away but he said he'd send my pics to my family members, find my school friends and send it to them, hack my social media and post it on there. I was scared and I couldn't get away and I blamed myself. He wouldn't leave me alone for months, and I wanted to die because of it. I contacted childline about it and the police came to my house but I didn't tell them the truth and I was scared, I still am. I was overwhelmed by it all. A few months later my sister came downstairs and told me a man had sent her a picture saying it was me. I claimed it was a fake picture, but it wasn't. I didn't want my family to think low of me. I was so scared. I tried to kill myself because of it and the police got involved again, but they didn't help. They just told me to block him. But that wouldn't fix it because he never went away, I had to change my emails, my IP address, my social media names, my number, everything. He still knows me though, I ignore him but I always feel like hes watching me or something. It scares me a lot.
I've had to leave jobs due to the harassment (because reporting it only made the situation worse for me). And I've also lost professional respect, contacts, and community acceptance.
I dated a guy for a while until I found out he lied to me big time and I broke up with him. For the last three years and counting he has been telling anyone who will listen (which seems to be everyone) that I'm a "slut." Everyone (including long time friends and co-workers) believe him with zero evidence! I've been harassed and detested as a result. I have hardly any friends left, I'm distanced from my family because they don't seem to care about what he's done and how it's affected me. I've had to leave jobs due to the harassment (because reporting it only made the situation worse for me). And I've also lost professional respect, contacts, and community acceptance. AND NO ONE SEEMS TO CARE!
Do not ever let a man force you into anything and do not let people define your worth. At the end of the day the only opinion that matters is the one that you have of yourself.
The following entry includes references to sexual assault and rape.
When I was 15, I broke up with my first boyfriend of a year. He was my first everything, and I had no idea where to move on from then. My best friend's boyfriend had always shown interest in me, but we had always been good friends, or so I thought. I confided in him how upset I was over the breakup, but our conversation quickly turned sexual. He wanted to "hang out sometime soon." Even though I had never made casual plans to hang out with boys other than my ex, I wasn't stupid. I knew what he wanted. So I hung out with him. He made me feel special and dangerous and desirable. I cannot even begin to tell you the guilt I felt about doing this behind my best friend's back, but for some reason I did it. He made me feel like it was all worth it. When he tried to have sex with me I told him I couldn't do it. I didn't want to be that girl, I said. I didn't want to give it up that easily. And more importantly, I wasn't going to do that to my ex boyfriend who was his friend or to my friend. The whole situation was a giant mess. I have never said I was raped because what exactly do you classify as saying no 10 times, but finally giving in just to get it over with and saying yes once? I didn't enjoy it. I felt awful the whole time. And afterwards I felt so ashamed and disgusted with myself. I lay in bed and cried. I confided in few friends about it and vowed to never admit it happened again. He never spoke to me really after that because that's all he wanted and he forced it out of me. The story gets better of course, as all "slut" tales usually do. I had confided in a friend that I trusted via Skype messaging one time when I was grounded for doing something else stupid. I should mention this situation happened in November, and I confided in the friend in December. She saved all of our messages on Skype and waited until months later in April before exploiting me. She printed out everything, every detail of the encounter, and passed the print outs to the entire junior and senior lunch period and showed my best friend. I've never been more scared or humiliated in my life. High school was NEVER the same for me after that. After that I was just a slut, a whore, a terrible friend, easy, you name it, that's what I was to people. A fucking slut. I still feel awful about what I did. I feel as if I brought it upon myself by putting myself in the situation. I didn't value myself or sex for a long time after that. Sometimes I don't know if I still do. I question my worth all of the time because of the things people said to me in high school and because of the things he did. Slut shaming HAS to stop. I am not saying what I did to my best friend is okay because it was not. But bullying and slut shaming are real and torturing someone for years because of a mistake they made, or dare I say the word rape? Is horrible. Saying no is okay and giving in and saying yes after saying no 10 times should not have to be your final resort. Do not ever let a man force you into anything and do not let people define your worth. At the end of the day the only opinion that matters is the one that you have of yourself. - Courtney
The guys went through with their promise. Today my past still haunts me.
I was sixteen years old when lost my virginity to my boyfriend who I had been dating for over a year. We broke up after that because as it turned out, he was also dating my best friend. I was hurt at the time when I met this new guy, who I slept with after being around him twice. After it was over he tried to get me to sleep with his friends but I refused, so he and his friends told me they were going to tell everyone at school I slept with all of them and performed other sexual acts. I still didn't go through with it because I told myself I would just have to deal with the shame. The guys went through with their promise. Today my past still haunts me. I was wrong to believe I could get over it or that it would one day get easier. As a mother who still carries this shame, I can really say you are a blessing of hope to me and others.
I asked what he was doing and he replied with, "Shut the fuck up, you slut, you know you want it. You're a whore, and everyone knows that."
This entry includes references to sexual assault and self-harm.
Note to the author: Since you submitted this account anonymously, I don't have your contact information. Please reach out to a parent or teacher for help immediately. You are NOT alone, and this is NOT your fault. You can overcome it, just like the women who have shared their stories here before you. Please visit Door of Hope 4 Teens and check out the resources available to you. I am always here to talk, as well. Love, Emily
I was 13 at the time, and I was just getting involved in the world of relationships and sex. I guess I just really wanted someone to hold, someone to kiss and to hug. I was reading stories online, and I had seen so many couples in real life that I just craved that touch. It was middle school, and I had told a couple of friends that I liked this guy, Josh. The news went all the way around the whole school and he had found out. It was embarrassing at first, but I was ecstatic when he told everyone that he liked me, too. Of course, in middle school, it didn't even really matter that we had never even talked before. Our friends made us hang out one day at my house. It was awkward at first, because my mom was chaperoning us. I was elated when she said she had to go get some groceries and that she would be back in about an hour. I scooted closer to him, until we were cuddling. I hadn't been fully exposed to sex yet, so I was confused when he started caressing my breasts and rubbing my genital area. I asked what he was doing and he replied with, "Shut the fuck up, you slut, you know you want it. You're a whore, and everyone knows that." I'm not going into detail, but basically we had sex, plus oral. The next day, everyone was laughing at me. I didn't know what was going on until my best friend, Steph, told me to check Josh's Facebook profile. It turned out that he had videotaped the whole thing with his crappy old phone. It wasn't that great quality but you could still see EVERYTHING. Josh had uploaded it onto a porn website and had posted the link with, "I gave the whore what she wanted. What a fucking slut! She practically begged me to undress her and fuck her senseless. Goddamn." Steph had also informed the principal and the authorities, and had the video taken down. Josh was punished by the cops. Ever since then, I became depressed. I slit my own fucking wrists everyday because some asshole had decided to label me a slut. To this day, the whole thing hasn't died down. I'm 15 now. No one wants to talk to me. Life is hell.
From this point on, I was ashamed of myself. I BLAMED myself.
This entry includes references to sexual assault and self-harm.
I remember everything perfectly. It was the beginning of my 6th grade school year. I was getting used to everything, and had moved far away from all my friends - we lost touch easily. At first, it was my classmates in Math. It was a whole group. I remember some names: Dominique, Serenity, Trey, and that's it. I got called skank, whore, slut, but then... then he called me fat. I don't know why this one hit me so hard. It may have been from being so self-conscious of my weight. But from that moment on, I began my horrible path down the bulimic road. It's painful, and nobody should have to go through it. My second experience was in 7th grade, I was obsessed with the cello. And when I was practicing in the music room, Dominique walked in. He said he needed to talk to me. I probably looked like a demon, waiting to tear his throat out. At first, I was comfortable, a bit uneasy, but fine really. He said he was sorry for all the shit he did to me, and wanted to be friends. I accepted, because I needed that. I WANTED that. But later on, he attempted to sexually assault me. My parents were very quiet about sex and condoms, and what I should do - or how I would know. I knew a few things, but I hadn't been properly educated. He once pushed me into a stall and put his hands up my shirt and down my pants. From this point on, I was ashamed of myself. I BLAMED myself. I started cutting with my mom's sewing scissors or something - but they were very sharp. I told myself I deserved this and became very depressed. What truly helped me was Carson. (It's a girl.) She became my friend when no one else would be. She supported me, and comforted me. I love her so much :) And I got over my depression and bulimia. Please don't let anyone get you down, you're perfect and amazing in every way.
This entry includes references to self-harm.
I am Tristany, and my story starts with a rumor. Rumors about me making out with guys and girls in the stalls of the girls restroom. I was branded a 'slut,' 'prostitute,' and 'hoe'. I hated myself! I had a history of cutting. I had gotten help for it but when the rumors started I relapsed and it was the worst thing. People would walk up and ask for blowjobs, girls would walk up and ask if I fucked anyone yet. I wouldn't answer. I would run to the girls restroom and hide in the stalls. I was so depressed. I told my mom, but I didn't know if she would do anything. Then I found this website and read the book 'Unslut: A Diary and A Memoir' and it helped me realize I wasn't alone. - Tristany
I wanted to speak out but before I could, they'd already told everyone that I was "sleeping" with them, when all I had done was cry and express discomfort over them touching me. I was branded a slut and nobody wanted to talk to me in school.
This entry includes references to sexual assault and self-harm.
I was 12, unaware of sexual abuse and what it consisted of. Sex education in my country is something I can't see happening; India as a country still views sex as a taboo. I was friends with a couple of guys in my class, you know, the casual friendships you have. I was targeted by people saying I'm friends with them for "other reasons." Yes, that's how bad the situation is. A girl can't be friends with guys unless she fucks them? These guys ultimately believed that I wanted to "be" with them and these 3 guys assaulted me for the first time. Unaware as I was, I didn't think much of it. I was disturbed and hated it. I didn't like them touching me that way when I visited them to watch movies. After 5 months I did find out what they were doing was wrong. I wanted to speak out but before I could, they'd already told everyone that I was "sleeping" with them, when all I had done was cry and express discomfort over them touching me. I was branded a slut and nobody wanted to talk to me in school. I wasn't respected by anyone. Now I ask, why is it necessary for women to be modest to be respected? Why is a woman's worth based on her sexual history? The sexual assault and the wrongly aimed slut shaming I received led me to be a self harmer because I was always told it was my fault. Now 4 years after the incident, I've finally realised that people talk shit and you have to give a deaf ear to it.
I've been "slut" shamed the past 5 days because my mom read the messages and was mortified, considering she thought I didn't know anything at all about sex.
I have switched schools multiple times for being slut shamed. I have only have had 2 boyfriends when other girls are actually having sex. In my opinion, people often forget the definition of "slut." It means untidy, but our generation often uses it differently. This incident just recently happened. I have been home from school the past 4 days. Two weeks before my birthday, invitations were supposed to be handed out, but instead the two girls I thought were my friends decided to look through my messages and send them to everyone. No, they weren't nudes (yes, some Christians send nudes, but no). I thought my boyfriend would break up with me if I didn't talk dirty, but that wasn't the case. We are no longer together anymore, but we're best friends. It's really hard to just forget about him, but he doesn't know that I've been slut shamed the past 5 days because my mom read the messages and was mortified, considering she thought I didn't know anything at all about sex. An "exposed" page was made about me on Instagram. The bio said, "Payback's a bitch, huh honey," then she changed it to "baby cakes." My counselor for my mom and my relationship is my rock, and always finds a way to make me feel better. I'm basically alive because of her and, well, Jesus of course. She proved to me that the account was taken down and she says the person who made it spelled "exposed" wrong. I am attending school tomorrow, aka HELL. I have been sexually assaulted twice and it really makes me feel awful when I'm getting called slut and my parents are making me feel more awful than I already am. And this was definitely a wake up call. PEOPLE ARE ENTITLED TO THEIR OPINION. NO ONE CAN DEFINE YOU BUT YOU. AND IF YOU'RE A "SLUT," WHO CARES? IF YOU'RE HAPPY DOING WHAT YOU LOVE, DO IT. This story has inspired me so much. I would like to say thank you for being such an inspiration to people like me, and I know people have it worse than me, but I just had to vent.
As far as I knew, it was my job to convince my partners to have sex, and their jobs to prevent me, as all good Catholic girls do.
I just heard the NPR One podcast about this project and when I look back at my behavior, I am fully regretful for how I dealt with the learning of sex. I grew up in the DC area, and many of the young women I dated in high school were from one of many Catholic schools. I had no training in courtship, no advice from my father on how to behave with an intimate partner. As far as I knew, it was my job to convince my partners to have sex, and their jobs to prevent me, as all good Catholic girls do. I never forced myself on another person, but after a few terrifying attempts to have sex with a man, I realized how frustrating and paralyzing uncertainty and sex can be. I could have said, "You know, I don't think this is my thing," and the man was my good friend, but I felt trapped. In a way intimacy can turn from warm to ice cold, at the turn of a thought. - Chris
I always felt like it wasn't a big deal, there was nothing I could do about it, as I was a 'slut' that shouldn't have been there in the first place. So I never told anyone.
This entry includes references to self-harm and rape.
I am an ordinary girl (well a bit more than ordinary as I'm creative and fun!) doing Textiles at University. I was looking forward to coming to university, I felt like I had made it. I was so excited about the people I was going to meet and the great new course I was starting. Making new friends and finding my feet was fun but I have a tendency to trust everyone. I was newly single, too, I felt sexy, I had a new confidence, all these students who wanted to know me was overwhelming. If I wanted to get with someone I would go ahead and do it. But with that, my new friends would start to have something to say about it. At first it was a bit of a laugh and I'd roll my eyes, but then it started to circulate. Boys started using me because they knew I was "loose', boys I genuinely liked would drop me as soon as they were done. I felt alone. I would cry every night. I felt like I couldn't turn to girl friends because I thought they would blame me, that it was my own wrong doing. I would get drunk and cut my skin on my arm to make the pain I felt in my heart go away. I fantasied about having a boyfriend, someone who would love me no matter what, but I felt like everyone knew my sexual history. I would be smiley through the day at lectures, so no one would know my heart would break every time someone was in a new relationship. I would go out and get so drunk that I didn't care, meeting new boys wasn't fun anymore as I would only want them to come back for company. I ended up going back to a student house with a friend and two boys one night. I knew one of the boys liked my friend so they disappeared off. I was left with one, and he had his hands all over me. I didn't like him, he made my skin crawl. But I thought I had to give him something as I had come back with him, so I thought a kiss wouldn't hurt. This was the wrong idea as he whipped his pants off and started to writhe around on top of me. The room was dark, and I started to feel a bit turned on as he kissed my neck but before I knew it, he shoved his penis inside me, pulling my knickers aside. I got frightened, my body was stiff, I knew I didn't want him to have sex with me. With a few aggressive thrusts, he groaned and rolled over onto his side. I lay there in the dark, dazed. I always felt like it wasn't a big deal, there was nothing I could do about it, as I was a 'slut' that shouldn't have been there in the first place. So I never told anyone. And even to this day I don't know his name. I am still at Uni, currently in third year. I am on anti-depressants and I have a boyfriend. I am so much happier than I was, I never want to be in that lonely dark place again. I know I still have a long way to go and in some ways I am still in denial, I have lied to my boyfriend about how many people I have slept with. He hasn't met many of the university peeps either so I am in my own bubble. People still have something to say occasionally and I feel like I have to justify myself because I have a boyfriend now and it was a 'phase'. Fuck that, if a girl wants to have fun and fuck because it feels good, thats okay. I was unhappy because of the people around me, and the label people who did not know me chose to give me, not because of my actions. I hope there are more ordinary girls out there that feel the same because I felt alone for so long. - Anonymous, from a university in England
They thought I acted smart just because I wanted attention from boys. They called me a slut and a bitch behind my back. I never understood why.
I never like gossiping, I don't even like it now. While the girls used to sit and gossip on the playground, I and my best friend used to play football with the boys. I didn't care if you were a boy or a girl. I just wanted to play. At first, they used to say, you just want attention and popularity. But it was never like this, I hate back bitching or spreading hurtful rumours or calling anyone slut. But then, my best friend transferred to Canada and I was left alone. No girl talked with me. So I became best friends with a guy in my class. So he was damn good looking, all the girls thought. Soon all of them started getting jealous of me, all the girls who used to act like I didn't exist. Soon I heard someone saying "bitch" behind my back, but it didn't matter to me. Me and my best friend (the guy) drifted apart as our classes shuffled. We still talked but had not much time, as studying was the first priority. I thought it might be a great start as the classes had shuffled, but it wasn't. They thought I tried to look hot just because I was tall. They thought I acted smart just because I wanted attention from boys. But this isn't true. I never cared about how I act in front of boys or how good I look, I don't even care now. They called me a slut and a bitch behind my back. I never understood why. This whole thing stopped when I stood up for myself and then slowly, slowly, everyone started supporting me a bit. It was because - We all have feelings. We can't control them. You wake up every morning and realize you're going to have a horrible day again, this used to happen with me. Girls have every right to be free. And anyway if someone wants to have sex with a guy, that's their own business, why does someone else have to poke their noses in and comment unnecessary things? If you want a physical relationship with a guy, go on. It's your life, you can do it if you feel right. Remember calling someone slut or whore won't make you any better. And of course for my last words - "We accept the love we think we deserve."
It is pretty challenging to find mainstream stories, yet, of trans people negotiating relationships and relations in the real world.
I am a trans woman who has been (still) passing as a gay man for 35+ years and am just now finding my confidence, my voice. 1970's sexual liberation typically did not extend to LGBT folk who still had generally to fear for their lives, their jobs, their families and their communities - even in San Francisco. But at least gay liberation was visible in the 70's, even if mainstreamed as a freak show. The only trans woman I remember as a kid, however, was the ineffable tennis star Renee Richards. Funny, upon reflection, until the beginning of high school I was 'mildly' bullied by girls more than boys and internally fought my perceived orientation as well. The turning point was being stalked and groped in the Paris Metro at 15, this time by a middle aged man, before I could accept truths about gender or orientation apparent to everyone however hard I fought it. It was thrilling and perilous to join the gay liberation in 1980 - including reckless but unknowing behavior just before AIDS - but that's another story. By 18 and fully 'out', I could battle any homophobic indignity at school or the work place - and without question put career and the picket fence ahead of always surfacing realities of gender authenticity. With all the progress in Marriage Equality and the Trans Movement today, the latter in media infancy, we still have so few images of ourselves in pop culture. I thank you for your discussion of 'saints and sinners'. I hear a lot of stories about successful and failed marriages of transitioning people. I also don't need to tell you how many stories I hear, heart warming and heart wrenching and salacious, of trans people who are sex workers. But like gay and lesbian folk during the years from Stonewall to DODT, it is pretty challenging to find mainstream stories, yet, of trans people negotiating relationships and relations in the real world. As a designer, I speak my truth on exactly that - the meaning and image of Truth and Beauty as we all individually and collectively perceive it. I invite you to the conversation at my blog. Bon Courage! - Danielle Sylvie Brody
I get shamed for being a woman, I get shamed for doing the same thing a man would get praised for. Do I feel bad? No.
It was the summer before freshman year when I gave a boy oral sex and I experienced the first ever slut shaming in my life. The boy had told everyone and being 14, new to a school, and having barely anyone like you is bad, but being 14, and having rumors about you giving blow jobs is worse. It was known around the school that I had given a blow job to the boy. At that point, everyone would swarm me with questions like "Did you like it? What was it like?" And patriarchally bred little girls my age would ask me, "Do you have any respect for yourself?" Why is it that, when a woman engages in a sex act that's not with her husband or a long time lover her self respect and self worth is lessoned and questioned? If I was a guy bragging about how I had sexual intercourse with a girl who wasn't my spouse or partner I would be deemed "the man." Rumors kept circulating around me and in a highschool as big as the one I went to, things tend to get speculated and made up. Rumors went around that I was engaging in oral sex with 8 guys at one time, that I had let a senior have sex with me in a teacher-staff conference room, that I had gave head in a garage. I was the butt of so many jokes, girls would try to offer advice to me. I was getting slut shamed, and that shit hurts more than a insult like "Her shoes are ugly" or "Ew, she's not that cute." Because your value gets deteriorated and you're looked at as a less deserving, non respected harlot. The thing is, I was a naive, little girl who knew nothing about how women were supposed to be looked at in this society. I let guys sell me dreams, have sexual relations with me, then throw me away. And all the times it happened, I was never pitied, I was looked at as the perpetrator more than the victim. The truth is, I like being a "slut." I like wearing tight clothes, I like exploring my sexuality, and I like being sexual. Now that I have matured, I know when and who to give my sexual energy towards, and who not to. But I still get shamed. I get shamed for being a woman, I get shamed for doing the same thing a man would get praised for. Do I feel bad? No. But, it took lots of doubts through contemplated self harm, depression, and alteration of my personality to get to the point where I understood misogynistic roles for women in this society, and understood I was doing nothing wrong. I want slut shaming to stop, because not only does it perpetuate century old double standards, but it also influences misogynistic idealism, that should not be taught to any child.
We must remember and acknowledge how strong we are (as women) and not make useless efforts to convince those who don't want to believe.
To share my story is not a means to place guilt or blame on anybody. We all learn, and as we do we experience things we would like to forget, eventually. I'm now old enough to be the mother to many of you (boys and girls). Yet, many of my experiences may seem just as fresh and current as they are to the youngest reader. I was brought up believing in respect for my body, to keep myself till the day of my wedding and to expect sex as proof of love and everlasting commitment. Yes, I held those convictions for longer than many of you have (perhaps). Even if at the age of eight I was to experience my first fondling by a girl three years my elder. I recall being afraid, ashamed and not understanding any of it. This went on for a few months till we moved to another house. Of course, nobody knew about it. Later on, as I went into a mixed school, as we called it, boys came into the picture, some nice, some not so nice. I was taught to stay away, but, though I was not a pretty girl, I was very cute and boys seemed to like that very much. Many approached me with well defined intentions to date and many others did not even ask. They simply assumed I wanted to be touched because well, I was a girl. Yes, it happened a few times in school, though not to the point of rape. Blame? Guilt? Shame was the feeling that filled me for many years of my young life. I did not blame myself or the boys who did not respect me. I lamented the lack of power to reject those advances. I wished for the power to punish those who did not listen to me. As I said, this is no longer the case because, in time, I understood the pressure both boys and girls experience. a boy who does not "chase girls" is considered less than a man. A girl who does not submit to a request from a man is not cool... and so on. Is there a solution? Perhaps, if we found a way to stop the social decay that's corroding the marrow of our own culture we may be able to begin a new era in which we may reach a better understanding of the beauty of being a boy or a girl. Perhaps, we (women) must stopped striving to be more like men and instead do the best we can without forgetting how beautiful it is to be a woman. Perhaps if we raise our boys with the knowledge necessary to be capable of understanding that instinct alone is not what gives pleasure. Perhaps.... There is so much to be done and the key is to find the understanding within and to begin a one-on-one education that will last for the rest of our lives. The remedy for us, the women who fell victim to abuse or molestation, is not to find a place for guilt or blame. We must remember and acknowledge how strong we are (as women) and not make useless efforts to convince those who don't want to believe. We ought to walk forward, with our heads high, assured that we are capable of doing the most amazing things. After all, we are intelligent and beautiful; we are strong and delicate. We are tender, but capable of defending our honor and the lives of our children. Remember! Being who we are is the greatest treasure we could offer to the world. Love you all. - Tracie Andersen
I tried to take my life but I was caught and hospitalized. Everyone knew, somehow, what had happened.
This entry includes references to self-harm and suicide.
When I was in 7th grade I had my first boyfriend and he manipulated me in to giving him a hand job. He told all of his friends and I became labelled as a "whore". Everyone knew about it and I began getting notes in my locker telling me to kill myself or that I should become a prostitute. I tried to keep myself up but everything and everyone seemed to be pulling me down. One night I couldn't handle it anymore. I broke down and cried until I couldn't cry anymore. I became depressed from the bullying and would hide from the girls whom I had once called my friends. I wanted it to be over. I tried to take my life but I was caught and hospitalized. Everyone knew, somehow, what had happened. So I started drinking and smoking. I WAS OUT OF CONTROL. My dad took me in and I switched schools. I had a new start... or so I thought. I became really close with a girl and I told her my story. She told everyone and it all happened again. At this point I felt numb and just stopped giving a damn. I started hooking up with guys and thought I'll give them a reason to call me that name. My parents and the few friends I had tried to comfort me because they saw I had given up. I began cutting and drinking even more. I would hear the girls pointing at me and whispering loud enough to for me to hear all the foul things they called me. This all started three years ago and it still hurts me to think about it. - Catherine Mendoza-Bartels
I'm now 27 years old and I've realized over the years that my dad was wrong. I wasn't a slut and I didn't dress like one.
I never imagined that I would be called a slut by my own parent. I was in Jr. High and I was playing dress up at my house. I wore a short dress that went to my knees, and was wearing lipstick. The dress I wore didn't show anything and I wasn't going to go outside dressed like that. I was playing dress up, where's the harm in that? Almost every young girl plays dress up. That afternoon my dad stopped by which was unusual for me because he has never been around and rarely came to see my sister and I so I was shocked to open the door and see him there. He looked at me and said, " You look like a slut". I was so embarrassed and even a bit ashamed. It affected my self-esteem as the years went by. I believed my dad, and I was always careful of what I would wear. I didn't want to look like what my father accused me of. I started hating myself and would change shirts to make sure the crack wasn't showing, there was a period where I thought I was ugly. I'm now 27 years old and I've realized over the years that my dad was wrong. I wasn't a slut and I didn't dress like one. I was playing dress up. It was all innocent. We are not sluts and once we are labeled that, it changes how we feel about our selves. It needs to stop. - Brandy Miller
People think I'm a slut because of my past, because of my sexuality, because I have to lie to make it all better for them, because I have to fake confidence, because I'm ME.
This entry includes references to rape and self-harm.
Maybe it was the fact that no one had ever liked me before in that way, but when I first came into secondary school, I basked in the attention. I mean, guys, liking me? I was finally feeling confident, and God did it feel great for people to finally realise that yes, I was a real person who wasn't meant to be ignored (which happened in primary school for almost 3 years, wherein some people didn't even know my name or of existence). Then summer came, and this faux confidence came crashing down round my ears. You see, my mom was pregnant. Until the fact she had a stillborn birth, was stuck in the ICU for the better part of 2 months, and we didn't know whether she was living or dying. After that point, I was stuck between two moods: intense, reckless euphoria, and mopey depression. I was so reckless I even let a boy touch me under the table several times. Me, a person who was usually independent and feministic, was submissive as my ex-boyfriend's friend came up to me, in school and in front of the teachers, and touched my boobs. No one did anything of course, because it was just a harmless prank. Of course. When my mom came out the hospital, I began to experiment deeper into my love life. It was great, because I thought 3 guys liked me. And that's what I needed at that time; someone to care about me. Because I hate to admit it, but when my mom was dying, me and my brother were pushed off to the side, and I was dealing with heavy emotional irregularities, and I couldn't deal. I was weak beforehand. I had been going through a depressive state for the better part of year 5-7, and I had tried to kill myself multiple times. After the last attempt in April, I told myself I would live - not for me, but for the bump on my mother's stomach. And when the baby died, I lost hope. I wanted to die and drown, but it would've killed my recovering mom. I felt numb and reckless, so when an older guy began to take interest in me when I had a boyfriend, I did what any numb and immoral teen would do, and cheated on the said boyfriend with the older guy. I sent pics, too, to the both of them. It gave me a thrill, and I needed to feel anything but the badness in me. In a burst of insanity, I told my boyfriend I cheated on him. Despite the fact he was the resident player who cared about no girl, he cried. Told his dad. Then told everyone I sent pictures (of my boobs) to him and promised him things - which only intensified the rumours which circulated that I was an easy lay, which my ex-boyfriend had provided in explicit detail. So there I was, school slut. I hate to admit it, but after that, I was depressed. I was a slut, my parents knew (they came upon one of my convos with my ex) and were disappointed, and I was easy. Insert another suicide attempt. Next came the day I planned my co-suicide with my friend. And I cut lines across my leg and God help me, but I didn't feel anything. I fucking laughed when the blood dropped with the shower down the drain, and I wanted to die because I had no reason to live. When I came back to school, some guys lied to their mates and said I had sent nudes, and that I had big boobs (which I do for my age). I had brief moments where I felt the horrible things that I did, and sometimes I would get into these episodes where I would burst into tears and scratch mindlessly at my skin because I felt dirty. I felt ashamed of my body and curves and beauty I had because I was objectified and was just another notch on some boys bed. Maybe the repercussions of this on my psyche and mind are worse than the events, but the events are still this thing I can't say allowed - I'm surprised I can even type this. Because now, a few years later, I have panic attacks whenever I'm confronted with this period in my life, and my parents pretend I don't suffer from a mental illness because I'm the only one with a problem in my family, and everyone negates and belittles the things I went through, and I still hate my body. I hate showing my body off, and then, I worsen that fact by wearing "slutty" clothing because isn't that what's expected of me? The school's closet slut? And I still have to fight this stupid thing where I have to try and fight the urge to cut again, and I can't tell anyone because my parents have made everyone believe I'm an attention whore calling for attention. Even the school's therapist has stopped caring. Because when I was going through one of my worse panic attacks, I can remember her vividly yelling at me that I was lying to get out of lesson, that I was overreacting. Worse thing is though, that I believe most of it. Because fuck, I like both male and female, I'm bisexual (it feels good to admit it!), which makes me a "slut." I'm mentally ill, which makes me a pathological liar because of course, mental illnesses don't exist in POC (according to my Asian parents). And people think I'm a slut because of my past, because of my sexuality, because I have to lie to make it all better for them, because I have to fake confidence, because I'm ME. Hopefully, I can find a place in this world and the next where I can feel loved and accepted for my past, present and future.
My mother told me about a few of her friends' stories and I've learned how to be safe from them. Please tell someone. You aren't alone.
This entry includes references to sexual abuse.
This is much about myself, but more about my mother. My mother is an inspiration and all of my friends see her as pretty, smart, brave and a tad sassy - but she wasn't always as powerful as she is today. My mother is the strongest person I know. She's helped me overcome a variety of mental issues and trauma and I can't thank her enough. I've gotten permission to share her story. In September, 2012, my mother was single, and had four kids: My younger sister, my younger brother, my older sister and myself. I was just 10 years old, the eldest being only 12. Every week we would all pile into the car and head to the market around the corner: Weekly shopping. Every time there would be the same man (let's call him 'R') serving at the same register. All was normal. Suddenly, our mother started asking us to wait out the front whilst she bought the groceries. We had no idea why, but we obeyed. She would come back, bags in hands, baffled each time. We still didn't know. Then one night, my older sister and I woke up to go to the toilet (we shared a room, it was impossible to stay asleep). Half way down the hall, we heard footsteps. We weren't worried that much, because mum would make herself a tea and read a book at odd hours of the night. But when I peered out, a man stood in the hallway, dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. He saw me, and whispered, "Stay quiet, your mama is sleeping." I had never been so terrified in my life. I had just watched Scream 4 (great idea!) and I screamed. Everyone of course woke up, and he ran out the door. Everyone thought I was crazy, that I saw nothing. Every night after that I checked the hallway for him, so I could scream again, louder this time. I never saw him. But he was still there. He started posting notes that I didn't understand on my mother's door, like "Whenever you're ready for me," or "I can't wait for you to show me yourself." Later on I found out it was sexual abuse, and the notes got more personal, from "I want to taste you," to "I'm getting hard in your hallways." My mum pretended it didn't scare her, but I knew it did. Then my mum started dating. She dated a guy, call him 'J', and they are still together today. The notes stopped, until one morning mum woke up to find someone had done 'inappropriate things' to her underwear. Basically, the man left her underwear soiled that morning. J called the police. We did a DNA test with everyone mum knew, including her brothers, father, ex-boyfriends (they all agreed happily) and ...the grocery man. It was him. He was arrested. I don't know what happened to him, but everything stopped. As far as I know, he's in jail for something else. But it goes to show that no matter how random someone may be, they can hurt you. I'm really happy that my mum is happy, and recently she and J had a baby, a new addition to the family. We are all happy that everything is back to 'normal' (even if that means projectile vomiting is 'normal'). If you have any sexual assault, rape, bullying or abuse stories, please tell someone. My mother told me about a few of her friends' stories and I've learned how to be safe from them. Please tell someone. You aren't alone. Thank you for reading, and I hope all of you have a wonderful day.
I loved that swim suit. After camp one of my friends told me that as soon as I was out of earshot all of the female counselors started to talk about it negatively.
I was 12, almost 13. I was a B cup, which I know isn't that big but I already had an hourglass body shape. My mom and I looked at 3 different stores looking for bathing suits for me, because I am very picky when it comes to that sort of thing and I wanted something that made me feel good about my body. I wanted to get a one piece, but none of them fit right. The straps would fall or the cups inside the bathing suit wouldn't be the right size. I ended up getting 2 bikinis from Macy's that made me feel great about my body and looked good. At Macy's, the only bikinis they had ALL had padding in them. And were push-up bikinis. But they fit and I liked them, so we got them. The first night at summer camp all of the girls in my age group had to go into one cabin for a talk. The talk was about what to do if you get your period at camp and more. It also was about boys. How you didn't have to be "Touchy-touchy" with them. Their words, not mine. The first year I was in that age group we were told not to make purple. Boys were blue and girls were pink, and we were not to make purple. Back to the story! So I am gay, and while they were saying what to do if a boy asks you dance I said, quite loudly, "What if you have a girlfriend?" All of the counselors pretended not to hear. At camp it was excruciatingly hot. Like every day was above 95 degrees hot. You were not allowed to wear crop tops. On the second day I wore one to breakfast and was told to go change it, so I put on a tank top that had spaghetti straps. I was told to change it. One of the girls in my cabin hadn't brought a swimsuit, and you swim a lot at that camp. At camp they have things kids can take if they forget something, so she took a swimsuit. The bikini was the type that the boob-portion is like triangles and the bottom portion looks best if set a bit above the hips, and is comfier if set above the hips. Nobody said anything. That night there was a pool party for our age group. I wore one of the bikinis I brought, but it was the first time I wore it at camp. I loved that swim suit. After camp one of my friends told me that as soon as I was out of earshot all of the female counselors started to talk about it negatively. Normally I wear swimming trunks along with my bikini bottoms while I swim because they make me feel more comfortable, but the ones I was wearing that night got kind of annoying so I took them off. That was when it happened. A boy came up behind me and tried to untie my bikini top. It was double knotted, thank god, but I was enraged. He was laughing and then jumped into the pool. I grabbed him and dragged him around looking for somebody who spoke Spanish because he did not speak English. When I found somebody who spoke Spanish and I told them what happened, the boy and the person spoke. I was told that he was "just playing." Pretty much all of the girls my age knew what happened. They all asked me if I was okay, and we all bitched about him. I was furious and none of the counselors did anything about it. I knew that all of the female counselors knew because they were all in a huddle, constantly looking at me. I was ready to cry by the time the pool party was over. I just wanted to get into bed and go to sleep, but my counselor had a different plan. I was still in my soaking wet bikini when she said that she thought that next year at camp the dress code would be updated so that you could only wear one-pieces and what she was wearing. She was wearing an ugly tankini that looked like a one piece. I was disgusted and ready to sleep. She then said that we had to wear a "swim top and swim shorts" while swimming, and that all of the other girls had to, too. She said that I had to choose a swim top right then. I had so many reasons not to, but I was tired and already on the verge of tears. Normally I tend to overreact, but when I'm tired it gets worse. I was really tired. I curled up in a ball and cried my eyes out into the towel that was previously in my hands. It got so bad that they called in the unit leader. The unit leader and I DID NOT get along at all. I was one or two years away from being a senior at camp. She told me, and I quote, "You do this every year. The Seniors don't put up with this." And more, basically telling me that I was being a baby and that I was crying for no reason. She grabbed the towel away from me and told me to get up. When I didn't she tried to make me get up by grabbing my arm and pulling me across the room. When I get emotional I tend to have a death grip on things. I had a death grip on my knees, and I refused to unfurl the ball I was in. SHE PULLED ME AGAINST MY WILL AND COULDN'T UNDERSTAND WHY I WOULDN'T STOP CRYING. They almost called in the camp leaders. When I stopped crying I went to bed, but I couldn't stop thinking about what happened. I cried myself to sleep that night. The next day I was forced to get a swim shirt. It was hard enough getting it on because it was too small, but in the water it became extremely clingy and sometimes I needed help getting it off. My counselor ignored my complaints about it. During our water activities I saw that it was just my cabin that was forced to wear a swim shirt and swimming trunks. After camp they sent home a survey for the kids to complete. One of the questions was, "How much has camp improved your self image?" With 5 being a lot, 3 being it's the same, and 1 being it made it much worse. I rated 2.5. If you made it to the end of this thing, thank you for reading and please, don't let yourself be pushed around like I was. Stand up for your rights. - Kai
All that waiting for nothing, and gone in a moment, along with any self worth I had. I felt like I had nothing to offer anyone anymore.
This entry includes references to rape.
I'm nervous because I don't know how my friends and family will respond to me standing so strongly for anti slut shaming and being so sex positive. But I'm hoping I'm able to explain my experience in a way so that they will be able to understand why this is such an important and personal issue to me. I want to share my story with anyone it can help and eventually with my family but I'm very scared for some reason to do it, so this is my first attempt. Even though it's anonymous it's a step in the right direction. So here is my story... I was raised mostly conservative and because of that I believed that my virginity was what I should value most and that's what would make me worth something to a guy. And while I'm not denying that a girl's virginity is a big deal to most of us, and we should be in control of who, when and how we lose it, it is not what makes us valuable. And I learned that the hard way. My goal is to help every other girl feel confident in their self worth and their choices, with or without their virginity. I have been both virgin shamed and slut shamed by the cruel society we live in and I am ready to take a stand against both, because it really took its toll on me and was incredibly harmful emotionally and physically. I am a 21-year-old female and I was a virgin until I was 20 because I felt like that's what made me worth anything. I was supposed to wait for my wedding night. And then one day I didn't have a choice anymore. I found myself in a non consensual situation with a guy and my virginity was just taken from me. All that waiting for nothing, and gone in a moment, along with any self worth I had. I felt like I had nothing to offer anyone anymore. And then everywhere I looked, I started noticing people throwing around the words "slut" and "whore" and saying stuff like, "Look at what she's wearing, she wants some tonight," and I started to take all of it personally. Was I that girl? I would hear older conservative ladies talking about young girls - they didn't even know if they were sexually active or not - calling them sluts because of the way they dress or act around men. And I just started to feel worthless. I lost all respect for myself and ended up getting into some really unhealthy ways of living and thinking. This went on for several months and I lived in denial of the fact that I was raped, and tried to ignore it. I told myself that I was in a bikini and I had been flirting with him so he probably thought I wanted it. I told him to stop but he said I had been leading him on and no one would have waited 2 whole days and been as patient with me as he had. I believed all of it. It was my fault. But one day it got to the point where I couldn't take it anymore. I wasn't enjoying life, I felt like a piece of trash, and I told someone what happened to me. It was the start of me learning how to value myself for the first time. I learned that I have the right to say no, and that I don't owe a guy anything no matter what I am wearing or how I am acting. That I can be in control. I had to learn for the first time how to love myself as a person. And I realized that my virginity didn't actually have anything to do with who I was as a person. A lot of people I grew up with do not agree with my strong stance on sex positivity and anti slut shaming, but I hope that someday through sharing my personal experiences they can understand why I have taken this on as my personal battle. I lived too long listening to everyone else's opinions about sex. And whether I was a virgin or had been in a sexual relationship with someone I was shamed by society. And I felt so alone. I don't want ANYONE else to ever feel as alone as I did, or not be able to value themselves because they don't think they are living up to someone else's standards of how they should be living. Every single one of us humans are beautiful and complicated beings and WE are the only ones who get to decide our worth. And it's time that we demand the respect we deserve. I stand for every man or woman who has been shamed or devalued for how we choose to control our bodies. And I hope you will do the same! -Someone fed up with trying to live up to other people's standards
I didn't fully understand that I had been raped, I just knew that what had happened was very, very wrong. I didn't know how to handle the things that happened to me. I truly thought I had become a "slut."
This entry includes references to rape, self-harm, and suicide.
I was the new girl in a small town in 7th grade and at the time I didn't know that everyone was small minded and arrogant. I was quickly branded a "slut" for being different. I was shocked because I had never kissed a boy or even held hands with one. My first week of 8th grade, I was raped by a family member. I'm not going to go into details but it broke me. I quickly fell into deep depression and thought if anyone found out they would blame me. I didn't fully understand that I had been raped, I just knew that what had happened was very, very wrong. I didn't know how to handle the things that happened to me. I truly thought I had become a "slut." Throughout high school I dated guys off and on, and I didn't know how to say no because I thought I wouldn't be liked if I ever said no... So I did many things I am not proud of. I started cutting. My parents didn't notice the cuts for years. Not until 12th grade. My mom just told me that I was stupid, weak, and pathetic for doing it. Already struggling with depression, I tried to commit suicide. Clearly that failed but I'm glad it did. I was raped the first semester of my freshman year of college in the newspaper room. I cried for days and nights. My boyfriend of a year that I live with couldn't touch me or comfort me and it really almost destroyed our relationship... Being raped changed everything about my life. I wish I had known to speak up and tell someone what had happened; it may have changed things. - Jewell in Georgia
He told his mates the nasty things I promised, probably even embellished most of the facts, so there I was, nearly 13 with double-d-cups, and already classed as 'sexually mature' - a.k.a. a whore.
This entry includes references to self-harm and rape.
I remember I was happy once, and surprise surprise, it was with a guy, and I'm not even sure why I was happy with him. This guy, he seemed like a godsend back then (my brother had died in a stillbirth, my dad was shattered, and my mom was dying, whilst my 7 year old brother didn't understand). He was in the same popularity group as I was, we hung around the same people, and he thought I was attractive - a feat for me. Also, my best friend was setting me up with him, whilst her boyfriend helped. The actual relationship was okay, not stellar, but okay. Sure, he let his friends make jokes about my curvaceous body, about sex, letting his friends sometimes run up to me and squeeze my larger than average breasts, but it was okay, right? Because he was my boyfriend, and I should let it slide. I ignored the wrongness of it at the time, because I was young (12 years old, and yes, the people in my age group were this mature and inappropriate). I guess I was desperate for acceptance and love, living with a family in which I felt only isolation. I was showing obvious signs of ill mental health, and due to my parents' heritage, we pretended that I was making it all up. Like what my friends would think if I ever told this story. So, back to the story. After our on-and-off relationship, his mom forced him to break up with me due to the fact she had somehow been told I self-harmed. And he broke up with me eventually, and this is the 'burn' bit in the phrase "crash and burn." I forced myself to believe he was the one I needed, I idolised him, and I just needed someone who seemed as if they understood, so I was easily pliable to him. We didn't have any form of relationship when he asked me for sex, nudes, etc. I said I would, I promised, and thankfully I realised my stupidity soon before that. I made jokes with my best friend at the time about it, and I guess that was my defence mechanism. Jokes. But then it stopped being such a great joke. School ended, and then it began months later. He told his mates the nasty things I promised, probably even embellished most of the facts, so there I was, nearly 13 with double-d-cups, and already classed as 'sexually mature' - a.k.a. a whore. I would love to say it wasn't my 13-year-old peers who made me feel isolated, but I would be lying. Because right now, in my generation, you'd be naïve to believe that we were the kids who pulled each other's pigtails in the stories my mom told me of the 80's. In comes guy number 2, and my not extremely surprising depression and isolation. I had done something for him over the summer, and because of my skewed thinking, I lied to him, too. I sent a picture, and after that, I ended our relationship with a fabrication that I had kissed a guy to cheat on him, when I had done much worse in my opinion. I was reckless, and young, and wanted to feel anything apart from the numbness that I felt in those days. So I made my life worse. So guy no. 2, to add to the first rumours, spread and told dirty secrets like he told about the other many girls he'd dated. So the rumours were ripe, with me labelled as an easy girl. Guy no. 2 even had the audacity to try and touch me under the table, sliding his hand a little higher, whilst I sat petrified. I made a joke about it to my friends of course, not telling them of my fears of having my control and consent taken away from me. Even a year after that, I'm still being asked whether or not I did all those nasty things, and I still lie. And I still have to laugh at the jokes my peers jab at me when they ask if I give blowjobs to the new guys in our class, or if I enjoy being a dominatrix. I realise that now, that maybe all these little jokes I made of my issues weren't jokes at all, because now I can't help but see the many faces of the guys that have shamed me in any guy's face, and I can't help but think that my body isn't a temple but a cheap pizzeria to which anyone could get an order. And I still think that, because who wouldn't? I dress in short skirts, ripped tights, low tops, and I have big boobs, a curvy figure, and knowledge about sex. And I keep lying to everyone, breaking hearts because I expect the worse, and telling everyone that I'm okay with being whispered about. But I'm not, because even though some of these things were 3 years ago, I can still feel hands on my skin and the dirtiness of being stared at, and it's all thanks to the disappointed stares burnt in the back of my head by my parents, the lustful ones sent by boys, the disgusted 'beneath-me' glares from the girls, and the hateful state of my own reflection. My 'friends' think I have it easy sometimes, even going as far to say they would love to have my body, the thing that inspired lust and my hate, and I can't help but want to say "have it, it brings no fortunes." Sometimes I love myself, but it's people and little pieces of memories that make me hate myself a little bit more, sometimes I even go as far as to want to gain some freedom and happiness in amnesia, because I can't stand to be me sometimes. - CeCe
My father brought me from doctor office to doctor office, telling the nurse or assistant the reason behind it loud enough for the other people to hear. He wanted to find a place where they did some sort of virgin test.
This entry includes references to self-harm.
I guess that it all started when I just entered high school (where I'm from - Jamaica - we enter high school in the seventh grade) but I've had my awkwardness ever since. In the sixth grade I met a boy who went to high school, or so he said. We talked on the phone for about two days when he said that he wanted to have sex with me. Silly little me went all excited and said yes cause I'd always wanted to have sex cause I had heard girls talking about it in school and they always make it sound pretty. That night when I was talking to him on the phone my older brother, who had been watching me, snatched the phone away from me and scolded both me and the boy. If it wasn't for him I wouldn't have been a virgin right now. But life goes on and so does my story. I met another boy who wasn't the best looker but I somehow fell for him. Let's call him Raymond. He never forced anything on me. At that time I had graduated and gone to high school and was in the seventh grade. I was twelve years old. One day I followed him to his house and stayed with him for the night without telling my mother. The day after, someone saw me and brought me to the police station. A little while after my mother and sister came, and didn't even look at me. Suddenly my sister started sobbing and said, "Why did you do that to me, Fiona, why?" Ever since then my eldest sister stopped talking to me and stopped visiting and when I came back my father brought me from doctor office to doctor office, telling the nurse or assistant the reason behind it loud enough for the other people to hear. He wanted to find a place where they did some sort of virgin test. It was so embarrassing. But what was even more embarrassing was that it didn't end there. I found out that Raymond had intended to cheat on me, told him it was over and cried for days. People started coming to me and asked me if we had sex. Since I was pretty much a complete loser in primary school I loved the attention that I was getting from the students and I said yes. My whole entire first year of high school was complete torture just because of that one answer. I literally had no friends at all and the friends that I'd once had had turned their backs on me cause they didn't want to be friends with the girl who went by "slut" these days. Every time I walked through the corridors it was like the school school had been waiting on me and started to call me the usual names like slut, bitch, and even 'whorona'. The bus wasn't any different but I had no choice cause I lived a far distance. Whenever I sat down next to someone they either grumbled under their breath or just started teasing me. In class a girl even told our homeroom teacher in front of me and the class what a whore I was. I became aggressive and got myself into trouble often realising too late that I had made a grave mistake. The teacher told my mother and when I went home she bested me with an iron spoon and told me never to tell lies about myself again. I know that even though my mother acts like nothing happened she still doesn't trust me even though she lies and says that she does. Whenever I had an argument she would bring it up, and keeps telling me that it was my fault. But the list of stupid things that Fiona Wright had done never stopped growing. The pressure got to my head. I threw tantrums often, whenever the pressure of being bullied at school and being scolded at home went to my head. My mother had a hell of a time controlling me since beatings with wooden sticks didn't work anymore. I was screaming and crying and my mother had to drag me back into the house whenever I denied her cause I knew she didn't understand. I blamed her for everything cause she never taught me the things that I really needed to know. She's been through much worse than me and she still doesn't understand. All they saw was a stray lamb who needed to be stoned and kicked in order for her to find her way back. But they just didn't understand, how could they. I remember placing a knife's sharp edge at the base of my stomach sobbing and crying saying to myself that this was for the best, that I was relieving everybody of their stressfully sinful relative. It was one thing being looked down on by the whole world but it was another thing being looked down on by the people that were supposed to love you no matter what. But in the end I couldn't do it. I tried again by mixing together chemicals, then poured it over myself, but I had to wash it off cause it was burning me too much. Things continued to happen to me but I am afraid that I'll have to end my story here for now. Things aren't so bad now that I'm a senior. I made friends and I have a best friend whom I love and cherish and would do anything for. But my past still haunts me and what happened to me has had a drastic effect on my life as I have never fallen in love again and don't do good in relationships. Even right now as I am writing this I can feel the anger that has been hidden inside me for all these years and had only been let out during fights or arguements. It still hurts to be called slut even though I'm sixteen now and still "own my V card." Shout out to the lady who invented this project, a lot of us really needed it. - Fiona Wright
My parents told them that I was being bullied by a group of girls. They denied it and said that they were 'a nice, lovely, group of girls and would never do such a thing.'
So when I was in fifth class (6th grade), there was this group of girls. Everyone didn't like them but they were 'popular'. I, on my first day at my new school had no idea that they were cruel, disrespecting, backstabbing, hating people. I started hanging out with them in September 2014 until May 2015. In January, my friend 'Grace' liked a guy named 'Fred' and he liked her. I remember when they first started dating: the 27th of January 2015. How do I know that? Well, I have a diary where I deeply described what had happened. I remember still, because when they broke up in March, the group of girls said I liked 'Fred' and that I hated 'Grace' and hoped that she would 'break her f*#%ing delicate neck.' I never said any of this. I would never say any of it, but the leader 'Beth' hated me because I liked and still like a guy called 'Dylan' and she liked him. She thought I was 'trying to steal her man', but I had no idea she liked Dylan until she started hating me, publicly. She made up rumors, like how I was suicidal, anorexic, self-harmed, had depression, and that I had a crush on her. What? I am human, too! I have feelings just like you! She told my principal and teacher. My TEACHER AND PRINCIPAL said I had issues! Because I used to go to a therapist. They called the Social Workers and my parents were in trouble for something that wasn't their or my problem. My parents told them that I was being bullied by a group of girls. They denied it and said that they were 'a nice, lovely, group of girls and would never do such a thing.' I mean, they should at least check it out. That was only a few weeks ago, and I am still trying to fix everything, and I am winning. I am finishing school soon, so this will finish soon enough, anyways. Thank you for listening.
Summer came around, and I hoped things would change, but they followed me online. Some people threatened to hurt me, to come find me and kill me themselves, some were just being hateful. So my routine became staying in the confinement of my room, only leaving to use the bathroom.
This entry includes references to self-harm.
When I was in about 6-7 grade people saw me as a "slut" because of my best friend, or so I thought. We went to school together and everything was fine but one day, one of the boys she liked took a liking to me, and she began to hate me without talking to me about any of it. The following year I moved about a town away, and she began spreading the dirtiest rumors you could think of. Either that I had sex with the whole football, soccer and basketball team or that I got pregnant by one of the boys and I "killed the baby." Now on top of all of that, I had no clue until one day I made an appearance to the town and saw her with other girls that I didn't know her to even like. As she passed, she called me a whore and slut and other filthy names, and the other girls would laugh (mind you we are in 8th grade). Then I asked someone else I knew that was still in that town and they told me. After like a month or so, people began sending me all sorts of hate. That I was a "baby killer," that I should have just taken my own life, and they questioned why I was still alive, and for the longest time I was having this problem that I isolated myself. Moving the next town over it sort of followed me, and my new classmates held that reputation against me, before even knowing my first name. I began to isolate myself at school, too. I skipped class, I skipped lunch, and hid in the girls locker room. At one point that became my routine. Wake up, skip breakfast, head to school, skip class, skip lunch, head home, and go straight to my room. This happened for almost all of 8th grade. My sleeping schedule went from normal to days of sleeping too much or days of sleeping too little. My appetite grew very poor, that when I ate the normal amount I grew very sick, as if I ate too much. Summer came around, and I hoped things would change, but they followed me online. Some people threatened to hurt me, to come find me and kill me themselves, some were just being hateful. So my routine became staying in the confinement of my room, only leaving to use the bathroom. I stopped taking care of myself, stopped showering daily, stopped eating daily, stopped getting out of bed daily, some days went by that all I did was watch TV in the dark. Now, I have two sisters and my mom. At the time this was going on, my sisters were never home and my mom had gotten into a car crash that was so bad she almost died. The crash killed her fiancé and crippled her. She also stayed in bed, some days not moving from that spot, not to eat, or to drink, not to bathe or shower, she just slept, we both just slept. For most of the summer it was like this but when school was coming around I began to stress and hurt myself, and even the mention of school brought me into panic attacks. I missed a whole 2 months of school until finally the school came to my house looking for me. My mom, for the first time in a while, got out of bed and talked to them. After that day things sort of got a whole lot different. I began going to school and although I was still being bullied I went and paid attention. I took care of my mom, and my mom got me into daily therapy. Then I was put on medication, and I got a little better. It is now two years later. I was diagnosed with severe depression, severe panic attacks, bad anger issues, and severe anxiety. A lot of which is still very hard to deal with but I am now able to handle it without medication and without therapy at all. I take care of my health daily. I am now almost fully happy with myself and my issues and have grown to love myself. I have begun to understand that I am not who other people tell me I am. Through all the attempted suicides and the anxiety and anger and depression, when it seemed impossible to get through, it was possible, and I'm glad I did.
I now live half the world away in another country from where the rapes happened, and I still don't feel safe or happy or confident.
This entry includes references to rape and self-harm.
I was a victim of rape and sexual assault when I was a teenager and was told if I went to the police, the photos he had taken would be shown to everyone at the school I was attending. I was too afraid to tell anyone what happened to me. The next week when I turned up at school people where calling me a slut and a whore. I had never been with anyone I had consented to at the time. I was raped and everyone at school started to think I was a "slut." He had told everyone that I slept with heaps of guys. I was traumatized like you wouldn't believe. Photos had been released also. This wasn't the first or last time I have experienced rape. I have fallen victim to four men in total. My life has been ruined. I now suffer with severe mental illness. I'm 25 years old now and not a day passes where I don't have flash backs and anxiety or panic attacks. I have self harmed and attempted to take my life more times than I can count. I'm now in the care of a mental hospital and I've been diagnosed with PTSD and bipolar disorder, which they believe stems from my past experiences. I now live half the world away in another country from where the rapes happened, and I still don't feel safe or happy or confident. My life was taken from me.
I know that that is a societal problem but still I don't want to have to go through the ridicule. I applaud someone who is willing to do so, but that's not for me.
This entry includes references to sexual assault.
When I started college I went through a period of sexual experimentation. I went home with a lot of guys on nights out and I was enjoying it. I don't regret it and I feel I grew as a person from this period. However not all of my encounters were good. I went out one night and I became too drunk to really be responsible for my actions. I went home with a guy but when I got to his house I sobered up just enough to realise that I didn't actually want to do this. I told him this but he didn't listen and he fingered me. I decided to give in because I just didn't feel like it was worth the fight. When I woke up at 6am I got a taxi home and went to sleep in my bed. I never told anyone about it and I never really thought too much about it but every now and then the memory flashes before me and I just feel icky. I don't honestly feel like it has affected my life much but it would be nice to not have the icky memory. I don't know who that guy is and I don't remember exactly where he lived so even if I wanted to confront him I would never find him. I think I don't want to tell anyone about it because they would make a big deal about it and if strangers found out I would be judged because I was drunk and I shouldn't have been. I know that that is a societal problem but still I don't want to have to go through the ridicule. I applaud someone who is willing to do so, but that's not for me. I don't want to be the face of sexual assault victims and I have the right to privacy. I would love to tell someone but everyone I know would freak out about it more than I would want. Only a counsellor would be able to handle it because they don't know me. I hope at some point I find someone that I love who I would feel okay with talking to about this instead of some stranger in an office. However I'm really enjoying life now and even though I have that icky memory I live with it. I accept it happened but I don't dwell on it. There's nothing that I can change about the past. If I find a person I truly love and trust I will tell them but I'm not ready yet and people should be ok with that.
A guy started to follow me around outside of school and when I reported him, the teachers told me I was overreacting and that I was ruining his life, even though all I wanted was to switch classes.
I am 15, and these guys I barely know have been telling everyone I'm a slut because of the way I dress. They call me names and think that I'm a bitch but I have never even talked to them. I've never even been kissed. But because I'm tall and skirts are short on me, I'm a whore. A guy started to follow me around outside of school and when I reported him, the teachers told me I was overreacting and that I was ruining his life, even though all I wanted was to switch classes. I've told a few people about this and they all tell me that I it's because I dress "slutty" and that I should change that, but honestly I like the way I dress and it makes me feel self confident. I tried to dress more conservative this week and I didn't feel the same and I still heard some hurtful things. I just don't know what to do.
I find it disgusting that people will put so much focus on something as silly as shorts being a few inches higher than their rules allow, while REAL LIFE issues are happening like me having already experienced, at age 14, a boy exposing himself to me.
I was 17 and at a new school that had a much stricter dress code than my previous high school. My family didn't have the money for many clothes, and I was struggling with finding something to wear for the next day at school ((I always picked out my outfit the night before). I didn't want to have to wear the same outfit twice in the same week. I had been picked on in the past when I had to do that, but now in hindsight I wish I just did that. I had a pair of shorts that I suspected might have been considered too short, but I wasn't sure, and they weren't against dress codes at my previous school from the year before. I decided to wear the shorts, but in case they were considered too short, I came up with the idea to at least make sure I didn't go to school looking "sexy," so I wore them with a pair of sneakers and my dad's work shirt, which was an olive green, 3-button polo shirt (grungy looking, too, since he had worn it at his job as a journeyman in the electrician field)! I thought for sure this would emphasize that I wasn't trying to come into school looking sexy or "revealing." Immediately when I got to school (I'm not even exaggerating, I didn't even make it down to my locker), I was told by staff my shorts were too short and I had to go to the office, where the principal and his secretary were. When I explained the situation to the secretary about not having anything else, she loudly scoffed, "Pleasssseeee," not believing me. Another student suggested wearing a pair of shop pants (since it was a trade school I went to). I didn't have money to take a bus home, so I had to spend the day in that office just sitting there. My problem wasn't really with "being in trouble," it was with being basically told I was lying about not having something else to wear, when I genuinely tried so hard that previous night to figure out a solution. Also anger over not having money to have the right clothes. I had to be "punished" essentially for that. As the day went on, another student was sent to the office to see the principal. It was someone I used to be friends with when I was 14, but he had stopped associating with me shortly after one day while hanging out he had exposed his privates to me. When he came into the same room to be seen by the principal, my heart started pounding, and I got very nervous and uncomfortable. I came up with the idea to temporarily leave the office, since I had some papers to be taken to another teacher anyway that day. I asked the secretary if I could do that, and the secretary said no. I couldn't tell her why I wanted to really leave (I actually never told anyone what that ex-friend did, until right here, right now). I know the secretary isn't to blame for saying no, but it's just another way that situation had to be so horrible for me. When I got home, my mom managed to scrape together $20 for me to go find a pair of pants to buy (because my mom had talked to that secretary). It took so long to find something with only a $20 budget. The pants I did find didn't even fit well, my mom had to hem them just so they wouldn't drag past my shoes! (Later that year I managed to get my own job, and also some new clothes, too.) Now here's what is really messed up with the situation. Later that year I stayed after school for extra studying and help, and missed one of the after school buses home, so I had to take a public one home. It was getting much later in the day, the latest I ever stayed at school. I passed that same secretary on my way out, and briefly chatted with her. Turns out, while I was then making my way home, my mom was getting really worried and called the school (this was before cell phones). That secretary told my mom she had spoken with me and saw me leave. Did that secretary ever contact my mom later that evening to make sure I got home safe? NO. Did she ever express to me at school any kind of concern over my getting home that night or how she talked to my mom who was worried about me, and calling the school? NO! While that personally was my only incident with this school and their dress code situation, I'd like to mention that my anger is somewhat over how overboard they took it the whole time I went there (I can recall multiple situations), one being when I heard a male administrator saying to another teacher how girl students don't mind the attention from guys until it's a guy they don't like, then they want to complain about it, and a big part of the problem is the clothes they wear! I find it disgusting that people will put so much focus on something as silly as shorts being a few inches higher than their rules allow, while REAL LIFE issues are happening and not even thought twice about, such a worried mom concerned about her daughter alone in the city, and me having already experienced, at age 14, a boy exposing himself to me. While it left me very uncomfortable, I had never even been taught that him doing that was very wrong!!! Thanks for letting me share this experience, and for your website. - Lila W.
He wrote that he was going to be the reason I couldn't sleep at night, the reason I look behind me, the reason I lock my doors, that'll be him.
Over text I was called a whore and a succubus and not a real woman, because I just wanted sex from a guy and not a relationship. He then went on to say that he wasn't done punishing me yet, and that one day I was going to pick the wrong guy, and he was going to be completely crazy instead of just a little bit, and to "be careful how many people you screw over." He then also wrote that he was going to be the reason I couldn't sleep at night, the reason I look behind me, the reason I lock my doors, that'll be him. Then he went to say how this was all really interesting because "once you are in someone's head you don't have to be anywhere else." So this is my story and I have the text messages to prove it all. I just want to fight against things like this. - Bria Parrish
I felt so lonely and isolated and guilty that when I was raped two weeks later I didn't even recognize it for what it was. This is the harm of "slut" shaming.
This entry includes references to rape.
I had sex for my first time with a guy on my college campus who I didn't know - it was a random hookup and I was drunk, but I'd made it my intention to have sex for my first time that night before I started drinking. I always knew to draw a line for myself while sober so I wouldn't have any regrets. And I didn't. It was fun! I felt liberated and enjoyed the sex and the guy was respectful about it being my first time and repeatedly asked me if I was sure I wasn't too drunk. I wasn't. I was having fun. The problem wasn't the random hookup or "losing" my V card (I hate that term). The problem was everyone else's response to the terrible awful thing I'd done (note sarcasm). My friends judged me and worried about me. My mom cried on the phone when I told her and worried about me too. But I was fine! I felt great until they started judging my actions. People around my small college campus started calling me a slut and spreading rumors about a whole host of guys I supposedly also slept with, many of whom I had barely ever talked to. I felt so lonely and isolated and guilty that when I was raped two weeks later I didn't even recognize it for what it was. This is the harm of "slut" shaming. "Slut" shaming is what devalues us and causes us to de-value ourselves, not the actual act of being a "slut." I blame "slut" shaming for my rape and I blame "slut" shaming, in part, for the abusive relationship I endured shortly after for the following 6 months and the countless times I was raped in that relationship. Our bodies are our own. I own my body now and I love myself and I know that will keep me safe from any further "slut" shaming. I'm not ashamed anymore. - Mackenzie
THAT IS NOT A COMPLIMENT. SEXUAL HARASSMENT IS NOT OKAY.
My friend and I went out to Pizza Hut wearing just sweatpants and T-shirts. We paid for our food and sat back down to wait for our take out order when a young man of about 19 years of age slid into the booth next to me, leaned in 6 inches away from my face, and said, "I just wanted to tell you that you have an ass from God." I replied with, "Bye." He then got very defensive that I can't take a compliment. THAT IS NOT A COMPLIMENT. SEXUAL HARASSMENT IS NOT OKAY. - Robin
They didn't understand. The way they saw it, I was the girl who loved having sex and was proud of it. What was I complaining about? No one realized, even "whores" can say no.
This entry includes a description of rape.
I was always the girl who was in love. I had only 3 boyfriends in high school, all pretty lengthy relationships. I was in love with each of them. Sure, some may say I was "too young" to be in love, but I'm a freshman in college now, and I still believe I was in love. But when you're young, life gets in the way and things don't always work out the way they should. When I started my senior year of high school, I was single. For the first time in my entire high school career I was actually single. I wanted to have fun, to have experiences, to make the most of my time before I moved four hours away to start at my university. So I had quite a few one night stands, I started "sleeping around" and gained a reputation for it. It didn't bother me one single bit. I was having fun. I was safe & responsible about my sex life. It was my choice and no one was going to make me feel bad about my choices. I ignored the comments. I actually began to own it. I made jokes about myself. When people asked me about my sexual endeavors I'd say, "yeah, I like to fuck a lot, so what?" Eventually, people started embracing it with me. They joked about it with me. And when someone talked about my sex life in a negative way, others stood up for me saying "Why do you care what Claire does with her body? It doesn't effect your life, so why talk about her?" It felt great. I was so empowered by this, and I felt like I was empowering other girls to be more open about their sexualities as well. But something happened, the night of my senior homecoming dance. It changed everything. I was at a party, and yes, I was drinking. I eventually became so drunk I could hardly stand up. I wasn't worried, I was with people I thought I could trust. I was wrong. A guy on my cheerleading squad began showing interest in me. Let's call him Jake. Jake came up to me, started kissing my neck, and rubbing my shoulders. He was sober, he didn't drink. He eventually asked me to have sex with him. I told him no, that I was too drunk. He asked several more times. Pleading with "Come on I'll make it fun for you." I repeatedly said, "No, I'm way too drunk tonight." The night went on, and Jake was as persistent as ever. I started to keep my distance. I kept drinking, although looking back, I shouldn't have. I was stumbling around, and Jake came up to me. I told him I felt a little sick. He said, "Come with me, you need to lay down." I followed him, thinking he would take me somewhere to sleep. He took me into a room and he shut and locked the door behind him. "What are you doing?" I could hardly make out the words. He didn't answer me. "Jake?" I asked. He ignored me again. I lay back on the couch, too tired to say anything else. I closed my eyes for a few seconds, and when I opened them again, Jake had his penis out, and was rolling a condom on. I asked "Jake what are you doing? Why are you putting a condom on?" He continued and said "So we can fuck." I said "No Jake I'm way too drunk." I think I passed out at this point, because the next thing I remember is a sharp pain inside of me, and I cried out. "Shhh." He said. He was raping me. I didn't know what to do. I froze. I could've tried to push him off, but he was signing with the marines, so he was strong. Really strong. Would it have done any good, or just made him angry? I could've yelled, but I was ashamed that this was happening to me. So I continued to lie there and take it. I didn't move. I didn't make a sound. All of sudden there was a knock on the door, and my friend Liz's voice "Claire, we're leaving." Jake stopped, and climbed off of me. I put my clothes on and ran out. I felt something wet on my thigh. I was bleeding from him forcing himself into me. I went home and pretended nothing had happened. I tried to talk to my friends about it. They didn't understand. The way they saw it, I was the girl who loved having sex and was proud of it. What was I complaining about? No one realized, even "whores" can say no. - Claire Cox
I was 11yrs old in 6th grade, my first year in public schools, I was already looked at like the weird one because I had my own sense of style and didn't wear the expensive brand name clothing that everyone else wore, and then I'm being labeled as a slut because of some kid!
When I was in 6th grade I was constantly getting picked on by this kid, and everyone would always say he just likes you. Okay, cool, whatever. But the problem was, I was getting called names like "tramp" and "slut" for this guy's actions! I never liked him, in fact, I HATED that kid during 6th grade! No one ever said anything to him about what he was doing to me. He wasn't a "slut" or a "tramp", it just got laughed off. Well one day he was picking on me and we were arguing as usual. One of his friends decided to join in on the bullying and start saying, "Kelli gave Jason a 50 Cent Special"! We had gotten those Scholastic book order forms that day and they had a "50 Cent Special" section on the back. So he's singing it and I told him to shut up. I thought everything was cool till I got on the bus. That same kid had ALL the boys who rode our bus (including the kindergarteners) start singing in unison, "Kelli gave Jason a 50 Cent Special," the whole way home! The bus driver did NOTHING! I was so mad, I was almost in tears! I finally got home and I told my mother about it. She was pissed. I went to school the next day and about an hour into class the principal came over the speaker and called all the boys who rode that bus down to the office. About a half hour later, the little shit who started the whole thing came back to class with his head down and wouldn't even look at me. All I could think was "HAHA", but I didn't say anything though. I laugh at it now, but at the time I was mortified! I was 11yrs old in 6th grade, my first year in public schools, I was already looked at like the weird one because I had my own sense of style and didn't wear the expensive brand name clothing that everyone else wore, and then I'm being labeled as a slut because of some kid! I wanted to switch schools so bad!
To my surprise, ten years out of the industry and 12 years having survived being trafficked, at 50 years of age, I am still call ridiculous names like "that stripper" or accused of soliciting men at religious events.
I am a psychotherapist who works with survivors of the commercial sex industry and human trafficking. As a survivor, I am all too familiar with society's reaction to women who have been in the commercial sex industry or who have survived human trafficking. The very reason I went to college was to leave a life I hated and stop the slut shaming I experienced, even from my own family members. To my surprise, ten years out of the industry and 12 years having survived being trafficked, at 50 years of age, I am still call ridiculous names like "that stripper" or accused of soliciting men at religious events. Believe me, I am used to it after 18 years of stripping and 30 total years knowledge about the commercial sex industry, but it doesn't mean it doesn't impact my ability to move on in life, provide for my home, and develop the self esteem that all other professionals do through job satisfaction, professional recognition, and education. My agency SWAN Colorado works to educate about the commercial sex industry, sex worker rights, human trafficking and slut shaming. Empowered women, desirous of wearing tank tops professing "Pussy Power" understand. "Sluts" Unite! - Ms. Billie McIntire, M.A.
This story isn't a demonstration of 'ignore and it will blow over' because it will be found out eventually and you'll be suffering for something that was not your fault.
This entry includes references to sexual assault and self harm.
I'm fourteen, and I come from a family of big breasts and have taken their genes and have got a bra size of 32F. I did not know the mindset of boys when I was younger. And at twelve, I was naturally wearing lower cut tops. I took no notice to the ways boys looked at me or what I could've been getting myself into. It may sound odd, but at twelve I was a bra size 32DD! I was offered to come round a boy's house and thought nothing of it, since we had been friends since I joined secondary school. However he was two years older (14) I went over and we went up to his room. All the sudden he told me to pull down my pants and I said no, my mum had told me no one was to touch that other than myself when I was washing or wiping. So he pushed me over and did it himself. He began to sexually abuse me but for the sake of appropriateness I'll let you decide what he did. I never told my mum what happened, I haven't to this day. I'm scared of what she'll think. However, he went back to school and told all his friends. I just kept my head down and never said anything as I went onto thirteen. By then, I had scars all up my arm and had been deeply self harming because of bullying and issues at home. Don't worry, I'm having therapy and it's being handled now. It had been a year since the event and soon after it did happen, then the whole school knew. I can't tell you how many times I had been called slut or whore or prostitute! I had no friends and was alone. And growing to be fourteen now, there's one question I've always wanted to know. Why, if a girl has sex are they slut shamed? And why, if a boy has sex, are they considered 'well done'. It extremely frustrates me! The boy who had sexually abused me has moved schools as I think he just couldn't handle the thought of me telling anyone, even after he threatened me. However, even though it was so long ago, they find it still alright to taunt me and call me names. But I am thankful to have a special group of friends that support me through everything and I now have a understanding, patient boyfriend who doesn't ever pressure me into having or doing sexual things. What I'm trying to say is, if anything sexual that you DO NOT want to have happened has been done to you or has been threatened, tell someone. No matter what situation. Contact the police IMMEDIATELY. This story isn't a demonstration of 'ignore and it will blow over' because it will be found out eventually and you'll be suffering for something that was not your fault. Bullying can become more than words. If you contact the police, there's a better chance that everything will stop and you will be looked after. Please, take it from a teenage girl that has experienced what perhaps is happening to you. Take my advice and don't forget it. Thank you.
I can't have anything too short because I fear getting called a slut. I mean I've never liked someone, I've never kissed someone, so why should I worry that what I'm wearing will classify me as a slut?
This recently caught my eye. And it's really interesting to read other people's stories, so I wanted to tell my own. I've been bullied. It wasn't really sexual, but it's still bullying, the thing is it was from my so called best friend. She had mentally and physically hurt me for around 5 years. I never had the guts to stop her, I definitely grew up faster than the other girls but I'm smart enough to know when to stop something. But I was just too scared to tell her no, and to stop her. I thought it wouldn't do anything. By the time I had the guts to just tell her to stop I found out she was going to move. I was so happy and relieved that it would finally be over. But it still didn't stop. It's mainly my fault I just can't forget her, when anyone asks about her I just say, "You don't want to know, she's horrible." My best friend right now, we've known each other since third grade and she knows what she was like. She understands when people want to talk about her why I get so emotional. She's the only person who helped me. My parents didn't really know until I told them she was moving. And they were glad. But I'm older now and I realize that looks are really the big thing right now. I know I'm not skinny, but I'm not fat, I know I am pretty. Because that is self confidence. I love my body. But it still hurts when I walk by someone and I get called fat. I'm always self conscious about what I wear. I can't have anything too short because I fear getting called a slut. I mean I've never liked someone, I've never kissed someone, so why should I worry that what I'm wearing will classify me as a slut? Because what I say is a slut is different from someone else's definition of a slut. So what's your definition of a slut?
I wanted a relationship with him but that soon failed after several people kept approaching him telling him that he has herpes from touching me, that he deserves "a princess not a hoe," and telling him remarks like that.
The beginning of my senior year, not even a week into it, everything just started happening. I was my high school's slut. Everyone called me a slut, making remarks about little things that I would do. Once during a football game, girls came to my car in a group of about 10 and all stood around my car and chanted "whore" multiple times. I was talking to this guy I liked and everyone would give him a hard time telling him all I wanted from him was sex, which was not the case at all. I wanted a relationship with him but that soon failed after several people kept approaching him telling him that he has herpes from touching me, that he deserves "a princess not a hoe," and telling him remarks like that. People wrote on my car "slut" "whore" "easy" "trash". My senior year was my hardest year of high school because of this. I wanted to graduate and be done with this mess as soon as I could because I couldn't take it anymore. Crying myself to sleep every night, wondering what I did to deserve any of this. Sitting on the bathroom floor wanting to die because everyone was just so mean to me. Made me hate myself, made me feel like I was worthless....
I just knew that at that point, I had nothing to my name, and if I tried to assert myself about my body and whether or not I had sex, I was going to be out on the street. Which is what it came to.
I'm a 20-something transgirl who got into a relationship with someone who really enjoyed sex, as did I at the time. And things were great at first, until I started realizing I was beginning to neglect my own medical, eating, and professional routines in order to satisfy her desire for sex multiple times per day, every day, for hours at a time, and attempted to tell her so. That's when she became increasingly violent, and the nights where she wasn't out having sex with other people, she was trying to beat down the door to the bedroom in which I had begun barricading myself every night to avoid her violent outbursts. Over the course of the next year, it all got so bad that I was all but bedridden. I begged her to give me enough space at to at least start eating regularly again and hopefully get my strength back. Her response was to forcibly mount me, day after day. I lost the will to even try to get my old life back at some point, I don't really remember when. I didn't even know how long I had been in that condition or even remember that I had been a social, friendly, competent professional in the time before I met her. I just knew that at that point, I had nothing to my name, and if I tried to assert myself about my body and whether or not I had sex, I was going to be out on the street. Which is what it came to. I was so bad off physically and too depressed and ashamed about everything that had happened, that I lived in my poorly running vehicle and went without food or anything else, rather than tell anyone what I'd been living in the last two years or go back to it. During this time, an older man chatted me up while I was out trying to go for a walk one day and offered me a room for a while to get my feet back underneath me. Not having eaten for weeks at a time because I now was free to eat as I pleased, but had no food, I took him up on it. So I was back to the same situation, only without the violence. I was trading my body to a man 40+ years older than me for food and a place to sleep. It felt like I was doing "better" than I had been in that moment, as sad as that is in retrospect. I could only "willingly" do that for a few weeks, and as soon as I wasn't "putting out" every day, I was out once again. By finally being willing to tell friends and family what had been happening for the last few years was I able to get the assistance needed to get on the path to getting my old life back. It's about two years later, and I still can't have anyone touch me. I tense up whenever anything reminds me of her, and spent an entire day at work hyperventilating in a corner because while I'd blocked her on every social media site I could think of and changed my number, I hadn't thought to on LinkedIn, and she tried to 'connect' with me there. I'm just beginning to think of myself as a decent, capable, fun, worthwhile person again, and finally have the confidence to cut ties with anyone who tells me it "couldn't have been that bad" or "I'd love to have a girlfriend like that!" or that that sort of thing is what I should expect if I'm going to live "this lifestyle". Basically, all the opinions and comments that made me too ashamed to speak up about what was happening before it got as bad as it did.
I was so scared. I tried to kill myself because of it and the police got involved again, but they didn't help. They just told me to block him.
This entry includes references to self-harm.
I don't really know how to explain it. A man, he was 20 years old, and I was 12 at the time, he started contacting me on 30th December 2014. I was really sad and I needed someone to talk to; my granddad had cancer and I blamed it on myself. On 1st January 2015, my granddad died, and the man took advantage of my low mood. He asked me to "date" him. He guilt tripped me into sending him nudes, after telling me he gets aroused a lot and he couldn't do anything about it. I ended up sending him a pic, but it got worse, he used to use the pic to get more pics of me, he blackmailed me. I tried to get away but he said he'd send my pics to my family members, find my school friends and send it to them, hack my social media and post it on there. I was scared and I couldn't get away and I blamed myself. He wouldn't leave me alone for months, and I wanted to die because of it. I contacted childline about it and the police came to my house but I didn't tell them the truth and I was scared, I still am. I was overwhelmed by it all. A few months later my sister came downstairs and told me a man had sent her a picture saying it was me. I claimed it was a fake picture, but it wasn't. I didn't want my family to think low of me. I was so scared. I tried to kill myself because of it and the police got involved again, but they didn't help. They just told me to block him. But that wouldn't fix it because he never went away, I had to change my emails, my IP address, my social media names, my number, everything. He still knows me though, I ignore him but I always feel like hes watching me or something. It scares me a lot.
I've had to leave jobs due to the harassment (because reporting it only made the situation worse for me). And I've also lost professional respect, contacts, and community acceptance.
I dated a guy for a while until I found out he lied to me big time and I broke up with him. For the last three years and counting he has been telling anyone who will listen (which seems to be everyone) that I'm a "slut." Everyone (including long time friends and co-workers) believe him with zero evidence! I've been harassed and detested as a result. I have hardly any friends left, I'm distanced from my family because they don't seem to care about what he's done and how it's affected me. I've had to leave jobs due to the harassment (because reporting it only made the situation worse for me). And I've also lost professional respect, contacts, and community acceptance. AND NO ONE SEEMS TO CARE!
Do not ever let a man force you into anything and do not let people define your worth. At the end of the day the only opinion that matters is the one that you have of yourself.
The following entry includes references to sexual assault and rape.
When I was 15, I broke up with my first boyfriend of a year. He was my first everything, and I had no idea where to move on from then. My best friend's boyfriend had always shown interest in me, but we had always been good friends, or so I thought. I confided in him how upset I was over the breakup, but our conversation quickly turned sexual. He wanted to "hang out sometime soon." Even though I had never made casual plans to hang out with boys other than my ex, I wasn't stupid. I knew what he wanted. So I hung out with him. He made me feel special and dangerous and desirable. I cannot even begin to tell you the guilt I felt about doing this behind my best friend's back, but for some reason I did it. He made me feel like it was all worth it. When he tried to have sex with me I told him I couldn't do it. I didn't want to be that girl, I said. I didn't want to give it up that easily. And more importantly, I wasn't going to do that to my ex boyfriend who was his friend or to my friend. The whole situation was a giant mess. I have never said I was raped because what exactly do you classify as saying no 10 times, but finally giving in just to get it over with and saying yes once? I didn't enjoy it. I felt awful the whole time. And afterwards I felt so ashamed and disgusted with myself. I lay in bed and cried. I confided in few friends about it and vowed to never admit it happened again. He never spoke to me really after that because that's all he wanted and he forced it out of me. The story gets better of course, as all "slut" tales usually do. I had confided in a friend that I trusted via Skype messaging one time when I was grounded for doing something else stupid. I should mention this situation happened in November, and I confided in the friend in December. She saved all of our messages on Skype and waited until months later in April before exploiting me. She printed out everything, every detail of the encounter, and passed the print outs to the entire junior and senior lunch period and showed my best friend. I've never been more scared or humiliated in my life. High school was NEVER the same for me after that. After that I was just a slut, a whore, a terrible friend, easy, you name it, that's what I was to people. A fucking slut. I still feel awful about what I did. I feel as if I brought it upon myself by putting myself in the situation. I didn't value myself or sex for a long time after that. Sometimes I don't know if I still do. I question my worth all of the time because of the things people said to me in high school and because of the things he did. Slut shaming HAS to stop. I am not saying what I did to my best friend is okay because it was not. But bullying and slut shaming are real and torturing someone for years because of a mistake they made, or dare I say the word rape? Is horrible. Saying no is okay and giving in and saying yes after saying no 10 times should not have to be your final resort. Do not ever let a man force you into anything and do not let people define your worth. At the end of the day the only opinion that matters is the one that you have of yourself. - Courtney
The guys went through with their promise. Today my past still haunts me.
I was sixteen years old when lost my virginity to my boyfriend who I had been dating for over a year. We broke up after that because as it turned out, he was also dating my best friend. I was hurt at the time when I met this new guy, who I slept with after being around him twice. After it was over he tried to get me to sleep with his friends but I refused, so he and his friends told me they were going to tell everyone at school I slept with all of them and performed other sexual acts. I still didn't go through with it because I told myself I would just have to deal with the shame. The guys went through with their promise. Today my past still haunts me. I was wrong to believe I could get over it or that it would one day get easier. As a mother who still carries this shame, I can really say you are a blessing of hope to me and others.
I asked what he was doing and he replied with, "Shut the fuck up, you slut, you know you want it. You're a whore, and everyone knows that."
This entry includes references to sexual assault and self-harm.
Note to the author: Since you submitted this account anonymously, I don't have your contact information. Please reach out to a parent or teacher for help immediately. You are NOT alone, and this is NOT your fault. You can overcome it, just like the women who have shared their stories here before you. Please visit Door of Hope 4 Teens and check out the resources available to you. I am always here to talk, as well. Love, Emily
I was 13 at the time, and I was just getting involved in the world of relationships and sex. I guess I just really wanted someone to hold, someone to kiss and to hug. I was reading stories online, and I had seen so many couples in real life that I just craved that touch. It was middle school, and I had told a couple of friends that I liked this guy, Josh. The news went all the way around the whole school and he had found out. It was embarrassing at first, but I was ecstatic when he told everyone that he liked me, too. Of course, in middle school, it didn't even really matter that we had never even talked before. Our friends made us hang out one day at my house. It was awkward at first, because my mom was chaperoning us. I was elated when she said she had to go get some groceries and that she would be back in about an hour. I scooted closer to him, until we were cuddling. I hadn't been fully exposed to sex yet, so I was confused when he started caressing my breasts and rubbing my genital area. I asked what he was doing and he replied with, "Shut the fuck up, you slut, you know you want it. You're a whore, and everyone knows that." I'm not going into detail, but basically we had sex, plus oral. The next day, everyone was laughing at me. I didn't know what was going on until my best friend, Steph, told me to check Josh's Facebook profile. It turned out that he had videotaped the whole thing with his crappy old phone. It wasn't that great quality but you could still see EVERYTHING. Josh had uploaded it onto a porn website and had posted the link with, "I gave the whore what she wanted. What a fucking slut! She practically begged me to undress her and fuck her senseless. Goddamn." Steph had also informed the principal and the authorities, and had the video taken down. Josh was punished by the cops. Ever since then, I became depressed. I slit my own fucking wrists everyday because some asshole had decided to label me a slut. To this day, the whole thing hasn't died down. I'm 15 now. No one wants to talk to me. Life is hell.
From this point on, I was ashamed of myself. I BLAMED myself.
This entry includes references to sexual assault and self-harm.
I remember everything perfectly. It was the beginning of my 6th grade school year. I was getting used to everything, and had moved far away from all my friends - we lost touch easily. At first, it was my classmates in Math. It was a whole group. I remember some names: Dominique, Serenity, Trey, and that's it. I got called skank, whore, slut, but then... then he called me fat. I don't know why this one hit me so hard. It may have been from being so self-conscious of my weight. But from that moment on, I began my horrible path down the bulimic road. It's painful, and nobody should have to go through it. My second experience was in 7th grade, I was obsessed with the cello. And when I was practicing in the music room, Dominique walked in. He said he needed to talk to me. I probably looked like a demon, waiting to tear his throat out. At first, I was comfortable, a bit uneasy, but fine really. He said he was sorry for all the shit he did to me, and wanted to be friends. I accepted, because I needed that. I WANTED that. But later on, he attempted to sexually assault me. My parents were very quiet about sex and condoms, and what I should do - or how I would know. I knew a few things, but I hadn't been properly educated. He once pushed me into a stall and put his hands up my shirt and down my pants. From this point on, I was ashamed of myself. I BLAMED myself. I started cutting with my mom's sewing scissors or something - but they were very sharp. I told myself I deserved this and became very depressed. What truly helped me was Carson. (It's a girl.) She became my friend when no one else would be. She supported me, and comforted me. I love her so much :) And I got over my depression and bulimia. Please don't let anyone get you down, you're perfect and amazing in every way.
This was my life through all of 7th and 8th grades, back in 1982-1984 there was no name for it. I was a slut, a whore and a lesbian all before I had even kissed a boy.
This was my life through all of 7th and 8th grades, back in 1982-1984 there was no name for it. I was a slut, a whore and a lesbian all before I had even kissed a boy - forget about the bases. All because I "blossomed" in puberty, far out pacing the other girls in the bra department. Sadly I don't think those other students will ever realize the amount of stupidity they displayed by using what were using opposing/conflicting slurs. She does everyone, she only does it for money, and she only does it with women. OK, morons, why don't you pick ONE and stick with it. To this day I have a very cynical outlook when it comes to people's behavior. Observed or unobserved, online or in person, I am disgusted by the other beings calling themselves "human". I have never been ashamed of my sexuality, even when I did finally find it. - K.H.
"What are you going to say about me?"
I was a cheerleader in 9th grade and that allowed me to mingle with guys that otherwise never would have talked to me. One of the track super stars J.M. asked me out to a party with him. I had never been on a date before so I said yes and we went. He kept giving me drink after drink and eventually took me upstairs. He took off my shirt and started groping my chest. All of sudden his friends burst into the room and I got dressed. I went downstairs and he followed. I was standing outside and then went over to him and said, "What are you going to say about me?" His friends made comments, asking if I blew him, and I said no. I said, "I want to go home now." I started to give him the cold shoulder and his sister even confronted me in front of a bunch of people, saying I was a slut that broke his heart. I still think of him every so often, and wonder if he thinks about what he did that night (or other nights with other girls), and if he has any remorse at all.
By the end of the year I was so ashamed of myself and worried about being a slut that I started skipping school and my classwork stopped being important.
In 10th grade four girls all beat me up at the same time because of a boy. Apparently, he liked me because I was nothing but a slut. This torment went on for most of the year with them calling me names. Every time I would wear anything they considered "slutty" they would taunt me to the point that I would go home crying. By the end of the year I was so ashamed of myself and worried about being a slut that I started skipping school and my classwork stopped being important. I was so focused on whether or not other people thought I was a slut that everything else came in second. I have tons of stories about this. I try to write about them honestly on my blog, and I find that I still struggle with this self image. - Rhonda Hartman
Society had taught me that no matter how many bruises and cuts I had to prove the assault, that because I was intoxicated it was just as much my fault.
I was raped and brutally assaulted the summer going into my senior year of high school. For weeks after the incident I kept it a secret for fear of judgement, but eventually the fear of pregnancy or disease was too great that I told my mother and was taken to the hospital for a rape kit. I chose not to press charges because I didn't want it to get in the way of my senior year and college application process, but more so because in the back of my mind, I thought it was my fault. Society had taught me that no matter how many bruises and cuts I had to prove the assault, that because I was intoxicated it was just as much my fault. For anyone considering pressing charges, please do, it is my biggest regret. Rape is the only crime where the victim can be blamed, don't let this continue. Rape is rape and we need justice. - Megan K.
The perky girl who loved herself slowly turned into the perky girl who pretended to be happy. All because of words that weren't even true.
I couldn't wait to start 7th grade, gone were the backstabbing best friend and the horrible things that were said. I no longer wanted to be that quiet, easy to bully girl, so I became perky (without noticing it) and if someone said anything bad about me I would laugh it off. Till one person called me a slut for wearing a skirt. I had NEVER been called a slut so I was completely shocked about this. I had thought that the bullying was done. I couldn't tell anyone because I didn't want to appear weak and needy for help. So this girl continued to call me names "Slut, Bitch, Hoe" and soon I began to believe the words. The perky girl who loved herself slowly turned into the perky girl who pretended to be happy. All because of words that weren't even true. I am naturally skinny but this girl would tell me that I starve myself and that I was ugly. I soon developed anxiety and would stress about going to school. But one day a girl I never met saw the girl calling me a slut and a bitch. And went on a full rampage. Saying stuff like, "The only bitch around here is you." That girl has become one of my best friends and the happy perky girl is back and isn't leaving. - Zoe
It will get better, even if it may not seem like it now. I've been through it all. I know what it feels like to not want to be here anymore.
Back in my hometown in Upstate New York, I didn't really have a problem with any bullying or slut shaming. Sure, there were a select few, but because I lived in a small town and grew up with a close-knit circle of friends, they protected me and never let it get me down. But when I was in my Sophomore year of high school, my parents told me I was moving to Maryland. I was devastated, as were my friends. To this day, I only talk to two of my closest friends from back home. When we finally settled into our home in the summer of 2012, I was actually excited to get a fresh start, to redefine myself like I've always wanted to. That was very quickly shut down within the first month of attending a new school as a Junior. Everyone else around me was preppy and very clique-y; they didn't want to accept the new kid who was very laid back and was more of a "T-shirt and Jeans" kind of girl. But none the less, I tried to fit in and started dating. Within the first year of living here, I had dated four boys, three of whom were younger than I was, and each relationship lasted no longer than 2-3 weeks because they bored me. I didn't see it as an issue since it never got past a kiss, I didn't do anything sexual with them. I just saw it as going through a deck of cards to find my ace, to find "the one." But nobody else saw it that way. I was labeled as a whore. A slut. A succubus that everyone had to stay away from. Rumors flew around school that I had blown this guy, f*cked that guy, slept with half of this team, flirted with half of that team. In my senior year of high school, destructive behaviors began. How could I have been a slut when I've never slept with anyone in my life? What did I do to deserve that reputation? I made myself mute in high school and began going to college part-time just to get away from it all. I drowned myself in school work just so I could have an excuse not to talk to anyone outside of my family. In October of 2013, a boy I fell in love with broke up with me the day of our six month anniversary all because I was "too emotional" and "he couldn't take that I didn't have any friends." That was my breaking point. I began cutting my thighs, slowly cutting myself off of food, and obsessed over how bloody and irritated the skin around my cuts were what I thought was "beautiful" at the time. My parents found out a month after and helped me stop, helped me to realize I didn't have to do this on my own. It took me a year to fully recover from all of the depression and suicidal thoughts. At that time, I found the man that I'm in love with today. He treats me like a princess, makes sure that I'm happy, and makes it a point to help me work on my communications skills (as you may have put together, I don't like talking to people about my issues as a result of the bullying). My point in my tale is this: It will get better, even if it may not seem like it now. I've been through it all. I know what it feels like to not want to be here anymore. I still have days where I get depressed, but I'm lucky enough to have a supportive family and a supportive, loving boyfriend. I am 18 years old now, and I do not let my bullying experience and slut shaming high school years define the woman I am today. - Miranda Cardillo
Nothing quite like being called a "whore" by a 10 year old boy on XBOX Live. Since 2010, I have had strangers harass me, slut shame me, post lies about me, and attack my family and friends. And yes, having non-stop harassment from people you don't even know DOES affect you. You start to wonder if you even deserve a place in this world, when so many people attack you.
My name is Koriander. My pen name is Codename Sailor Earth. And I am not ashamed to be her. If you Google my maiden name, which was "Koriander Ake", you will likely see a page called "Encyclopedia Dramatica" and you will see a poorly photoshopped picture of a penis on my face. The trouble all started when I posted a video on YouTube, of a CGI girl dancing. I was using the software MikuMikuDance and I had edited a model someone sent me of Hatsune Miku. Since I love Miku and I love Hello Kitty, I re-dressed her in a Hello Kitty outfit, and did a three minute animation of her dancing. Two weeks later, I started getting death threats, because the model my friend had sent me, was made by some blogger named "Saboten". Never heard of Saboten before, but once the video was up, Saboten posted a hate blog against me, calling me an evil woman. Saboten played the victim card and encouraged his fans to shame me. After that, I started getting harassing and threatening emails from a 4th grade algebra teacher, calling himself "Damesukekun". He and his friends started posting all kinds of lies about me, and three times since 2010, Damesukekun has made fake copyright claims against my website and even photos of my face, claiming he had the right to my image. I had to fight a DMCA claim, because a total stranger is trying to claim a right to my face. Soon, Encyclopedia Dramatica had a hate shrine devoted to me, and members started trashing me everywhere, and they even went so far as to stalk my mom and brother. After that, they hacked my ODesk page, and posted my now deceased grandfather's home address as my own, claiming I posted this as my address, and that I deserve to die and be raped for the evil I am. I lost three job offers because potential employers Googled my name and saw the hate. One woman actually told me that if I'm this much of a "dirty slut" then maybe I deserve it and should hang myself. She was fired not long after this, but the damage was done. While this is going on, another group on Facebook found out I love wrestling, and found out I have friends who are pro wrestlers. Next thing I know, all of us are getting tagged in gay pornography photos. While reporting the pictures to Facebook, I got hacked, and two men posed as me, two via my account and a new account on Facebook, and one on DeviantArt, and the three men started tagging my entire family in pornography under my name, and then harassing my friends on the two websites. And yes, I've been slut-shamed also because of my addiction to video games. If I'm not a "slut" because I love Nintendo, then I'm called one for playing "the wrong game" or for enjoying playing a game that "TCH only REAL MEN like, NOT guuuurls" and yes, I've been called names I can't even type here, just because I'm pretty good at Street Fighter. Nothing quite like being called a "whore" by a 10 year old boy on XBOX Live.
Since 2010, I have had strangers harass me, slut shame me, post lies about me, and attack my family and friends. Each time, I have gone to FBI and Police officers, only to be told it's my fault, that I never deserved the right to post my name online, and I deserve and asked for what I got, despite the fact that the two states I lived in while this was going on ~ Kentucky and Indiana ~ actually do have decent laws against this level of harassment. Our laws are fine. But finding officers who will enforce them is a nightmare. Nothing like feeling slut shamed by both male and female officers, simply because they didn't want to help me, nor did they understand the internet. In 2013, I worked for a wrestling company here in Kentucky known as PWF. We had three bookers, all three of which never treated me as their equal, or even as what I was, the wife of the promoter, their boss. I was always put down, because I'm a woman, which automatically makes me a "whore" despite the fact that my husband is the only person I've ever gone to bed with.
On my wedding day, my now husband kept getting texts from his third booker, begging him to back out of marrying me, because I'm a ball and chain. After we were married, I had a falling out with that last booker, and he threatened to spread a rumor on Facebook that I had slept with five different wrestlers, three of which I have never met before, and the other two I only know on Facebook, just because we had a fight. Of the other two bookers? One posted a slander video against my husband and three other people who fired him, the other eventually backed off, when he realized I was no longer going to act as a free babysitter to his kids. While I have had wrestlers show me respect, and it isn't hard to find a few that appreciate a woman's advice, these three bookers felt that my plumbing made me inadequate as an adviser, or even as a friend. I've had people on Twitter, Facebook, MySpace, DeviantArt and Tumblr try to tear me down and slut shame me. And yes, having non-stop harassment from people you don't even know DOES affect you. You start to wonder if you even deserve a place in this world, when so many people attack you. I'm not ashamed to tell you I've cried, I've screamed, and I am not at all afraid to tell you I thought of suicide before. But stopping me was the love of my now husband, at the time, "BFF" John, who made me see the value in living as myself, despite everyone's best efforts. My husband was originally my best friend on MySpace, and the first person, and many times only man, who really had my back each time I was hacked and doxxed. He stuck by me, even when his own friends wanted him to abandon me. And through his support, and the support of true friends and my mom, I realize that I never should have been worried about how the world will see me. The older I get, the more absurd this all seems to me, and the less the taunting bugs me. I can get angry at the comments, but I realize now that the people who slut shame really don't have lives. In fact, I pity them, for this is all the fame they can ever see. So let them tell lies. Let them slut-shame. These people can't amount to anything, so this hate is all they have to live for, and nothing more. So without another thought, I can say with pride, I am Koriander Bullard. I was once Koriander Ake. I am Codename Sailor Earth. And I am not ashamed to be her.
He told me that if I told anyone, he'd tell them I was lying, and nobody would believe me because we'd done it before, I was KNOWN for being a slut, and I snuck out of my house to meet him in the middle of the night of my own free will.
During the first week of my Freshman year of high school, I got my first boyfriend. We went to the free movie night that the city park held every weekend during the summer, and neither one of us could tell you what the movie even was because we were making out in the grass, a tangle of arms and legs and lips all mashed together. It was terribly romantic. In retrospect, I feel bad for the horde of friends that were sitting near us having to listen to our sloppy make-out session for two hours. After the movie, he and I went off to find somewhere more private because I wanted him to touch my boobs without people looking at us. He told me that his parents were out of town, so we went to his house. When we got there, we were making out some more, and I let him touch my boobs, and then he asked if we could have sex, and I said that I guessed it was okay, as long as we used condoms because I was way too young to be getting pregnant. He didn't have any, and couldn't find where his parents stashed theirs, so I told him no way. That's when things started to go downhill. He held me down and rubbed his crotch on mine and begged me to let him have sex with me. I kept saying no, and asking him to let me up but he wouldn't. After awhile, it became apparent to me that he had no intention of letting me go until we had sex, so I finally gave in. I knew that what he was doing was rape because he didn't stop when I said to stop, and that I hadn't really consented because he forced me, but unfortunately, many high-schoolers are not so enlightened, including him.
After it happened, I asked him to please not tell anyone what we did, and he agreed. The next day at school, I walked into the classroom where we shared a class with a lot of our mutual friends, and he was already there talking to a huge crowd of male friends. They were pressing him to find out how far he'd gone with me, and he said, "She made me promise not to tell." They said, "THAT MEANS YOU DID IT! You had SEX!!!" and then he said, "Yeah, we had sex!" Right then, my fate was sealed, and I'd be known as a slut for the rest of the time I went to that school. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die because now he'd told everyone who saw us sucking face all night that we'd had sex, and there was no chance anyone would believe me if I told them I hadn't wanted it. It was then that I resolved that, since "no" couldn't stop a guy from taking advantage, then I just wouldn't say "no" anymore. You can't rape the willing, right?
That philosophy of mine tainted every sexual partner I had from then until I was 18, but I am getting ahead of myself. Our relationship was a rocky one, constantly on and off. When we were "on," he treated me like an afterthought. I was pretty much a warm hole for him to put his dick in. When we were "off," he'd tell all of our friends that I was crazy, slutty, overemotional, and a bitch. Only one or two ever saw through all that bullshit, although they still didn't believe me when I told them that he had raped me. They didn't think that I'd want to get back together with him over and over again if that were true. In reality, his forcibly taking my virginity made me feel like he owned me, or at least a part of me, and I wasn't complete without that part that he had, so I had to be with him so I could be whole. Towards the end of Freshman year, I started dating a senior. Red flag 1: He wanted us to be a "secret." Red flag 2: He didn't like me hanging out with my friends because "they're so immature and I don't like them and you're better than them." Red flag 3: If I got a text message while I was out with him, he would take my cell phone and read it and if it was from someone he didn't like, he'd keep my cell phone until he dropped me back off at my house. A bajillion red flags to top it off: Even though he told me I was "too good" to hang out with MY friends, when we hung out with his friends, I was "the little slut" and the "dick-sucking whore." I laughed along with them when he and they would refer to me as such, and when his friends would ask to touch or see my boobs, HE was the one who gave permission. I wasn't even asked. I went along with it, though, because I thought if I don't say "no" then it's okay, but if I DO say "no" then they'll just ignore me and it will be bad. (Terrible mindset.) After 3 months, he broke it off with me because I was "too clingy." (Of course I was too clingy. He isolated me from all my friends and made it so he was the only person I felt safe around. Ironic, since he was the person who was making me unsafe to begin with.)
My sophomore year was marked by another on-off relationship, but that relationship was actually pretty good. While we were together, he always respected my wishes, and while we were apart, he refrained from trash-talking me or trying to turn my friends against me. The REAL problem in my sophomore year was with the on-again-off-again-boyfriend of my friend, let's call her "Trish," who, during what I THOUGHT was one of their "off" phases, (and during one of my off phases with my Sophomore on-off boyfriend) Trish's boyfriend expressed interest in me. It turned out that they were officially "on," but Trish wasn't putting out because every time she did, they broke up, so she was holding out so that he would respect her more. (LOL riiight.) So, he asked me if I wanted to go for a ride in his car, and I agreed. While he was driving, he asked if I would give him road head, and I didn't see the harm in that (MORON! Talk about distracting the driver!!) so I did. When we got out to.... the middle of freaking nowhere... He asked if I'd ever done anal, which I hadn't. He asked if I wanted to, and I said no. Then he asked if I would. That's when my can't-rape-the-willing-so-always-be-willing mindset kicked in, and I said yes. It hurt REALLY BAD because 1) I'd never done it before. 2) His dick was HUGE. 3) Neither one of us knew enough about anal sex to have any LUBE!!! I started crying almost right away, and he asked if I was okay, and I said "It just hurts," and he asked if I wanted him to stop, and I didn't say anything, so he kept going. The next day at school, Trish slapped me across the face and called me a slut, whore, bitch, etc. Every name in the book. She told me that she new I had cheated with her boyfriend and that I'd let him have anal sex with me and that made me a dirty skank. I tried explaining that I'd thought they were broken up. He TOLD me they were broken up! She told me that they weren't broken up, but even if they were, I knew that Trish loved him, so how could I even think of doing anything with him??? Of course, she forgave him, but she never, ever forgave me. I lost a couple of other friends over that, too, because they agreed with her: You DON'T EVER sleep with a friend's ex. Trish's boyfriend still talked to me. But from then on, that's all we did. We actually got to be quite close friends. Whenever Trish was mad at him, we'd talk about what a bitch she was.
My junior year of high school, I moved back to my hometown to live with my Dad. My reputation didn't travel that far. I kept a low profile there, and didn't have too many boyfriends. My senior year, I got together with a very kind boy in my own grade. I am ashamed to admit it, but I was pretty cruel to him. I like to blame it on the fact that I was so abused in many of my relationships prior, and that was just how I knew to be IN a relationship, but it's also partly because I just didn't respect him. He was taking 11th grade English in one of his elective slots because he'd failed it the previous year. I was a straight-A student without even trying. I never saw him as my equal, but in kindness, heart, and compassion, he outstripped me BY FAR. Anyway, I spent Spring Break back where all the trouble happened. I texted Trish's boyfriend to see what he was up to, and he told me that he and Trish had broken up again and he thought it was for good that time and all he wanted was to have sex with someone else and forget all about her. He wanted me to have sex with him. I told him that I couldn't because I was in a relationship and wouldn't cheat. He kept on asking and asking over and over, just like my Freshman boyfriend, but this time, it was over text messages. He couldn't hurt me, or so I thought. I believed I had the power. Finally he gave up and asked if I would just come hang out with him.
It was around 2 A.M., so I had to sneak out to meet him. I got into his car, he drove out to the middle of nowhere, and he raped me. There wasn't even the illusion of consent that time. Of course, he told me that if I told anyone, he'd tell them I was lying, and nobody would believe me because we'd done it before, I was KNOWN for being a slut, and I snuck out of my house to meet him in the middle of the night of my own free will. I got back to my hometown, and my boyfriend, I couldn't even let him touch me. I felt so awful. I felt used, abused, and I hated what had been done to me, but I also felt GUILTY for letting it happen. What did I expect, sneaking out in the middle of the night to meet someone who I KNEW wanted to have sex with me? I got into his car on my own. I should have known what would happen. My boyfriend found the text messages, which included things from Trish's Boyfriend like, "You liked it last time," and "Come on, we're great together, and nobody has to know." And things from me like, "You know I'm sexually attracted to you, but you also know I have a BOYFRIEND," and "If I were single, it would be different. I would fuck you in a heartbeat." So he drew the only conclusion that made sense to him: I'd cheated. He confronted me. At first, I was just angry that he went through my phone. It was a violation of privacy, and he should have trusted me enough to not do that. When he countered by saying that I wouldn't have a problem with it if I didn't have something to hide, and who was this guy anyway, and was he better than (senior boyfriend) and was that why I hadn't wanted him touching me, because this other guy was so much better than (senior boyfriend)?? That's when I broke down crying and told him the whole story. Before that, he hadn't even known about my freshman year. I never claimed to be a virgin, but I hadn't told him that I wasn't, either. He was SO kind, and SO understanding. He told me OF COURSE a "yes" under coercion didn't count as consent. OF COURSE I had the right to trust a long-time friend, and OF COURSE it was not my fault that my trust, and my body, had been violated. We ended up breaking up after senior year when I went off and joined the military, and he flunked BOTH his English classes, and a history class, and had to repeat senior year. He did help me tremendously, though, in taking back my ability to say "no." Hearing confirmation of what I'd always thought to be true, but still doubted because nobody, not even my own mother, believed me, and FROM a sexual partner, made me realize that I was allowed to say no. And that anyone who ignored the "no" and forced a "yes" was a rapist. I did not deserve to be raped. I did not deserve to be called a slut because I was raped. Nobody deserves to be called a slut.
This is going back into the 80s. This was an era before cell phones so I couldn't imagine it happening in this day and age.
This is going back into the 80s. My sister and I were tall, long-legged identical twins in grade 9. One weekend, we had gone to a barn party in the country with a few older guys and friends. Alcohol was introduced that evening and everyone had a bit to drink. On Monday at school I recall sitting in chemistry class when the boy in front of me turned around and said, "I heard you F'd so and so standing up on the weekend". I wanted to die. The whole class was laughing and labelling me when essentially it was bullshit. This was an era before cell phones so I couldn't imagine it happening in this day and age. Needless to say it was bullshit, as that evening it never even progressed to sex, just heavy petting. The guy just wanted to become a self-proclaimed stud. It didn't really matter. The slut label held all through high school. In fact all through high school we were called the "twiggy twins" and our nick names were Moaning and Groaning. Our real names are Rhona and Mona. I hated high school. I tell my kids this story so they realize what lies and bad choices you can get yourself into. I also recall later when I met a girl who had been younger in high school and became friends. She said everyone had said we were sluts, but at the time we were virgins, long after all of the popular girls lost their virginity in high school. - Rhona
We forget that emotional stresses and traumas related to feelings of shame, or guilt, can often have physical consequences that are very real, and detrimental to our health, sexually, and otherwise.
Growing up, sex was treated as a dirty word in our household. There was no particular reason for this, other than the fact that I grew up with a parental figure who held to old-fashioned notions of what was appropriate or acceptable. Certain subjects were taboo, and sex, or anything having to do with sexuality was definitely taboo. As a result, there were never any conversations about what to do, or not do, or how to deal with the changes that one deals with in going through adolescence. When sex education began in 5th grade, I brought materials home that were deemed to be completely inappropriate and thrown away. As a result I felt ashamed that I was even being subjected to such information at school, but at the same time relieved that I was learning something about this mysterious aspect of human life.
When I was fifteen, I remember watching a nightly news show with my family when there was a guest speaker brought in for an interview who was a sexual expert. She was discussing various aspects related to sexuality that were often misunderstood, one of which was masturbation. I was immediately told by my parent how what I had just heard I should forget about completely, and the only thing I should remember is that masturbation was a bad thing and I should never do it.
When I was sixteen the blockbuster movie Titanic came out. I went to see it with my family, and was asked to cover my eyes every time there was a scene of a sexual nature. I had to leave the room whenever we watched a movie and anyone started kissing. I felt embarrassed, and confused as to why this obviously natural part of life was something that I couldn’t be allowed to experience in any way, even as a spectator.
I lived a very sheltered life, and was homeschooled for a portion of my middle school and high school years, and had a practically non-existent social life until I was in college. When I was nineteen, I was still living at home, but attending a community college full-time. I finally had my first boyfriend and my first kiss. When we started dating seriously, and the relationship became sexual, and my family found out, I was accosted with screaming fits and called a “slut.” When birth control pills were found in my dresser drawer, I was subjected to looks of great disapproval for even possessing something like that. And I overheard a phone conversation where a family friend said, "If she were in my home and had done that, she would be kicked out."
I was an outstanding student - straight A's, honor's list, and ultimately graduated summa cum laude, while working full-time all the way through school. I reasoned with myself that I should disregard the disapproval I was receiving, and the shaming I was experiencing, because I really was a "good kid." I was a hard-worker, and not falling into a life of depravity, simply because I had a boyfriend and was sexually active. Even though I could reason logically, it was hard to completely dismiss the nagging voice inside that was recalling everything I had heard growing up that was telling me I must be doing something wrong. I must actually be a bad person, and a slutty woman.
Over the years, when I realized that I wasn’t going to get any sexual education from my family, I had tried to educate myself through reading, even if it was a romance novel I found in the bookstore, or research I did online. By the time I was an adult, I felt that I was strong enough to overcome the years of sexual shaming I had experienced, and was determined not to let it govern my life moving forward. Even so, I was filled with a lot of internal confusion, and ingrained subconscious shame about being sexual. So when I was called a slut at age nineteen, it hurt deeply.
Years of repressed sexuality, and unintentional shaming from someone who loved me and thought they were doing what was right did take a toll. It has taken years for me to work through subconscious psychological issues that have also resulted in physical manifestations in my body. We forget that emotional stresses and traumas related to feelings of shame, or guilt, can often have physical consequences that are very real, and detrimental to our health, sexually, and otherwise.
It’s so important for our society to have an open dialogue about this topic, because often sexual bullying doesn’t even come from external society – it can start right in our own homes, with our own family, because parents don’t understand how to approach a topic that should be as natural as any other aspect of growing up.
Don't keep those thoughts to yourself- otherwise you'll start believing in them.
Anyone who has a need to call a female who is younger than 18 a slut has problems. I've had my own personal experiences with wrongful slut shaming. The first time was when I was 11, in 5th grade. A girl called me a slut for not having a boyfriend (obviously she needs to go find out what it actually means) and for the next few years I was pressured into thinking not having a boyfriend was bad. In 6th grade, I was deemed a slut by my ex boyfriend for wearing a pair of shorts that reached mid-thigh. The most recent one, in 8th grade, was cursed at me from a fellow female who was jealous that I could be simple friends with a group of guys and claimed that I was secretly planning on seducing them with witchcraft (someone really needs to lay off those fictional romance novels). I dealt with them with a mixture of telling my mom (sometimes it's awkward telling your dad or you're 40 year old male principal) and getting support from my friends, both male and female. I would just like to say that calling someone a slut is always hurtful, no matter your age or the situation it is being used in. If anyone ever feels uncomfortable, say it. Don't keep those thoughts to yourself- otherwise you'll start believing in them. - Myra Sangster
They only want to take you down because you're high above them.
Though I myself have never been called a slut, I have witnessed the pain and developing insecurities of friends that have been called one. In middle school, back then I had a friend that went out with many boys every month. Though no effects appeared right away, she became bitter and lost control over her actions with boys, making it worse. I have one thing to say about girls who have been called a slut - It's just a word that other people say, usually not meaning it, to take you down. They only want to take you down because you're high above them.
I am 54 now and I can honestly say, I've managed to heal myself. My daughter was bullied this way too, but together we worked through it and she is a strong, happy and successful woman.
The shift from elementary school to middle school can be very traumatic. Girls can be very mean, especially girls in Junior High. I was twelve years old and kind of a loner. I became friends with this girl Lisa who was confident and dressed in fun, flamboyant clothing. We had a blast expressing ourselves though our clothing. We loved Hollywood, bright colors, vintage & leopard print, we also loved feathers and glitter. Neither of us had breasts so there wasn't any cleavage involved. We didn't pay attention to boys because we were too busy having too much fun. We were unique and I guess people didn't like that. The first comments we heard were that we were lesbians. This was in 1973 during a time when people were very closeted. Then another group started spreading a rumor that we were sluts and whores. The truth of the matter is that neither of us had ever even kissed a guy and we had no interest in each other like that. Lisa left that school the next year. We continued to be friends (and still are). I remember feeling very isolated and out of place. I continued at that school for two more years. I was very depressed. I wrote poems, I remember part of one: "they treat me like I'm from Mars but, I'm not! I'm human, I have feelings too." I used to think about ways that I could kill myself. Luckily, I was never successful. I had very low self esteem and nervous ticks. My mom took me to a therapist who prescribed Valium. This label of "slut" stuck with me internally and later in my life, I was free with my body. I was looking for love but at times I was used. It took me many years to battle my depression and low self-esteem. I am 54 now and I can honestly say, I've managed to heal myself. I am a strong woman and I no longer have negative self talk. This is a terrible thing that children do to each other. My daughter was bullied this way too but, together we worked through it and she is a strong, happy and successful woman. - Cynthia
I really wish I knew at the time that I could have taken it to someone, because he didn't get any type of punishment for trying to get me a reputation as "the school slut."
I am 15 years old and when I was 13, a boy in the older year level at my school decided he wanted to show everyone a picture of someone's boobs he found on the internet and told everyone it was me. I found out the hard way. He sent it to people and then the whole school found out before I did. As a younger student of the school, I didn't want to be known as a baby and go cry about it to the teachers, so I kept quite about it and didn't even tell my parents. I felt ashamed, even though the girl in the photo was not me. If anyone said anything about it to me, all I would say was "It's not me." Not having anyone to speak to was a really hard thing. I have friends but I didn't want to bring it up with anyone. After time, one of the teachers came to me about it. They obviously tried to keep it under control, so I didn't take it to the police and get the teachers a bad reputation. To this day I am still waiting for the apology letter the school told me I would get from this boy. Nothing happened to him and he got away with it all. I really wish I knew at the time that I could have taken it to someone, because he didn't get any type of punishment for trying to get me a reputation as "the school slut." - Alice
I'm still uncertain about sex & intimacy - waiting to be hurt, expecting it. It's often crippling. I know this is something I'll be working through for the rest of my life, or at least it seems so.
I was born 30 years ago, at 26 wks. My parents were in shock, uncertain of what to do with a preemie & so exhausted. During my stay in the NICU that lasted a few months, my parents went to Florida, and apparently needed to get away from the stress. That's when the neglect began. As a toddler I was diagnosed with CP. I defied numerous odds, as I was not supposed to live. My father travelled a lot for work, & my mother was an alcoholic, stressed, & bulimic. She took her stress out on me - physically, emotionally, & eventually sexually... She believed I was helpless because of my CP, so she insisted on bathing me and taking care of all hygiene needs - until I was 19 & left the house for college. It was a consistent battle to escape her anger, wrath, & abuse. I'd been taking care of her, in her drunken state since I was young. I'd do all that I could to sneak a shower on my own. She always noticed though & that made things worse for me. I developed an eating disorder & began to self-harm, wanting to control SOMETHING of my own. There was no space to breathe. I was both suffocated & neglected (during her blackouts, lack of fresh food, etc.) for years. If things weren't exactly her way, there were major repercussions for me. I was exposed to porn & her sex with multiple partners. She strategically placed items & sex toys where I'd see them. As with many survivors, I was told to never say anything... That bathing me was normal, that I was dirty & could never clean myself as well as she could. I never told anyone about the abuse until I was in residential treatment for my ED during college. It had to be reported because of my CP & that things happened when I was a minor. She's never let me live that down. Ever. Years later, assault would continue, but from a female 'best friend'. Thankfully, I've been able to work through this over the years and am a therapist myself. I'm still uncertain about sex & intimacy - waiting to be hurt, expecting it. It's often crippling. I know this is something I'll be working through for the rest of my life, or at least it seems so.
Let's change the conversation. Instead of punishing girls for being sexually active, let's make sure they're enjoying themselves safely. Safe sex is fun sex.
I'll never forget the first time someone called me a slut. It was 8th grade. I heard whispers from the boys, the girls, and my "friends". That was 10 years ago. It's funny how a word like that can define you, or at least you think it does. It stuck with me for many years. In fact, 5 years ago when a friend was advising (read: judging) me on an enjoyable sexual relationship I was having, I straight up said, "Well, you've always considered me a slut..." It wasn't until then that I realized some people see sexuality differently. My friend may have considered me a slut from the time we were in 8th grade, but I saw it as experimentation and enjoyment. See, I'm from a small town, where the label didn't disappear when I went to high school. Though I had a steady boyfriend for all 4 years and only slept with him, the one time I made out with another boy, the label crept up again. Oh, and college wasn't much different. The label, slut, stuck with me. It wasn't until I started to embrace it that it no longer bothered me. Now, people can call me a slut and I don't hear it. Trust me sweetheart, I've been called that enough times that it doesn't really mean anything to me anymore. It's true, I enjoy sex (when done safely!). I like it this way and that way. I like it with one boy or two boys or no boys. I like the way it feels. And it makes me feel good too. It can be empowering for me. I sleep with people on the first date or without a date. I like one night stands and I like hook ups that last for months...or years. I can still count how many people I've slept with and usually their names. Even if it's a made up one, like "That Guy From the Bar". So sure, I'm a slut, whatever that means to you. To me, being a slut means sexual freedom and personal pleasure. Men can be as sexually active as they please, yet no one judges them. In fact, they are, for the most part, praised for this behavior. But when a woman acts similarly, she is punished with hateful words and labels. So let's change the conversation. Instead of punishing girls for being sexually active, let's make sure they're enjoying themselves safely. Safe sex is fun sex. - Ali
After high school I sank into a depression. I would not eat and I would self harm. I thought many times, "Does everyone see me that way?" and I wanted it to end.
I understand what it is like to be called sexual names. I was harassed in high school by the boys. They had a very bad rumor about me. Guys even chased me around the school for fun or to flip my skirt. Even had a guy tell me how he pleasures himself and wanted me to join him. I have been touched wrongly. I am glad someone is putting the word out there and how it affects us. I became addicted to people saying those things, even though I loathed it. After high school I sank into a depression. I would not eat and I would self harm. I thought many times, "Does everyone see me that way?" and I wanted it to end. I like to think, what if the roles were reversed? Maybe they would understand we don't like being whistled at like a dog, or "brushed up" against. Nor do we care if you're on the little blue pill, nor do we like it when you chase us "just to talk" or pin us against the wall and try to kiss or touch us. Been there, it really sucks. I now wear a ring on my left hand so men will leave me alone and if they start a conversation, I twist the ring around. I had one guy say, "I see your married, that's so sad, we could have been good together. Here's my number just in case you want to have fun." This man was old enough to be my grandfather.
They first called me "crazy", and after I had slept with two different guys in the music school, a "slut". I doubt that it had as much to do with the number as it did with my attitude toward relationships and the casualness with which I conducted them. A lot of my peers didn't share my same views and judged me because of that.
I came from a large city and a large high school in what some people would consider a very liberal area. Because of the size of my school and the socially liberal views of the student body, there were different kinds of interpersonal relationships across the school that were accepted, for the most part, by everybody. I personally was in a committed relationship for about 2 years throughout my time in high school. Then I went off to study music performance in college. I broke up with my boyfriend, and started a new life as a freshman at a school far away from home with very different ideals than the ones that came with the liberal environment that I was used to. The music school was small, about 200 students out of the 6,000 undergraduates that went to my school. Everyone knew everyone, and everyone knew everyone else's business. I adopted a fairly cavalier attitude about intimate relationships; I was young, I had just gotten out of a long relationship and I wasn't ready for anything new, and I wanted to have some fun. Some people were uncomfortable with my sexually liberal views. They first called me "crazy", and after I had slept with two different guys in the music school, a "slut". I doubt that it had as much to do with the number as it did with my attitude toward relationships and the casualness with which I conducted them. A lot of my peers didn't share my same views and judged me because of that. Jealousy was also perhaps a factor, as I didn't have any reservations about walking up to people and introducing myself. In the end, being called a slut doesn't bother me too much. I came to school to perfect my musical skills and as long as I keep performing at a high level, I'm happy with that. My friends know who I really am and that's what matters. Those who care to think otherwise aren't worth my time. It's nice to come from a big city because you learn to have a tough outer shell. You learn not to care what others think of you. At the end of the day, as long as I know that I can look at myself in the mirror and know that I have stayed true to myself, that's what really matters. But for a lot of young women, the word "slut" affects them much more than it does me. The word is damaging and hurtful, and it tells these strong, beautiful girls that they are not deserving of respect. It can break girls down and ruin their happiness, pride, and their sense of confidence. This why I will never condone the usage of the word "slut", "whore", or any derogatory term specifically aimed at women. All girls are worthy of respect. - Kelly
Photographs were taken while I was held down, too drunk to resist. This was before cell phones or the internet, thank goodness. I attempted suicide twice. I got sober, got help, got better. Now, I am a counselor. We must share our stories with young women, to know they are not alone. We can make a difference in the world and help one another.
Unfortunately I have several stories of sexual harassment, abuse and assault. I was sexualized as a young girl, where people would comment on how cute my figure was, even before puberty, before any development. In Jr. high I was constantly referred to as "the wall" for not having developed larger breasts, by one particular boy. I am sure there were others as well. I will never forget him or his name. On Halloween in his neighborhood he cornered me and sprayed shaving cream up my skirt. I was bullied by two eighth grade girls because I wore high heeled shoes and threatened with beating me up. In 8th grade I went from being popular to being an outcast for becoming friends with a boy who broke up with his girlfriend and began paying attention to me. I had never been kissed. All of my friends turned against me, calling me a slut. I was threatened again with beating me up. I turned to alcohol and drugs, partying. I was assaulted many times while too intoxicated to physically stop what was happening to me or not knowing what I was doing. Photographs were taken while I was held down, too drunk to resist. This was before cell phones or the internet, thank goodness. I attempted suicide twice. I got sober, got help, got better - but this is when I began to remember all the assaults. I didn't even know that is what they were until years later. Now, I am a counselor. We must share our stories with young women, to know they are not alone. We can make a difference in the world and help one another. No one should have to be pushed to end their lives by bullies or perpetrators. Thank you for this project, for your courage and allowing me to share my story. - Kate G.
Now, in my 30's, it still hurts to look back on. You are a slut if you do, a tease if you don't. We need to stop paying so much attention to each other's sex lives.
My story is the ironic counterpart of slut shaming. When I was a teenager through my early twenties, I was heavily involved in a drinking lifestyle. One of the quirks I developed was a tendency to enjoy kissing boys, but I never wanted more. My friends nicknamed me the kissing bandit because I would just kiss the boys and run away. It all seemed very innocent to me. Very quickly, I became a bit of a game for my friends. They would make bets about when I would have sex. Soon, I was called a "tease" on a regular basis. Even one of my closest friends (who was a little more promiscuous) told me she would hate me if she was a guy because I'm such a dick tease. I handled it playfully for the most part, knowing it just wasn't I wanted. It was fun to be affectionate with boys, but I knew my limits. I felt "why shouldn't I be able to just kiss boys?" It didn't seem so bad to me. I would even tell them ahead of time that I didn't plan on sleeping with them, just so they couldn't call me a "tease" and act like I led them on. I was a virgin until I was raped at 21. By this time, I felt like it was my own fault because I was such a tease. It was a man I was dating and he insisted he "had to" after I said no countless times during an up-till-that-point enjoyable make out session. Just the night before I had told him I was a virgin and didn't want to have sex with him. He said it was fine and he understood. I went into the date feeling confident and safe because he knew my limits and respected my boundaries. I drank too much and couldn't defend myself. I never called the police because I felt like I deserved it, like no one would care or believe me because everyone knew what a tease I was. Within a few months of this incident, I checked myself into rehab after falling into a devastating spiral of depression and drowning myself in alcohol. But, I couldn't drink away the memories. Not of the bets, the names, the constant outside interest in whether or not I had sex yet. Now, in my 30's, it still hurts to look back on. You are a slut if you do, a tease if you don't. We need to stop paying so much attention to each other's sex lives. I guess I don't understand when it became anyone else's business whether I'm having sex, much less how often. Or why people feel it's their job to tell you what they think about your sexual decisions. One thing is for sure. It never had anything to do with my sex life. It had everything to do with other people being judgmental assholes. - Anna D.
I still struggle with some things today, but have kept up the fight to make myself stronger and to better myself for myself and not anyone else.
I'm not sure when or how it started, but I do remember that I was bullied and outcast in a small school. I think I was in 3rd or 4th grade when the tag "Slut" was placed on me and I would hear people laughing and talking about me and calling me a slut. I went through the rest of that school and into high school with that label, amongst many others. I had to fight back and I made the same kind of comments to others to get them to stop. But what they don't know is during that time in high school I was suicidal and became a cutter. I showed up with a "happy" smile, hoping I was able to hide the hurt but wishing I could die almost everyday. I still struggle with some things today, but have kept up the fight to make myself stronger and to better myself for myself and not anyone else. And I am finally getting a tatoo worthy of covering my scars from when I cut. A Phoenix rising from the ashes as I have risen above the pain and hurt of my past. - Jennifer Collins
I was drugged at a party, brought back to a senior's apartment, and raped. The only person I tried to tell called me a slut.
As a seventh grader and a new kid in my school, I was labeled "slut" for not liking a boy back. I had not even had my first kiss. The bullying seriously impacted my desire to go to school and interact with my peers. In high school I was broken up with and labeled a "prude" for not wanting anything to go beyond kissing. I was afraid of being called a slut and still I was made fun of for another reason! A group of adults also labeled me a slut for being closer with the boys on a leadership council. Adults!!!! I cried for weeks. As a freshman in college, I was drugged at a party, brought back to a senior's apartment, and raped. The only person I tried to tell called me a slut. I struggled alone for 5 years until I had the courage to talk about it with my best friend and mom. The word "slut" has seriously impacted my life. I am now a middle school teacher who is committed to stopping bullying and finding ways to make kids feel great about themselves. - Catherine
As I approached them, I avoided all eye contact and looked straight ahead because I could feel my fear about to turn into tears at any moment. As I passed them, I could hear each of them call me "hooker" and "slut" with an emphasize on the "t".
When I was 11 years old and in 6th grade, I had my first real boyfriend. It was very innocent between us, just holding hands and kissing. One day, my boyfriend was hanging out with some older boys and they asked him if we had had sex and he just laughed, but never denied that we hadn't. Well, word spread fast that I was no longer a virgin and it didn't help that when an 8th grader asked my best friend if I was a virgin, she responded, "I don't know", which was taken to mean that I wasn't. I remember hearing older kids refer to me as a slut or "hooker" when I was around them. I will never forget walking down the hall by myself to go to the restroom during class time and the 8th grade girls were working on a project in the hall. I thought about turning back but I knew that they saw me and I really had to go pee. As I approached them, I avoided all eye contact and looked straight ahead because I could feel my fear about to turn into tears at any moment. As I passed them, I could hear each of them call me "hooker" and "slut" with an emphasize on the "t". I could feel the lump in my throat about to burst and I did all I could to make it to the bathroom before the tears started to flow. I stood in that bathroom until they left. I had to tell my teacher why I took so long in the bathroom and started to cry. I remember she yelled at my boyfriend and my brother because my brother was part of the 8th grade class that was calling me names and he said nothing to defend me. I never understood why my boyfriend or best friend would allow people to think I was sexually active. I hate those 8th grade girls to this day and was so happy to see them graduate...from Catholic School.
"A lock that can be opened with a number of keys is a shitty lock, but a key that can open any lock is a master key"... the keys being men and the locks being women. Women have sexual desires just like men do. But if we have the audacity to express or explore those desires, we become sluts. Damaged goods. Shitty locks.
When I was in college (aged 16-19, I live in the UK) I was sexually active and more so than most of my friends. Although I did have one or two more meaningful relationships during this time, the majority of my sexual encounters were casual, and I was OK with that. I wasn't interested in starting a serious relationship at that age because I felt I was too young, but I enjoyed sex. All of my sexual experiences at this age were safe, consensual, and mutually enjoyed. However, I was labeled a slut for exploring my sexuality, whilst the guys I had relationships with were congratulated for it. I guess that's when it really started to piss me off. I remember talking to one of my friends about this and they explained it as thus: "A lock that can be opened with a number of keys is a shitty lock, but a key that can open any lock is a master key"... the keys being men and the locks being women. Women have sexual desires just like men do. But if we have the audacity to express or explore those desires, we become sluts. Damaged goods. Shitty locks. - Charlotte
I still remember how scared, shocked and hurt I was and how the 'lead' bully called me a 'horr' because she could not properly spell whore.
When I was 11, I started to experiment with make-up at school due to the images of females I grew up with by watching movies, TV and reading in magazines. It started with a little dab of eye shadow, some lip gloss and wearing a tank top (in the summer). I was quickly called a slut and a whore; yet I had never even kissed a boy! Let me tell you, it was confusing and hurtful for my 11 year old self to put together. Kids can be incredibly mean, nasty and terrorizing. I was simply a preteen wearing things I saw on TV and in magazines, yet I was shamed, humiliated and degraded by my peers. It was also my first taste to cyber-bullying back in 2000 with nasty, and threatening e-mails from an e-mail '[email protected]', I still remember how scared, shocked and hurt I was and how the 'lead' bully called me a 'horr' because she could not properly spell whore. These experiences have turned me into an advocate against bullying. In university I volunteered for a on-campus group and taught an in-school children's conflict resolution and anti-bullying group and I also mentored a group of at risk preteens in an after-school program. - Laura Scott
I didn't understand why the adults in charge couldn't see what was happening. They down played it and convinced themselves that "kids will be kids," like it was some kind of rite of passage that everyone goes through.
I was called a slut when I was just 12 years old. The girl was mean and brutal and recruited more mean and brutal girls in her plight to break me down. This continued through junior high and most of high school. Daily these girls would corner me and do things like slam my head into the water fountain as I was drinking or body slam me as I walked past them in the hall, head down praying for God to just make me invisible. They were relentless. It was every single day. Not a day went by that they didn't in some way brutalize me and humiliate me in front of everyone. I went running out of classes crying and I would end up being the one in trouble for leaving class. I didn't understand why the adults in charge couldn't see what was happening. They down played it and convinced themselves that "kids will be kids," like it was some kind of rite of passage that everyone goes through. It made every single day dark and heavy and uphill. My grades slipped, I didn't want to go to school, I would skip if I had a chance. And the thing about it is that when this bullying began, I was not a "slut." Not even close. In fact, I was a virgin. But the result was devastating, though. I became a "slut." I wasn't having sex with everybody, but damn close. If a boy wanted to put his hand up my shirt, I would let him. If he wanted to put his hand down my pants, sure, why not? I know now that what I really wanted was the love and respect of someone, anyone, but I just didn't know how to go about getting that. I thought if I let them put their hand up my shirt then they would give me what I needed. Then when I was 16 I made the fateful decision to sneak out of the house to go hang out with a much older boy, who was actually in his early 30's. At the time that didn't seem disturbing to me at all. I had no idea of the sinister plan that "Bobby" had for me that night. He was going to carry out his end game with or without my consent. That night I was raped. That was the beginning of the end for me. I developed a heroin habit that stayed with me for 17 years. Fast forward and I was released from prison on February 27, 2011. Since then I have been clean & sober for 5 years and have grown exponentially. I wish I could walk into every junior high, every high school, and into every insecure young girl's life and make them see their value. I wish I could make them know that they are worth so much more and that there is so much more to life than that moment and those few years. I wish I could teach them to hold their heads up high when they walk. I wish I could tell them that if they don't want to give their bodies away, they don't have to. I wish I could tell them that the problem is with the girls calling them a slut and not with them. I wish I could prevent those deep psychological wounds from ever being gashed wide open. I know they are hurting, I know they cry alone, I know they sometimes think about ending it all because they can't see the light at the end of the tunnel. I can still vividly recall those feelings as if it were yesterday. Pain and torment like that doesn't ever seem to truly go away, or at least the memory of it doesn't. I don't know why girls make the decision to be cruel but I know that teenage girls can be some of the cruelest creatures on earth. If I could say anything to the girls of the world that suffer the bullying and slut shaming the way I did, it would be to tell them how beautiful they are and that it's okay to talk about what's happening to you. Talk about it to anyone who will listen. Take the power away from the bully. Tell your parents, tell your teachers, tell your principals, tell your friends. Tell someone, anyone. It doesn't make you uncool to tell, it makes you empowered. It sends a message that you will not stand for this treatment and sets the tone for how people will treat you for the rest of your life. You are worth so much more.
I learned that slut and whore are just words. Nothing else. They do not define who I am or the type of person I will be.
I just want to share a message to all the girls who think that they will be called a slut or a whore because they choose to have sex with someone: who the hell cares? Especially those of you in high school. Trust me when I tell you this, the people making fun of you are only doing it to make themselves feel better. And guess what? They won't matter once you graduate. My first year of college I was called a slut and a whore because I liked to go out and party and hook up with random guys. It was fun for me, I was having fun. And it was mostly guys calling me those names. I learned to embrace it. I learned that slut and whore are just words. Nothing else. They do not define who I am or the type of person I will be. They are simply words. I eventually got a boyfriend while I was in college and all his football teammates were pretty much harassing him for "dating a slut". Like are you kidding me? When I found out what they were saying I was hurt, but eventually I learned that those words mean nothing. His friends were surprised when we were still together for a month or two (we are going on a year and a half now) because I "used to be such a slut." It doesn't matter what people say. As long as you know that you are an amazing, powerful, intelligent, and strong woman (and yes, you really are), you can conquer anything.
At the time, this experience made me feel like I was in trouble; like it was all my fault and I felt worthless. I slowly fell into depression because my innocence, my femininity, were stolen from me. I was robbed of myself. It wasn't easy for me. My mental health declined and I had surrendered to depression. From that point on I continuously fell victim to sexual assault - it feels as though these men know who their victims are.
I was raised in a culture where women were not allowed to have any kind of physical or sexual relationship until they were married. When I was molested, my body began to develop faster than normal. I thought people would know that I wasn't a virgin anymore. Later on there were incidents where I was groped in public. In the winter of 2002 I went to Rockefeller Center with my family and a man sexually assaulted me. An undercover police officer had seen the assault and arrested the man. I thought that it was just the man's keys as the place was very crowded. I had no idea that the man was erect as he was rubbing himself on my buttocks. My mother had told me not to continue with the report because she did not want me to have a permanent record of the incident. At this point my mother had no idea about the molestation when I was eight years old. At the time, this experience made me feel like I was in trouble; like it was all my fault and I felt worthless. I slowly fell into depression because my innocence, my femininity, were stolen from me. I was robbed of myself. It wasn't easy for me. My mental health declined and I had surrendered to depression. From that point on I continuously fell victim to sexual assault - it feels as though these men know who their victims are. Although society is becoming more and more aware and disapproving of sexual assault, it is very real and very painful. It scars you for life. The truth is, it is a painful process, you will cry sometimes, you will wish you had lost your virginity just like everyone else did. But some girls who had a choice still regret it. I think women need to understand that they are stronger than that, they are powerful, that our bodies and sexuality are our power. We should never surrender our power to anyone. Even after being violated, don't think "Now my life is over." It's not over! What helped me gain my power was the power to say No! The power to choose my boyfriends wisely. The power to choose who I want to share my body with. I hope that one day my son will grow up in a world where assaulters are thrown into prison and the victims have a humane trial and get the closure they need to move on. If I could give advice to any young woman it would be: You are beautiful! You are pure! You are feminine! You control your destiny! You have control over yourself! Don't let anyone gain power over you! You have the power to love yourself! You are in control of your life and your happiness. And one day you WILL meet someone very special who will see you as a strong woman!
Are they being too uptight, or does the world really see me, the girl who hasn't even had a first kiss at 14, as a slut?
At my school a lot of the girls wear shorts and tank tops. Some people I know would call them sluts including my best friend. I personally didn't care, so I never gave it much thought till eighth grade summer, me and my friends were all going to different high schools, and I started wearing spaghetti strap shirts, and thought corset shirts were cool as long as they didn't show your breast line. I always hated shorts, but I started liking boots with heels. My best friend considers girls with heels and corset tops sluts, which is why I'm afraid of wearing heels and corset tops, because I don't want to be called a slut. I also tried shorts and they were quite comfortable. The reason I like these clothes is because they're comfortable, not to show my body. As a matter of fact I feel uncomfortable showing skin, and have worn jeans 90% of my life. I have very little self confidence, and am trying to become confident. And whenever I wear tank tops my friends' eyes widen like if it's wrong. Are they being too uptight, or does the world really see me, the girl who hasn't even had a first kiss at 14, as a slut? Like seriously I haven't even had my first boyfriend.
I act shy about it to certain people because I feel that's how I'm supposed to feel. I am comfortable with it myself, I learned so many things and gained valuable life experiences from it.
I started dancing 5 years ago, at a strip club. I enjoyed it. It was fun and a party. But besides that, many women were there not because they really wanted to, but they had to, they had mouths to feed and deadbeat baby daddies. But here is a list of a few things I've seen wrong in the industry. Number one: a lot of men don't treat it as strictly entertainment (although if the girl is cool with it, that's her business). My point is that I saw girls treated like crap by men because they were seen as "sluts and whores". Sure, some were crappy people, but no one deserved some of the treatment that plagued the clubs. Number two: the government I feel plays a part of this by having so many laws against what you can and can't do. To me, as long as the environment is kept safe and everything is consensual, I don't see any problem with what a woman chooses to do with her body. What if she needs the money to feed her kids? It could be the difference between a good dinner that night and ramen noodles for the 5th time or maybe not at all. I felt no shame about my profession and still don't. I act shy about it to certain people because I feel that's how I'm supposed to feel. I am comfortable with it myself, I learned so many things and gained valuable life experiences from it. Number three: trying to find a good job afterwards is nearly impossible. The job market is shoddy as it is, and I am prejudged because I danced. I now work part time for $9.50/hour in a warehouse, which is horrendously low for warehouse work where I live. I work my ass off and it means nothing, I will never get a raise there AND even if I worked full time, would never get benefits. They don't even offer them. The management is awful. I strayed a bit, I am just explaining that I have a crappy job and that I ended up here because people view stripping as a life screw up. I didn't screw up, it's not like I went to prison (ex-convicts have an easier time finding a job because of tax cuts offered for hiring them). How is it I do something legal and it is worse than committing an act that sent someone to prison? How does society dictate stripping as an abomination?
What's going to happen when the whole school knows? I'm going to be the new slut in school. I'm practically worthless right now.
Note to the author: I don't have your contact information, so please reach out to a parent or teacher for help immediately. You are NOT alone, and this is NOT your fault. You can overcome it, just like the women who have shared their stories here before you. Please call 1-800-273-8255 and check out the resources available to you at this link. I am always here to talk, as well. Love, Emily.
This might seem crazy but I'm pretty sure my life's is going to get much worse. There was a boy in my class, we were friends. Then he started saying "Can touch your thighs". I being the dumb ass that I am said yes after a while of saying no. I think about a couple days later he asked me for nudes. At first I said no. Then he started to get annoying. I said yes at the end. I feel so stupid. Three or five days later, the whole class knew. I remember feeling so stupid and worthless. I wanted to kill myself. People didn't talk to me. I was happy I got braces, because it gave me an excuse to not be at school. Saturday, Sunday, Monday I was thinking of suicide. Tuesday was no school. I got 12 different pills, a cup filled with water, and drank it. I was praying I was gonna be dead. I swear I wished I could be dead. I didn't really have friends. I ended up getting real friends. Guys. All the girls in my class are bitchy, fake ass people. Apparently, I thought too soon that everything was over. Some people were finding out very slowly. Today, I guess my guy best friend knows everything. He probably thinks I'm a slut. These other 3 people were asking me who I liked. I already know what to expect. They fucking know. They know and I have a feeling that they're gonna tell everyone. I'm fucking pissed, depressed, emotional. Suicidal. Hell, my best friend is ignoring me. What happened to best friends till we die? Apparently she has new friends. A new life. What's gonna happen. Today at gym one of my guy friends told me someone on his football team said, "I heard a girl in your class sent nudes, I've seen her and I don't have the nudes. I need them in my phone." I'm pretty sure as hell everyone at school is going to know. What's going to happen when the whole school knows? I'm going to be the new slut in school. I'm practically worthless right now. I got my phone taken away. What am I supposed to do now? Just wait for it to get worse. A new kid is coming to my class next Tuesday. I already know the FUCKING BOY IS GONNA TELL HIM/HER. I want to fucking destroy him. But I can't. I don't even know what to do. I pray and hope everything gets better. I'm sorry if this is long but I needed to tell someone about this whole shitty situation and not be ashamed of myself. - Xenia
You have to stand for yourself, and reach for people who can be helpful.
Fortunately, I've never been sexually bullied, or bullied in any way. When I first came to this realization I considered myself lucky, and after thinking it through, maybe the real reason why I've never been bullied is because I have confidence in myself and a great group of friends and family who support me. Unfortunately, not everyone has a group of friends and family who fully support them. That's the reason I decided to write this, to give you my piece of advice, and this is it: You have to stand for yourself, and reach for people who can be helpful. To hold on. But mostly my advice is to never feel bad about yourself, because the truth is YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL, in your own way, YOU ARE SPECIAL, YOU SHOULD NEVER LET ANYONE MAKE YOU THINK THE OPPOSITE, BECAUSE YOU ARE WHO YOU ARE, and I know labels can hurt, but the words "SLUT" "WHORE" "BITCH" don't mean anything unless you give them meaning or let them get to you. I hope this can help you, and if anyone who is reading this feels bad or depressed, remember you have a great community in The UnSlut Project who will tell you this: YOU ARE NOT ALONE.
She should know about this site. She should know she's not alone.
The most popular girl in the eighth grade at my school has lost almost everything except for her friends, and the only reason they stay is because she's pretty and they "look up to her". They basically wish they had her confidence. She can fake a smile, pretty well, too. But I know she hurts. She must. Everyone in school has been spreading rumors and calling her hideous names. And almost every popular eighth grade guy in the city has seen her nudes. People call her a slut because she has had a lot of different boyfriends. It's gone to the point where people are saying her sixth grade sister has nudes also and sleeps around with ninth graders! At this point, every person in the seventh grade has called her a slut, and some seventh grade boys are beginning to get the pictures sent to them. The office has already found the pictures and tried to stop this, but boys have just been sending them out anonymously and no one will tell on them. They are the most popular boys in school, and who wants to be known as a narc? I wish I could help her, but she only opens up to popular girls. She should know about this site. She should know she's not alone.
I didn't feel like a "slut" - how are they supposed to feel?
When I was in high school, I was labeled a "slut." It was something I could never figure out. I don't know why I was labeled that way, or why anyone called me that. I didn't feel like a "slut" - how are they supposed to feel? I didn't even do anything to deserve it. Looking back years later, I still don't think I was ever as bad as some of the things I was called. I will never forget how bad those words hurt though. There's no such thing as a slut.
It actually took me along time to accept the fact that I was being sexually bullied. In fact it took me a long time to accept that I was being bullied at all. I didn't want to think about it.
It all started when I was in Year 8. My class was on the bus coming back from a field trip to a police academy. I went to go take a seat with my friend at the time when one of the boys called out my name and said, "Hey! Why don't you come sit on my lap?!" I didn't reply, I just blushed and sat down with my friend. I was actually a very shy person back in high school. I only really talked to my friends. I was loud in class, but that was only because I was used to everyone in that class - I felt comfortable with them all. This boy was not from my class. They all laughed about it and I felt like crying, I had never felt so uncomfortable in my life. I thought it had ended until the boy ended up moving into my class in Year 9. On the first day back, he had started to harass me and make sexual remarks. I left school that day crying and just made out to my mum that I was sick. I ended up having three weeks off before coming back due to my grandfather dying and family problems with my dad. Once again first day back, I was getting harassed. My friends didn't even bother to help me even though they all saw and heard what he would say to me. I wanted to die. I had thought of all the ways to kill myself and looking back at it now, I'm glad I didn't. I just had felt so alone! I'd come home, go straight to my room and just cry. I wouldn't physically hurt myself or anything like that because I had already seen enough of that at home. My father was the reason why I wouldn't self-harm since he did himself, and I refused to be anything like him. It just got worse and worse until one day one of the boy's friends came over to me and said, "(Name of boy) wants your vagina." I once again went home early and when I saw my mum I broke down into tears and told her everything about the bullying. I remember my mum getting so angry and she went and immediately called up the school and started yelling at them. She threatened to sue the school if they didn't do anything about the harassment. The boy didn't show up for a few days and I later found out that he had been suspended. I was so let down that he had only been suspended! I didn't feel safe at school at all! That was a part of the reason why I had started to skip school and just wouldn't show up. I didn't want to be there in the same room as him. He ended up leaving me alone, obviously feeling scared of the prospect of being sued. It actually took me along time to accept the fact that I was being sexually bullied. In fact it took me a long time to accept that I was being bullied at all. I didn't want to think about it. But now I have chosen to share my story and this is the first time I have talked about it in years. I still cringe today when I hear that asshole's name.
It took me 6 years before I dated again. Only to be emotionally be traumatised again. I am 28 years old now. I really don't think I can ever trust a man again.
I was 17 when I first met him. He was tall and extremely handsome, well spoken and had just finished his CPL (Commercial Pilots License) training. But I thought nothing of it, till few months later we met at my university. He was a charmer. But there was no connection. I had never had a boyfriend before and just wanted to concentrate on my education. He invited me to join him and his friends to watch Joe Satriani play and since JS was one of my favourite musicians, I didn't refuse. From then on, his friends became mine and our social circle emerged. Few weeks after my 18th birthday, my mum told me his family had asked for my hand in marriage. (It's quite normal to have an arranged marriage in my culture. I am part Pakistani and part Indian.) My father wasn't too keen but my maternal family pressured my mum into getting my dad to agree. I said yes. He was extremely caring and thoughtful at first. He would drive me to university and even pick me up. On the weekends we would hang out on campus. However, I wanted to do things on my own and he didn't like that. We hadn't had sex. We were Muslims and I thought Muslim girls should have sex after marriage. (I was not taught this by my parents, though.) He would get sad if I suggested we should not hang out every weekend as I wanted to study and sometimes hang out with my other friends. At first I thought he loved me and wanted to be with me, but slowly I began to realise, he's actually controlling me. One weekend I went home to my parents and texted him to say so. He replied Okay.xx and I thought nothing of it. But when I went back to campus, I realised nothing was okay. He was angry and abusive and I couldn't understand why. 'How dare you go without my permission?' By then, he had isolated me from most of my friends, and the ones which still stayed around were his best buddies. I felt trapped and abused. I told him he was scaring me and he would always make promises to not do it again. He would promise to build my dream home, take me on trips to anywhere in the world; we are not taught to look at these behaviours as signs of manipulation. But soon, it wasn't verbal anymore. My best friend invited me to a halloween party and I dressed up. As soon as he saw me, he dragged me by my arm and pushed me into his car. In the car he slapped me. That was the first time he had hit me like that. I didn't know who to tell. I felt if I told my parents I would be in trouble. I am not sure why I thought that because my parents were both feminists. But I was scared. I was an 18 year old, scared to death by a man who she was engaged to marry. However, the next day he was apologetic again. The same evening, he came into my place and started to touch me. We had kissed, but this was more intimate and I told him, I didn't want to have sex. That was the first time he raped me. And it went on for 2 further years. Every day he would make me give him a blowjob. But his real pleasure came from me blowing him whilst crying. If I didn't cry, he would slap me and continue to slap me till I did. This stopped only when my father found out. You see, my ex fiance was not a British citizen. He was here to study and was originally from Pakistan. When my father found out and confronted him, he left England and went back to Pakistan. It took me 6 years before I dated again. Only to be emotionally be traumatised again. I am 28 years old now. I really don't think I can ever trust a man again. - Maheen Najeeb
This was my life through all of 7th and 8th grades, back in 1982-1984 there was no name for it. I was a slut, a whore and a lesbian all before I had even kissed a boy - forget about the bases. All because I "blossomed" in puberty, far out pacing the other girls in the bra department. Sadly I don't think those other students will ever realize the amount of stupidity they displayed by using what were using opposing/conflicting slurs. She does everyone, she only does it for money, and she only does it with women. OK, morons, why don't you pick ONE and stick with it. To this day I have a very cynical outlook when it comes to people's behavior. Observed or unobserved, online or in person, I am disgusted by the other beings calling themselves "human". I have never been ashamed of my sexuality, even when I did finally find it. - K.H.
"What are you going to say about me?"
I was a cheerleader in 9th grade and that allowed me to mingle with guys that otherwise never would have talked to me. One of the track super stars J.M. asked me out to a party with him. I had never been on a date before so I said yes and we went. He kept giving me drink after drink and eventually took me upstairs. He took off my shirt and started groping my chest. All of sudden his friends burst into the room and I got dressed. I went downstairs and he followed. I was standing outside and then went over to him and said, "What are you going to say about me?" His friends made comments, asking if I blew him, and I said no. I said, "I want to go home now." I started to give him the cold shoulder and his sister even confronted me in front of a bunch of people, saying I was a slut that broke his heart. I still think of him every so often, and wonder if he thinks about what he did that night (or other nights with other girls), and if he has any remorse at all.
By the end of the year I was so ashamed of myself and worried about being a slut that I started skipping school and my classwork stopped being important.
In 10th grade four girls all beat me up at the same time because of a boy. Apparently, he liked me because I was nothing but a slut. This torment went on for most of the year with them calling me names. Every time I would wear anything they considered "slutty" they would taunt me to the point that I would go home crying. By the end of the year I was so ashamed of myself and worried about being a slut that I started skipping school and my classwork stopped being important. I was so focused on whether or not other people thought I was a slut that everything else came in second. I have tons of stories about this. I try to write about them honestly on my blog, and I find that I still struggle with this self image. - Rhonda Hartman
Society had taught me that no matter how many bruises and cuts I had to prove the assault, that because I was intoxicated it was just as much my fault.
I was raped and brutally assaulted the summer going into my senior year of high school. For weeks after the incident I kept it a secret for fear of judgement, but eventually the fear of pregnancy or disease was too great that I told my mother and was taken to the hospital for a rape kit. I chose not to press charges because I didn't want it to get in the way of my senior year and college application process, but more so because in the back of my mind, I thought it was my fault. Society had taught me that no matter how many bruises and cuts I had to prove the assault, that because I was intoxicated it was just as much my fault. For anyone considering pressing charges, please do, it is my biggest regret. Rape is the only crime where the victim can be blamed, don't let this continue. Rape is rape and we need justice. - Megan K.
The perky girl who loved herself slowly turned into the perky girl who pretended to be happy. All because of words that weren't even true.
I couldn't wait to start 7th grade, gone were the backstabbing best friend and the horrible things that were said. I no longer wanted to be that quiet, easy to bully girl, so I became perky (without noticing it) and if someone said anything bad about me I would laugh it off. Till one person called me a slut for wearing a skirt. I had NEVER been called a slut so I was completely shocked about this. I had thought that the bullying was done. I couldn't tell anyone because I didn't want to appear weak and needy for help. So this girl continued to call me names "Slut, Bitch, Hoe" and soon I began to believe the words. The perky girl who loved herself slowly turned into the perky girl who pretended to be happy. All because of words that weren't even true. I am naturally skinny but this girl would tell me that I starve myself and that I was ugly. I soon developed anxiety and would stress about going to school. But one day a girl I never met saw the girl calling me a slut and a bitch. And went on a full rampage. Saying stuff like, "The only bitch around here is you." That girl has become one of my best friends and the happy perky girl is back and isn't leaving. - Zoe
It will get better, even if it may not seem like it now. I've been through it all. I know what it feels like to not want to be here anymore.
Back in my hometown in Upstate New York, I didn't really have a problem with any bullying or slut shaming. Sure, there were a select few, but because I lived in a small town and grew up with a close-knit circle of friends, they protected me and never let it get me down. But when I was in my Sophomore year of high school, my parents told me I was moving to Maryland. I was devastated, as were my friends. To this day, I only talk to two of my closest friends from back home. When we finally settled into our home in the summer of 2012, I was actually excited to get a fresh start, to redefine myself like I've always wanted to. That was very quickly shut down within the first month of attending a new school as a Junior. Everyone else around me was preppy and very clique-y; they didn't want to accept the new kid who was very laid back and was more of a "T-shirt and Jeans" kind of girl. But none the less, I tried to fit in and started dating. Within the first year of living here, I had dated four boys, three of whom were younger than I was, and each relationship lasted no longer than 2-3 weeks because they bored me. I didn't see it as an issue since it never got past a kiss, I didn't do anything sexual with them. I just saw it as going through a deck of cards to find my ace, to find "the one." But nobody else saw it that way. I was labeled as a whore. A slut. A succubus that everyone had to stay away from. Rumors flew around school that I had blown this guy, f*cked that guy, slept with half of this team, flirted with half of that team. In my senior year of high school, destructive behaviors began. How could I have been a slut when I've never slept with anyone in my life? What did I do to deserve that reputation? I made myself mute in high school and began going to college part-time just to get away from it all. I drowned myself in school work just so I could have an excuse not to talk to anyone outside of my family. In October of 2013, a boy I fell in love with broke up with me the day of our six month anniversary all because I was "too emotional" and "he couldn't take that I didn't have any friends." That was my breaking point. I began cutting my thighs, slowly cutting myself off of food, and obsessed over how bloody and irritated the skin around my cuts were what I thought was "beautiful" at the time. My parents found out a month after and helped me stop, helped me to realize I didn't have to do this on my own. It took me a year to fully recover from all of the depression and suicidal thoughts. At that time, I found the man that I'm in love with today. He treats me like a princess, makes sure that I'm happy, and makes it a point to help me work on my communications skills (as you may have put together, I don't like talking to people about my issues as a result of the bullying). My point in my tale is this: It will get better, even if it may not seem like it now. I've been through it all. I know what it feels like to not want to be here anymore. I still have days where I get depressed, but I'm lucky enough to have a supportive family and a supportive, loving boyfriend. I am 18 years old now, and I do not let my bullying experience and slut shaming high school years define the woman I am today. - Miranda Cardillo
Nothing quite like being called a "whore" by a 10 year old boy on XBOX Live. Since 2010, I have had strangers harass me, slut shame me, post lies about me, and attack my family and friends. And yes, having non-stop harassment from people you don't even know DOES affect you. You start to wonder if you even deserve a place in this world, when so many people attack you.
My name is Koriander. My pen name is Codename Sailor Earth. And I am not ashamed to be her. If you Google my maiden name, which was "Koriander Ake", you will likely see a page called "Encyclopedia Dramatica" and you will see a poorly photoshopped picture of a penis on my face. The trouble all started when I posted a video on YouTube, of a CGI girl dancing. I was using the software MikuMikuDance and I had edited a model someone sent me of Hatsune Miku. Since I love Miku and I love Hello Kitty, I re-dressed her in a Hello Kitty outfit, and did a three minute animation of her dancing. Two weeks later, I started getting death threats, because the model my friend had sent me, was made by some blogger named "Saboten". Never heard of Saboten before, but once the video was up, Saboten posted a hate blog against me, calling me an evil woman. Saboten played the victim card and encouraged his fans to shame me. After that, I started getting harassing and threatening emails from a 4th grade algebra teacher, calling himself "Damesukekun". He and his friends started posting all kinds of lies about me, and three times since 2010, Damesukekun has made fake copyright claims against my website and even photos of my face, claiming he had the right to my image. I had to fight a DMCA claim, because a total stranger is trying to claim a right to my face. Soon, Encyclopedia Dramatica had a hate shrine devoted to me, and members started trashing me everywhere, and they even went so far as to stalk my mom and brother. After that, they hacked my ODesk page, and posted my now deceased grandfather's home address as my own, claiming I posted this as my address, and that I deserve to die and be raped for the evil I am. I lost three job offers because potential employers Googled my name and saw the hate. One woman actually told me that if I'm this much of a "dirty slut" then maybe I deserve it and should hang myself. She was fired not long after this, but the damage was done. While this is going on, another group on Facebook found out I love wrestling, and found out I have friends who are pro wrestlers. Next thing I know, all of us are getting tagged in gay pornography photos. While reporting the pictures to Facebook, I got hacked, and two men posed as me, two via my account and a new account on Facebook, and one on DeviantArt, and the three men started tagging my entire family in pornography under my name, and then harassing my friends on the two websites. And yes, I've been slut-shamed also because of my addiction to video games. If I'm not a "slut" because I love Nintendo, then I'm called one for playing "the wrong game" or for enjoying playing a game that "TCH only REAL MEN like, NOT guuuurls" and yes, I've been called names I can't even type here, just because I'm pretty good at Street Fighter. Nothing quite like being called a "whore" by a 10 year old boy on XBOX Live.
Since 2010, I have had strangers harass me, slut shame me, post lies about me, and attack my family and friends. Each time, I have gone to FBI and Police officers, only to be told it's my fault, that I never deserved the right to post my name online, and I deserve and asked for what I got, despite the fact that the two states I lived in while this was going on ~ Kentucky and Indiana ~ actually do have decent laws against this level of harassment. Our laws are fine. But finding officers who will enforce them is a nightmare. Nothing like feeling slut shamed by both male and female officers, simply because they didn't want to help me, nor did they understand the internet. In 2013, I worked for a wrestling company here in Kentucky known as PWF. We had three bookers, all three of which never treated me as their equal, or even as what I was, the wife of the promoter, their boss. I was always put down, because I'm a woman, which automatically makes me a "whore" despite the fact that my husband is the only person I've ever gone to bed with.
On my wedding day, my now husband kept getting texts from his third booker, begging him to back out of marrying me, because I'm a ball and chain. After we were married, I had a falling out with that last booker, and he threatened to spread a rumor on Facebook that I had slept with five different wrestlers, three of which I have never met before, and the other two I only know on Facebook, just because we had a fight. Of the other two bookers? One posted a slander video against my husband and three other people who fired him, the other eventually backed off, when he realized I was no longer going to act as a free babysitter to his kids. While I have had wrestlers show me respect, and it isn't hard to find a few that appreciate a woman's advice, these three bookers felt that my plumbing made me inadequate as an adviser, or even as a friend. I've had people on Twitter, Facebook, MySpace, DeviantArt and Tumblr try to tear me down and slut shame me. And yes, having non-stop harassment from people you don't even know DOES affect you. You start to wonder if you even deserve a place in this world, when so many people attack you. I'm not ashamed to tell you I've cried, I've screamed, and I am not at all afraid to tell you I thought of suicide before. But stopping me was the love of my now husband, at the time, "BFF" John, who made me see the value in living as myself, despite everyone's best efforts. My husband was originally my best friend on MySpace, and the first person, and many times only man, who really had my back each time I was hacked and doxxed. He stuck by me, even when his own friends wanted him to abandon me. And through his support, and the support of true friends and my mom, I realize that I never should have been worried about how the world will see me. The older I get, the more absurd this all seems to me, and the less the taunting bugs me. I can get angry at the comments, but I realize now that the people who slut shame really don't have lives. In fact, I pity them, for this is all the fame they can ever see. So let them tell lies. Let them slut-shame. These people can't amount to anything, so this hate is all they have to live for, and nothing more. So without another thought, I can say with pride, I am Koriander Bullard. I was once Koriander Ake. I am Codename Sailor Earth. And I am not ashamed to be her.
He told me that if I told anyone, he'd tell them I was lying, and nobody would believe me because we'd done it before, I was KNOWN for being a slut, and I snuck out of my house to meet him in the middle of the night of my own free will.
During the first week of my Freshman year of high school, I got my first boyfriend. We went to the free movie night that the city park held every weekend during the summer, and neither one of us could tell you what the movie even was because we were making out in the grass, a tangle of arms and legs and lips all mashed together. It was terribly romantic. In retrospect, I feel bad for the horde of friends that were sitting near us having to listen to our sloppy make-out session for two hours. After the movie, he and I went off to find somewhere more private because I wanted him to touch my boobs without people looking at us. He told me that his parents were out of town, so we went to his house. When we got there, we were making out some more, and I let him touch my boobs, and then he asked if we could have sex, and I said that I guessed it was okay, as long as we used condoms because I was way too young to be getting pregnant. He didn't have any, and couldn't find where his parents stashed theirs, so I told him no way. That's when things started to go downhill. He held me down and rubbed his crotch on mine and begged me to let him have sex with me. I kept saying no, and asking him to let me up but he wouldn't. After awhile, it became apparent to me that he had no intention of letting me go until we had sex, so I finally gave in. I knew that what he was doing was rape because he didn't stop when I said to stop, and that I hadn't really consented because he forced me, but unfortunately, many high-schoolers are not so enlightened, including him.
After it happened, I asked him to please not tell anyone what we did, and he agreed. The next day at school, I walked into the classroom where we shared a class with a lot of our mutual friends, and he was already there talking to a huge crowd of male friends. They were pressing him to find out how far he'd gone with me, and he said, "She made me promise not to tell." They said, "THAT MEANS YOU DID IT! You had SEX!!!" and then he said, "Yeah, we had sex!" Right then, my fate was sealed, and I'd be known as a slut for the rest of the time I went to that school. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die because now he'd told everyone who saw us sucking face all night that we'd had sex, and there was no chance anyone would believe me if I told them I hadn't wanted it. It was then that I resolved that, since "no" couldn't stop a guy from taking advantage, then I just wouldn't say "no" anymore. You can't rape the willing, right?
That philosophy of mine tainted every sexual partner I had from then until I was 18, but I am getting ahead of myself. Our relationship was a rocky one, constantly on and off. When we were "on," he treated me like an afterthought. I was pretty much a warm hole for him to put his dick in. When we were "off," he'd tell all of our friends that I was crazy, slutty, overemotional, and a bitch. Only one or two ever saw through all that bullshit, although they still didn't believe me when I told them that he had raped me. They didn't think that I'd want to get back together with him over and over again if that were true. In reality, his forcibly taking my virginity made me feel like he owned me, or at least a part of me, and I wasn't complete without that part that he had, so I had to be with him so I could be whole. Towards the end of Freshman year, I started dating a senior. Red flag 1: He wanted us to be a "secret." Red flag 2: He didn't like me hanging out with my friends because "they're so immature and I don't like them and you're better than them." Red flag 3: If I got a text message while I was out with him, he would take my cell phone and read it and if it was from someone he didn't like, he'd keep my cell phone until he dropped me back off at my house. A bajillion red flags to top it off: Even though he told me I was "too good" to hang out with MY friends, when we hung out with his friends, I was "the little slut" and the "dick-sucking whore." I laughed along with them when he and they would refer to me as such, and when his friends would ask to touch or see my boobs, HE was the one who gave permission. I wasn't even asked. I went along with it, though, because I thought if I don't say "no" then it's okay, but if I DO say "no" then they'll just ignore me and it will be bad. (Terrible mindset.) After 3 months, he broke it off with me because I was "too clingy." (Of course I was too clingy. He isolated me from all my friends and made it so he was the only person I felt safe around. Ironic, since he was the person who was making me unsafe to begin with.)
My sophomore year was marked by another on-off relationship, but that relationship was actually pretty good. While we were together, he always respected my wishes, and while we were apart, he refrained from trash-talking me or trying to turn my friends against me. The REAL problem in my sophomore year was with the on-again-off-again-boyfriend of my friend, let's call her "Trish," who, during what I THOUGHT was one of their "off" phases, (and during one of my off phases with my Sophomore on-off boyfriend) Trish's boyfriend expressed interest in me. It turned out that they were officially "on," but Trish wasn't putting out because every time she did, they broke up, so she was holding out so that he would respect her more. (LOL riiight.) So, he asked me if I wanted to go for a ride in his car, and I agreed. While he was driving, he asked if I would give him road head, and I didn't see the harm in that (MORON! Talk about distracting the driver!!) so I did. When we got out to.... the middle of freaking nowhere... He asked if I'd ever done anal, which I hadn't. He asked if I wanted to, and I said no. Then he asked if I would. That's when my can't-rape-the-willing-so-always-be-willing mindset kicked in, and I said yes. It hurt REALLY BAD because 1) I'd never done it before. 2) His dick was HUGE. 3) Neither one of us knew enough about anal sex to have any LUBE!!! I started crying almost right away, and he asked if I was okay, and I said "It just hurts," and he asked if I wanted him to stop, and I didn't say anything, so he kept going. The next day at school, Trish slapped me across the face and called me a slut, whore, bitch, etc. Every name in the book. She told me that she new I had cheated with her boyfriend and that I'd let him have anal sex with me and that made me a dirty skank. I tried explaining that I'd thought they were broken up. He TOLD me they were broken up! She told me that they weren't broken up, but even if they were, I knew that Trish loved him, so how could I even think of doing anything with him??? Of course, she forgave him, but she never, ever forgave me. I lost a couple of other friends over that, too, because they agreed with her: You DON'T EVER sleep with a friend's ex. Trish's boyfriend still talked to me. But from then on, that's all we did. We actually got to be quite close friends. Whenever Trish was mad at him, we'd talk about what a bitch she was.
My junior year of high school, I moved back to my hometown to live with my Dad. My reputation didn't travel that far. I kept a low profile there, and didn't have too many boyfriends. My senior year, I got together with a very kind boy in my own grade. I am ashamed to admit it, but I was pretty cruel to him. I like to blame it on the fact that I was so abused in many of my relationships prior, and that was just how I knew to be IN a relationship, but it's also partly because I just didn't respect him. He was taking 11th grade English in one of his elective slots because he'd failed it the previous year. I was a straight-A student without even trying. I never saw him as my equal, but in kindness, heart, and compassion, he outstripped me BY FAR. Anyway, I spent Spring Break back where all the trouble happened. I texted Trish's boyfriend to see what he was up to, and he told me that he and Trish had broken up again and he thought it was for good that time and all he wanted was to have sex with someone else and forget all about her. He wanted me to have sex with him. I told him that I couldn't because I was in a relationship and wouldn't cheat. He kept on asking and asking over and over, just like my Freshman boyfriend, but this time, it was over text messages. He couldn't hurt me, or so I thought. I believed I had the power. Finally he gave up and asked if I would just come hang out with him.
It was around 2 A.M., so I had to sneak out to meet him. I got into his car, he drove out to the middle of nowhere, and he raped me. There wasn't even the illusion of consent that time. Of course, he told me that if I told anyone, he'd tell them I was lying, and nobody would believe me because we'd done it before, I was KNOWN for being a slut, and I snuck out of my house to meet him in the middle of the night of my own free will. I got back to my hometown, and my boyfriend, I couldn't even let him touch me. I felt so awful. I felt used, abused, and I hated what had been done to me, but I also felt GUILTY for letting it happen. What did I expect, sneaking out in the middle of the night to meet someone who I KNEW wanted to have sex with me? I got into his car on my own. I should have known what would happen. My boyfriend found the text messages, which included things from Trish's Boyfriend like, "You liked it last time," and "Come on, we're great together, and nobody has to know." And things from me like, "You know I'm sexually attracted to you, but you also know I have a BOYFRIEND," and "If I were single, it would be different. I would fuck you in a heartbeat." So he drew the only conclusion that made sense to him: I'd cheated. He confronted me. At first, I was just angry that he went through my phone. It was a violation of privacy, and he should have trusted me enough to not do that. When he countered by saying that I wouldn't have a problem with it if I didn't have something to hide, and who was this guy anyway, and was he better than (senior boyfriend) and was that why I hadn't wanted him touching me, because this other guy was so much better than (senior boyfriend)?? That's when I broke down crying and told him the whole story. Before that, he hadn't even known about my freshman year. I never claimed to be a virgin, but I hadn't told him that I wasn't, either. He was SO kind, and SO understanding. He told me OF COURSE a "yes" under coercion didn't count as consent. OF COURSE I had the right to trust a long-time friend, and OF COURSE it was not my fault that my trust, and my body, had been violated. We ended up breaking up after senior year when I went off and joined the military, and he flunked BOTH his English classes, and a history class, and had to repeat senior year. He did help me tremendously, though, in taking back my ability to say "no." Hearing confirmation of what I'd always thought to be true, but still doubted because nobody, not even my own mother, believed me, and FROM a sexual partner, made me realize that I was allowed to say no. And that anyone who ignored the "no" and forced a "yes" was a rapist. I did not deserve to be raped. I did not deserve to be called a slut because I was raped. Nobody deserves to be called a slut.
This is going back into the 80s. This was an era before cell phones so I couldn't imagine it happening in this day and age.
This is going back into the 80s. My sister and I were tall, long-legged identical twins in grade 9. One weekend, we had gone to a barn party in the country with a few older guys and friends. Alcohol was introduced that evening and everyone had a bit to drink. On Monday at school I recall sitting in chemistry class when the boy in front of me turned around and said, "I heard you F'd so and so standing up on the weekend". I wanted to die. The whole class was laughing and labelling me when essentially it was bullshit. This was an era before cell phones so I couldn't imagine it happening in this day and age. Needless to say it was bullshit, as that evening it never even progressed to sex, just heavy petting. The guy just wanted to become a self-proclaimed stud. It didn't really matter. The slut label held all through high school. In fact all through high school we were called the "twiggy twins" and our nick names were Moaning and Groaning. Our real names are Rhona and Mona. I hated high school. I tell my kids this story so they realize what lies and bad choices you can get yourself into. I also recall later when I met a girl who had been younger in high school and became friends. She said everyone had said we were sluts, but at the time we were virgins, long after all of the popular girls lost their virginity in high school. - Rhona
We forget that emotional stresses and traumas related to feelings of shame, or guilt, can often have physical consequences that are very real, and detrimental to our health, sexually, and otherwise.
Growing up, sex was treated as a dirty word in our household. There was no particular reason for this, other than the fact that I grew up with a parental figure who held to old-fashioned notions of what was appropriate or acceptable. Certain subjects were taboo, and sex, or anything having to do with sexuality was definitely taboo. As a result, there were never any conversations about what to do, or not do, or how to deal with the changes that one deals with in going through adolescence. When sex education began in 5th grade, I brought materials home that were deemed to be completely inappropriate and thrown away. As a result I felt ashamed that I was even being subjected to such information at school, but at the same time relieved that I was learning something about this mysterious aspect of human life.
When I was fifteen, I remember watching a nightly news show with my family when there was a guest speaker brought in for an interview who was a sexual expert. She was discussing various aspects related to sexuality that were often misunderstood, one of which was masturbation. I was immediately told by my parent how what I had just heard I should forget about completely, and the only thing I should remember is that masturbation was a bad thing and I should never do it.
When I was sixteen the blockbuster movie Titanic came out. I went to see it with my family, and was asked to cover my eyes every time there was a scene of a sexual nature. I had to leave the room whenever we watched a movie and anyone started kissing. I felt embarrassed, and confused as to why this obviously natural part of life was something that I couldn’t be allowed to experience in any way, even as a spectator.
I lived a very sheltered life, and was homeschooled for a portion of my middle school and high school years, and had a practically non-existent social life until I was in college. When I was nineteen, I was still living at home, but attending a community college full-time. I finally had my first boyfriend and my first kiss. When we started dating seriously, and the relationship became sexual, and my family found out, I was accosted with screaming fits and called a “slut.” When birth control pills were found in my dresser drawer, I was subjected to looks of great disapproval for even possessing something like that. And I overheard a phone conversation where a family friend said, "If she were in my home and had done that, she would be kicked out."
I was an outstanding student - straight A's, honor's list, and ultimately graduated summa cum laude, while working full-time all the way through school. I reasoned with myself that I should disregard the disapproval I was receiving, and the shaming I was experiencing, because I really was a "good kid." I was a hard-worker, and not falling into a life of depravity, simply because I had a boyfriend and was sexually active. Even though I could reason logically, it was hard to completely dismiss the nagging voice inside that was recalling everything I had heard growing up that was telling me I must be doing something wrong. I must actually be a bad person, and a slutty woman.
Over the years, when I realized that I wasn’t going to get any sexual education from my family, I had tried to educate myself through reading, even if it was a romance novel I found in the bookstore, or research I did online. By the time I was an adult, I felt that I was strong enough to overcome the years of sexual shaming I had experienced, and was determined not to let it govern my life moving forward. Even so, I was filled with a lot of internal confusion, and ingrained subconscious shame about being sexual. So when I was called a slut at age nineteen, it hurt deeply.
Years of repressed sexuality, and unintentional shaming from someone who loved me and thought they were doing what was right did take a toll. It has taken years for me to work through subconscious psychological issues that have also resulted in physical manifestations in my body. We forget that emotional stresses and traumas related to feelings of shame, or guilt, can often have physical consequences that are very real, and detrimental to our health, sexually, and otherwise.
It’s so important for our society to have an open dialogue about this topic, because often sexual bullying doesn’t even come from external society – it can start right in our own homes, with our own family, because parents don’t understand how to approach a topic that should be as natural as any other aspect of growing up.
Don't keep those thoughts to yourself- otherwise you'll start believing in them.
Anyone who has a need to call a female who is younger than 18 a slut has problems. I've had my own personal experiences with wrongful slut shaming. The first time was when I was 11, in 5th grade. A girl called me a slut for not having a boyfriend (obviously she needs to go find out what it actually means) and for the next few years I was pressured into thinking not having a boyfriend was bad. In 6th grade, I was deemed a slut by my ex boyfriend for wearing a pair of shorts that reached mid-thigh. The most recent one, in 8th grade, was cursed at me from a fellow female who was jealous that I could be simple friends with a group of guys and claimed that I was secretly planning on seducing them with witchcraft (someone really needs to lay off those fictional romance novels). I dealt with them with a mixture of telling my mom (sometimes it's awkward telling your dad or you're 40 year old male principal) and getting support from my friends, both male and female. I would just like to say that calling someone a slut is always hurtful, no matter your age or the situation it is being used in. If anyone ever feels uncomfortable, say it. Don't keep those thoughts to yourself- otherwise you'll start believing in them. - Myra Sangster
They only want to take you down because you're high above them.
Though I myself have never been called a slut, I have witnessed the pain and developing insecurities of friends that have been called one. In middle school, back then I had a friend that went out with many boys every month. Though no effects appeared right away, she became bitter and lost control over her actions with boys, making it worse. I have one thing to say about girls who have been called a slut - It's just a word that other people say, usually not meaning it, to take you down. They only want to take you down because you're high above them.
I am 54 now and I can honestly say, I've managed to heal myself. My daughter was bullied this way too, but together we worked through it and she is a strong, happy and successful woman.
The shift from elementary school to middle school can be very traumatic. Girls can be very mean, especially girls in Junior High. I was twelve years old and kind of a loner. I became friends with this girl Lisa who was confident and dressed in fun, flamboyant clothing. We had a blast expressing ourselves though our clothing. We loved Hollywood, bright colors, vintage & leopard print, we also loved feathers and glitter. Neither of us had breasts so there wasn't any cleavage involved. We didn't pay attention to boys because we were too busy having too much fun. We were unique and I guess people didn't like that. The first comments we heard were that we were lesbians. This was in 1973 during a time when people were very closeted. Then another group started spreading a rumor that we were sluts and whores. The truth of the matter is that neither of us had ever even kissed a guy and we had no interest in each other like that. Lisa left that school the next year. We continued to be friends (and still are). I remember feeling very isolated and out of place. I continued at that school for two more years. I was very depressed. I wrote poems, I remember part of one: "they treat me like I'm from Mars but, I'm not! I'm human, I have feelings too." I used to think about ways that I could kill myself. Luckily, I was never successful. I had very low self esteem and nervous ticks. My mom took me to a therapist who prescribed Valium. This label of "slut" stuck with me internally and later in my life, I was free with my body. I was looking for love but at times I was used. It took me many years to battle my depression and low self-esteem. I am 54 now and I can honestly say, I've managed to heal myself. I am a strong woman and I no longer have negative self talk. This is a terrible thing that children do to each other. My daughter was bullied this way too but, together we worked through it and she is a strong, happy and successful woman. - Cynthia
I really wish I knew at the time that I could have taken it to someone, because he didn't get any type of punishment for trying to get me a reputation as "the school slut."
I am 15 years old and when I was 13, a boy in the older year level at my school decided he wanted to show everyone a picture of someone's boobs he found on the internet and told everyone it was me. I found out the hard way. He sent it to people and then the whole school found out before I did. As a younger student of the school, I didn't want to be known as a baby and go cry about it to the teachers, so I kept quite about it and didn't even tell my parents. I felt ashamed, even though the girl in the photo was not me. If anyone said anything about it to me, all I would say was "It's not me." Not having anyone to speak to was a really hard thing. I have friends but I didn't want to bring it up with anyone. After time, one of the teachers came to me about it. They obviously tried to keep it under control, so I didn't take it to the police and get the teachers a bad reputation. To this day I am still waiting for the apology letter the school told me I would get from this boy. Nothing happened to him and he got away with it all. I really wish I knew at the time that I could have taken it to someone, because he didn't get any type of punishment for trying to get me a reputation as "the school slut." - Alice
I'm still uncertain about sex & intimacy - waiting to be hurt, expecting it. It's often crippling. I know this is something I'll be working through for the rest of my life, or at least it seems so.
I was born 30 years ago, at 26 wks. My parents were in shock, uncertain of what to do with a preemie & so exhausted. During my stay in the NICU that lasted a few months, my parents went to Florida, and apparently needed to get away from the stress. That's when the neglect began. As a toddler I was diagnosed with CP. I defied numerous odds, as I was not supposed to live. My father travelled a lot for work, & my mother was an alcoholic, stressed, & bulimic. She took her stress out on me - physically, emotionally, & eventually sexually... She believed I was helpless because of my CP, so she insisted on bathing me and taking care of all hygiene needs - until I was 19 & left the house for college. It was a consistent battle to escape her anger, wrath, & abuse. I'd been taking care of her, in her drunken state since I was young. I'd do all that I could to sneak a shower on my own. She always noticed though & that made things worse for me. I developed an eating disorder & began to self-harm, wanting to control SOMETHING of my own. There was no space to breathe. I was both suffocated & neglected (during her blackouts, lack of fresh food, etc.) for years. If things weren't exactly her way, there were major repercussions for me. I was exposed to porn & her sex with multiple partners. She strategically placed items & sex toys where I'd see them. As with many survivors, I was told to never say anything... That bathing me was normal, that I was dirty & could never clean myself as well as she could. I never told anyone about the abuse until I was in residential treatment for my ED during college. It had to be reported because of my CP & that things happened when I was a minor. She's never let me live that down. Ever. Years later, assault would continue, but from a female 'best friend'. Thankfully, I've been able to work through this over the years and am a therapist myself. I'm still uncertain about sex & intimacy - waiting to be hurt, expecting it. It's often crippling. I know this is something I'll be working through for the rest of my life, or at least it seems so.
Let's change the conversation. Instead of punishing girls for being sexually active, let's make sure they're enjoying themselves safely. Safe sex is fun sex.
I'll never forget the first time someone called me a slut. It was 8th grade. I heard whispers from the boys, the girls, and my "friends". That was 10 years ago. It's funny how a word like that can define you, or at least you think it does. It stuck with me for many years. In fact, 5 years ago when a friend was advising (read: judging) me on an enjoyable sexual relationship I was having, I straight up said, "Well, you've always considered me a slut..." It wasn't until then that I realized some people see sexuality differently. My friend may have considered me a slut from the time we were in 8th grade, but I saw it as experimentation and enjoyment. See, I'm from a small town, where the label didn't disappear when I went to high school. Though I had a steady boyfriend for all 4 years and only slept with him, the one time I made out with another boy, the label crept up again. Oh, and college wasn't much different. The label, slut, stuck with me. It wasn't until I started to embrace it that it no longer bothered me. Now, people can call me a slut and I don't hear it. Trust me sweetheart, I've been called that enough times that it doesn't really mean anything to me anymore. It's true, I enjoy sex (when done safely!). I like it this way and that way. I like it with one boy or two boys or no boys. I like the way it feels. And it makes me feel good too. It can be empowering for me. I sleep with people on the first date or without a date. I like one night stands and I like hook ups that last for months...or years. I can still count how many people I've slept with and usually their names. Even if it's a made up one, like "That Guy From the Bar". So sure, I'm a slut, whatever that means to you. To me, being a slut means sexual freedom and personal pleasure. Men can be as sexually active as they please, yet no one judges them. In fact, they are, for the most part, praised for this behavior. But when a woman acts similarly, she is punished with hateful words and labels. So let's change the conversation. Instead of punishing girls for being sexually active, let's make sure they're enjoying themselves safely. Safe sex is fun sex. - Ali
After high school I sank into a depression. I would not eat and I would self harm. I thought many times, "Does everyone see me that way?" and I wanted it to end.
I understand what it is like to be called sexual names. I was harassed in high school by the boys. They had a very bad rumor about me. Guys even chased me around the school for fun or to flip my skirt. Even had a guy tell me how he pleasures himself and wanted me to join him. I have been touched wrongly. I am glad someone is putting the word out there and how it affects us. I became addicted to people saying those things, even though I loathed it. After high school I sank into a depression. I would not eat and I would self harm. I thought many times, "Does everyone see me that way?" and I wanted it to end. I like to think, what if the roles were reversed? Maybe they would understand we don't like being whistled at like a dog, or "brushed up" against. Nor do we care if you're on the little blue pill, nor do we like it when you chase us "just to talk" or pin us against the wall and try to kiss or touch us. Been there, it really sucks. I now wear a ring on my left hand so men will leave me alone and if they start a conversation, I twist the ring around. I had one guy say, "I see your married, that's so sad, we could have been good together. Here's my number just in case you want to have fun." This man was old enough to be my grandfather.
They first called me "crazy", and after I had slept with two different guys in the music school, a "slut". I doubt that it had as much to do with the number as it did with my attitude toward relationships and the casualness with which I conducted them. A lot of my peers didn't share my same views and judged me because of that.
I came from a large city and a large high school in what some people would consider a very liberal area. Because of the size of my school and the socially liberal views of the student body, there were different kinds of interpersonal relationships across the school that were accepted, for the most part, by everybody. I personally was in a committed relationship for about 2 years throughout my time in high school. Then I went off to study music performance in college. I broke up with my boyfriend, and started a new life as a freshman at a school far away from home with very different ideals than the ones that came with the liberal environment that I was used to. The music school was small, about 200 students out of the 6,000 undergraduates that went to my school. Everyone knew everyone, and everyone knew everyone else's business. I adopted a fairly cavalier attitude about intimate relationships; I was young, I had just gotten out of a long relationship and I wasn't ready for anything new, and I wanted to have some fun. Some people were uncomfortable with my sexually liberal views. They first called me "crazy", and after I had slept with two different guys in the music school, a "slut". I doubt that it had as much to do with the number as it did with my attitude toward relationships and the casualness with which I conducted them. A lot of my peers didn't share my same views and judged me because of that. Jealousy was also perhaps a factor, as I didn't have any reservations about walking up to people and introducing myself. In the end, being called a slut doesn't bother me too much. I came to school to perfect my musical skills and as long as I keep performing at a high level, I'm happy with that. My friends know who I really am and that's what matters. Those who care to think otherwise aren't worth my time. It's nice to come from a big city because you learn to have a tough outer shell. You learn not to care what others think of you. At the end of the day, as long as I know that I can look at myself in the mirror and know that I have stayed true to myself, that's what really matters. But for a lot of young women, the word "slut" affects them much more than it does me. The word is damaging and hurtful, and it tells these strong, beautiful girls that they are not deserving of respect. It can break girls down and ruin their happiness, pride, and their sense of confidence. This why I will never condone the usage of the word "slut", "whore", or any derogatory term specifically aimed at women. All girls are worthy of respect. - Kelly
Photographs were taken while I was held down, too drunk to resist. This was before cell phones or the internet, thank goodness. I attempted suicide twice. I got sober, got help, got better. Now, I am a counselor. We must share our stories with young women, to know they are not alone. We can make a difference in the world and help one another.
Unfortunately I have several stories of sexual harassment, abuse and assault. I was sexualized as a young girl, where people would comment on how cute my figure was, even before puberty, before any development. In Jr. high I was constantly referred to as "the wall" for not having developed larger breasts, by one particular boy. I am sure there were others as well. I will never forget him or his name. On Halloween in his neighborhood he cornered me and sprayed shaving cream up my skirt. I was bullied by two eighth grade girls because I wore high heeled shoes and threatened with beating me up. In 8th grade I went from being popular to being an outcast for becoming friends with a boy who broke up with his girlfriend and began paying attention to me. I had never been kissed. All of my friends turned against me, calling me a slut. I was threatened again with beating me up. I turned to alcohol and drugs, partying. I was assaulted many times while too intoxicated to physically stop what was happening to me or not knowing what I was doing. Photographs were taken while I was held down, too drunk to resist. This was before cell phones or the internet, thank goodness. I attempted suicide twice. I got sober, got help, got better - but this is when I began to remember all the assaults. I didn't even know that is what they were until years later. Now, I am a counselor. We must share our stories with young women, to know they are not alone. We can make a difference in the world and help one another. No one should have to be pushed to end their lives by bullies or perpetrators. Thank you for this project, for your courage and allowing me to share my story. - Kate G.
Now, in my 30's, it still hurts to look back on. You are a slut if you do, a tease if you don't. We need to stop paying so much attention to each other's sex lives.
My story is the ironic counterpart of slut shaming. When I was a teenager through my early twenties, I was heavily involved in a drinking lifestyle. One of the quirks I developed was a tendency to enjoy kissing boys, but I never wanted more. My friends nicknamed me the kissing bandit because I would just kiss the boys and run away. It all seemed very innocent to me. Very quickly, I became a bit of a game for my friends. They would make bets about when I would have sex. Soon, I was called a "tease" on a regular basis. Even one of my closest friends (who was a little more promiscuous) told me she would hate me if she was a guy because I'm such a dick tease. I handled it playfully for the most part, knowing it just wasn't I wanted. It was fun to be affectionate with boys, but I knew my limits. I felt "why shouldn't I be able to just kiss boys?" It didn't seem so bad to me. I would even tell them ahead of time that I didn't plan on sleeping with them, just so they couldn't call me a "tease" and act like I led them on. I was a virgin until I was raped at 21. By this time, I felt like it was my own fault because I was such a tease. It was a man I was dating and he insisted he "had to" after I said no countless times during an up-till-that-point enjoyable make out session. Just the night before I had told him I was a virgin and didn't want to have sex with him. He said it was fine and he understood. I went into the date feeling confident and safe because he knew my limits and respected my boundaries. I drank too much and couldn't defend myself. I never called the police because I felt like I deserved it, like no one would care or believe me because everyone knew what a tease I was. Within a few months of this incident, I checked myself into rehab after falling into a devastating spiral of depression and drowning myself in alcohol. But, I couldn't drink away the memories. Not of the bets, the names, the constant outside interest in whether or not I had sex yet. Now, in my 30's, it still hurts to look back on. You are a slut if you do, a tease if you don't. We need to stop paying so much attention to each other's sex lives. I guess I don't understand when it became anyone else's business whether I'm having sex, much less how often. Or why people feel it's their job to tell you what they think about your sexual decisions. One thing is for sure. It never had anything to do with my sex life. It had everything to do with other people being judgmental assholes. - Anna D.
I still struggle with some things today, but have kept up the fight to make myself stronger and to better myself for myself and not anyone else.
I'm not sure when or how it started, but I do remember that I was bullied and outcast in a small school. I think I was in 3rd or 4th grade when the tag "Slut" was placed on me and I would hear people laughing and talking about me and calling me a slut. I went through the rest of that school and into high school with that label, amongst many others. I had to fight back and I made the same kind of comments to others to get them to stop. But what they don't know is during that time in high school I was suicidal and became a cutter. I showed up with a "happy" smile, hoping I was able to hide the hurt but wishing I could die almost everyday. I still struggle with some things today, but have kept up the fight to make myself stronger and to better myself for myself and not anyone else. And I am finally getting a tatoo worthy of covering my scars from when I cut. A Phoenix rising from the ashes as I have risen above the pain and hurt of my past. - Jennifer Collins
I was drugged at a party, brought back to a senior's apartment, and raped. The only person I tried to tell called me a slut.
As a seventh grader and a new kid in my school, I was labeled "slut" for not liking a boy back. I had not even had my first kiss. The bullying seriously impacted my desire to go to school and interact with my peers. In high school I was broken up with and labeled a "prude" for not wanting anything to go beyond kissing. I was afraid of being called a slut and still I was made fun of for another reason! A group of adults also labeled me a slut for being closer with the boys on a leadership council. Adults!!!! I cried for weeks. As a freshman in college, I was drugged at a party, brought back to a senior's apartment, and raped. The only person I tried to tell called me a slut. I struggled alone for 5 years until I had the courage to talk about it with my best friend and mom. The word "slut" has seriously impacted my life. I am now a middle school teacher who is committed to stopping bullying and finding ways to make kids feel great about themselves. - Catherine
As I approached them, I avoided all eye contact and looked straight ahead because I could feel my fear about to turn into tears at any moment. As I passed them, I could hear each of them call me "hooker" and "slut" with an emphasize on the "t".
When I was 11 years old and in 6th grade, I had my first real boyfriend. It was very innocent between us, just holding hands and kissing. One day, my boyfriend was hanging out with some older boys and they asked him if we had had sex and he just laughed, but never denied that we hadn't. Well, word spread fast that I was no longer a virgin and it didn't help that when an 8th grader asked my best friend if I was a virgin, she responded, "I don't know", which was taken to mean that I wasn't. I remember hearing older kids refer to me as a slut or "hooker" when I was around them. I will never forget walking down the hall by myself to go to the restroom during class time and the 8th grade girls were working on a project in the hall. I thought about turning back but I knew that they saw me and I really had to go pee. As I approached them, I avoided all eye contact and looked straight ahead because I could feel my fear about to turn into tears at any moment. As I passed them, I could hear each of them call me "hooker" and "slut" with an emphasize on the "t". I could feel the lump in my throat about to burst and I did all I could to make it to the bathroom before the tears started to flow. I stood in that bathroom until they left. I had to tell my teacher why I took so long in the bathroom and started to cry. I remember she yelled at my boyfriend and my brother because my brother was part of the 8th grade class that was calling me names and he said nothing to defend me. I never understood why my boyfriend or best friend would allow people to think I was sexually active. I hate those 8th grade girls to this day and was so happy to see them graduate...from Catholic School.
"A lock that can be opened with a number of keys is a shitty lock, but a key that can open any lock is a master key"... the keys being men and the locks being women. Women have sexual desires just like men do. But if we have the audacity to express or explore those desires, we become sluts. Damaged goods. Shitty locks.
When I was in college (aged 16-19, I live in the UK) I was sexually active and more so than most of my friends. Although I did have one or two more meaningful relationships during this time, the majority of my sexual encounters were casual, and I was OK with that. I wasn't interested in starting a serious relationship at that age because I felt I was too young, but I enjoyed sex. All of my sexual experiences at this age were safe, consensual, and mutually enjoyed. However, I was labeled a slut for exploring my sexuality, whilst the guys I had relationships with were congratulated for it. I guess that's when it really started to piss me off. I remember talking to one of my friends about this and they explained it as thus: "A lock that can be opened with a number of keys is a shitty lock, but a key that can open any lock is a master key"... the keys being men and the locks being women. Women have sexual desires just like men do. But if we have the audacity to express or explore those desires, we become sluts. Damaged goods. Shitty locks. - Charlotte
I still remember how scared, shocked and hurt I was and how the 'lead' bully called me a 'horr' because she could not properly spell whore.
When I was 11, I started to experiment with make-up at school due to the images of females I grew up with by watching movies, TV and reading in magazines. It started with a little dab of eye shadow, some lip gloss and wearing a tank top (in the summer). I was quickly called a slut and a whore; yet I had never even kissed a boy! Let me tell you, it was confusing and hurtful for my 11 year old self to put together. Kids can be incredibly mean, nasty and terrorizing. I was simply a preteen wearing things I saw on TV and in magazines, yet I was shamed, humiliated and degraded by my peers. It was also my first taste to cyber-bullying back in 2000 with nasty, and threatening e-mails from an e-mail '[email protected]', I still remember how scared, shocked and hurt I was and how the 'lead' bully called me a 'horr' because she could not properly spell whore. These experiences have turned me into an advocate against bullying. In university I volunteered for a on-campus group and taught an in-school children's conflict resolution and anti-bullying group and I also mentored a group of at risk preteens in an after-school program. - Laura Scott
I didn't understand why the adults in charge couldn't see what was happening. They down played it and convinced themselves that "kids will be kids," like it was some kind of rite of passage that everyone goes through.
I was called a slut when I was just 12 years old. The girl was mean and brutal and recruited more mean and brutal girls in her plight to break me down. This continued through junior high and most of high school. Daily these girls would corner me and do things like slam my head into the water fountain as I was drinking or body slam me as I walked past them in the hall, head down praying for God to just make me invisible. They were relentless. It was every single day. Not a day went by that they didn't in some way brutalize me and humiliate me in front of everyone. I went running out of classes crying and I would end up being the one in trouble for leaving class. I didn't understand why the adults in charge couldn't see what was happening. They down played it and convinced themselves that "kids will be kids," like it was some kind of rite of passage that everyone goes through. It made every single day dark and heavy and uphill. My grades slipped, I didn't want to go to school, I would skip if I had a chance. And the thing about it is that when this bullying began, I was not a "slut." Not even close. In fact, I was a virgin. But the result was devastating, though. I became a "slut." I wasn't having sex with everybody, but damn close. If a boy wanted to put his hand up my shirt, I would let him. If he wanted to put his hand down my pants, sure, why not? I know now that what I really wanted was the love and respect of someone, anyone, but I just didn't know how to go about getting that. I thought if I let them put their hand up my shirt then they would give me what I needed. Then when I was 16 I made the fateful decision to sneak out of the house to go hang out with a much older boy, who was actually in his early 30's. At the time that didn't seem disturbing to me at all. I had no idea of the sinister plan that "Bobby" had for me that night. He was going to carry out his end game with or without my consent. That night I was raped. That was the beginning of the end for me. I developed a heroin habit that stayed with me for 17 years. Fast forward and I was released from prison on February 27, 2011. Since then I have been clean & sober for 5 years and have grown exponentially. I wish I could walk into every junior high, every high school, and into every insecure young girl's life and make them see their value. I wish I could make them know that they are worth so much more and that there is so much more to life than that moment and those few years. I wish I could teach them to hold their heads up high when they walk. I wish I could tell them that if they don't want to give their bodies away, they don't have to. I wish I could tell them that the problem is with the girls calling them a slut and not with them. I wish I could prevent those deep psychological wounds from ever being gashed wide open. I know they are hurting, I know they cry alone, I know they sometimes think about ending it all because they can't see the light at the end of the tunnel. I can still vividly recall those feelings as if it were yesterday. Pain and torment like that doesn't ever seem to truly go away, or at least the memory of it doesn't. I don't know why girls make the decision to be cruel but I know that teenage girls can be some of the cruelest creatures on earth. If I could say anything to the girls of the world that suffer the bullying and slut shaming the way I did, it would be to tell them how beautiful they are and that it's okay to talk about what's happening to you. Talk about it to anyone who will listen. Take the power away from the bully. Tell your parents, tell your teachers, tell your principals, tell your friends. Tell someone, anyone. It doesn't make you uncool to tell, it makes you empowered. It sends a message that you will not stand for this treatment and sets the tone for how people will treat you for the rest of your life. You are worth so much more.
I learned that slut and whore are just words. Nothing else. They do not define who I am or the type of person I will be.
I just want to share a message to all the girls who think that they will be called a slut or a whore because they choose to have sex with someone: who the hell cares? Especially those of you in high school. Trust me when I tell you this, the people making fun of you are only doing it to make themselves feel better. And guess what? They won't matter once you graduate. My first year of college I was called a slut and a whore because I liked to go out and party and hook up with random guys. It was fun for me, I was having fun. And it was mostly guys calling me those names. I learned to embrace it. I learned that slut and whore are just words. Nothing else. They do not define who I am or the type of person I will be. They are simply words. I eventually got a boyfriend while I was in college and all his football teammates were pretty much harassing him for "dating a slut". Like are you kidding me? When I found out what they were saying I was hurt, but eventually I learned that those words mean nothing. His friends were surprised when we were still together for a month or two (we are going on a year and a half now) because I "used to be such a slut." It doesn't matter what people say. As long as you know that you are an amazing, powerful, intelligent, and strong woman (and yes, you really are), you can conquer anything.
At the time, this experience made me feel like I was in trouble; like it was all my fault and I felt worthless. I slowly fell into depression because my innocence, my femininity, were stolen from me. I was robbed of myself. It wasn't easy for me. My mental health declined and I had surrendered to depression. From that point on I continuously fell victim to sexual assault - it feels as though these men know who their victims are.
I was raised in a culture where women were not allowed to have any kind of physical or sexual relationship until they were married. When I was molested, my body began to develop faster than normal. I thought people would know that I wasn't a virgin anymore. Later on there were incidents where I was groped in public. In the winter of 2002 I went to Rockefeller Center with my family and a man sexually assaulted me. An undercover police officer had seen the assault and arrested the man. I thought that it was just the man's keys as the place was very crowded. I had no idea that the man was erect as he was rubbing himself on my buttocks. My mother had told me not to continue with the report because she did not want me to have a permanent record of the incident. At this point my mother had no idea about the molestation when I was eight years old. At the time, this experience made me feel like I was in trouble; like it was all my fault and I felt worthless. I slowly fell into depression because my innocence, my femininity, were stolen from me. I was robbed of myself. It wasn't easy for me. My mental health declined and I had surrendered to depression. From that point on I continuously fell victim to sexual assault - it feels as though these men know who their victims are. Although society is becoming more and more aware and disapproving of sexual assault, it is very real and very painful. It scars you for life. The truth is, it is a painful process, you will cry sometimes, you will wish you had lost your virginity just like everyone else did. But some girls who had a choice still regret it. I think women need to understand that they are stronger than that, they are powerful, that our bodies and sexuality are our power. We should never surrender our power to anyone. Even after being violated, don't think "Now my life is over." It's not over! What helped me gain my power was the power to say No! The power to choose my boyfriends wisely. The power to choose who I want to share my body with. I hope that one day my son will grow up in a world where assaulters are thrown into prison and the victims have a humane trial and get the closure they need to move on. If I could give advice to any young woman it would be: You are beautiful! You are pure! You are feminine! You control your destiny! You have control over yourself! Don't let anyone gain power over you! You have the power to love yourself! You are in control of your life and your happiness. And one day you WILL meet someone very special who will see you as a strong woman!
Are they being too uptight, or does the world really see me, the girl who hasn't even had a first kiss at 14, as a slut?
At my school a lot of the girls wear shorts and tank tops. Some people I know would call them sluts including my best friend. I personally didn't care, so I never gave it much thought till eighth grade summer, me and my friends were all going to different high schools, and I started wearing spaghetti strap shirts, and thought corset shirts were cool as long as they didn't show your breast line. I always hated shorts, but I started liking boots with heels. My best friend considers girls with heels and corset tops sluts, which is why I'm afraid of wearing heels and corset tops, because I don't want to be called a slut. I also tried shorts and they were quite comfortable. The reason I like these clothes is because they're comfortable, not to show my body. As a matter of fact I feel uncomfortable showing skin, and have worn jeans 90% of my life. I have very little self confidence, and am trying to become confident. And whenever I wear tank tops my friends' eyes widen like if it's wrong. Are they being too uptight, or does the world really see me, the girl who hasn't even had a first kiss at 14, as a slut? Like seriously I haven't even had my first boyfriend.
I act shy about it to certain people because I feel that's how I'm supposed to feel. I am comfortable with it myself, I learned so many things and gained valuable life experiences from it.
I started dancing 5 years ago, at a strip club. I enjoyed it. It was fun and a party. But besides that, many women were there not because they really wanted to, but they had to, they had mouths to feed and deadbeat baby daddies. But here is a list of a few things I've seen wrong in the industry. Number one: a lot of men don't treat it as strictly entertainment (although if the girl is cool with it, that's her business). My point is that I saw girls treated like crap by men because they were seen as "sluts and whores". Sure, some were crappy people, but no one deserved some of the treatment that plagued the clubs. Number two: the government I feel plays a part of this by having so many laws against what you can and can't do. To me, as long as the environment is kept safe and everything is consensual, I don't see any problem with what a woman chooses to do with her body. What if she needs the money to feed her kids? It could be the difference between a good dinner that night and ramen noodles for the 5th time or maybe not at all. I felt no shame about my profession and still don't. I act shy about it to certain people because I feel that's how I'm supposed to feel. I am comfortable with it myself, I learned so many things and gained valuable life experiences from it. Number three: trying to find a good job afterwards is nearly impossible. The job market is shoddy as it is, and I am prejudged because I danced. I now work part time for $9.50/hour in a warehouse, which is horrendously low for warehouse work where I live. I work my ass off and it means nothing, I will never get a raise there AND even if I worked full time, would never get benefits. They don't even offer them. The management is awful. I strayed a bit, I am just explaining that I have a crappy job and that I ended up here because people view stripping as a life screw up. I didn't screw up, it's not like I went to prison (ex-convicts have an easier time finding a job because of tax cuts offered for hiring them). How is it I do something legal and it is worse than committing an act that sent someone to prison? How does society dictate stripping as an abomination?
What's going to happen when the whole school knows? I'm going to be the new slut in school. I'm practically worthless right now.
Note to the author: I don't have your contact information, so please reach out to a parent or teacher for help immediately. You are NOT alone, and this is NOT your fault. You can overcome it, just like the women who have shared their stories here before you. Please call 1-800-273-8255 and check out the resources available to you at this link. I am always here to talk, as well. Love, Emily.
This might seem crazy but I'm pretty sure my life's is going to get much worse. There was a boy in my class, we were friends. Then he started saying "Can touch your thighs". I being the dumb ass that I am said yes after a while of saying no. I think about a couple days later he asked me for nudes. At first I said no. Then he started to get annoying. I said yes at the end. I feel so stupid. Three or five days later, the whole class knew. I remember feeling so stupid and worthless. I wanted to kill myself. People didn't talk to me. I was happy I got braces, because it gave me an excuse to not be at school. Saturday, Sunday, Monday I was thinking of suicide. Tuesday was no school. I got 12 different pills, a cup filled with water, and drank it. I was praying I was gonna be dead. I swear I wished I could be dead. I didn't really have friends. I ended up getting real friends. Guys. All the girls in my class are bitchy, fake ass people. Apparently, I thought too soon that everything was over. Some people were finding out very slowly. Today, I guess my guy best friend knows everything. He probably thinks I'm a slut. These other 3 people were asking me who I liked. I already know what to expect. They fucking know. They know and I have a feeling that they're gonna tell everyone. I'm fucking pissed, depressed, emotional. Suicidal. Hell, my best friend is ignoring me. What happened to best friends till we die? Apparently she has new friends. A new life. What's gonna happen. Today at gym one of my guy friends told me someone on his football team said, "I heard a girl in your class sent nudes, I've seen her and I don't have the nudes. I need them in my phone." I'm pretty sure as hell everyone at school is going to know. What's going to happen when the whole school knows? I'm going to be the new slut in school. I'm practically worthless right now. I got my phone taken away. What am I supposed to do now? Just wait for it to get worse. A new kid is coming to my class next Tuesday. I already know the FUCKING BOY IS GONNA TELL HIM/HER. I want to fucking destroy him. But I can't. I don't even know what to do. I pray and hope everything gets better. I'm sorry if this is long but I needed to tell someone about this whole shitty situation and not be ashamed of myself. - Xenia
You have to stand for yourself, and reach for people who can be helpful.
Fortunately, I've never been sexually bullied, or bullied in any way. When I first came to this realization I considered myself lucky, and after thinking it through, maybe the real reason why I've never been bullied is because I have confidence in myself and a great group of friends and family who support me. Unfortunately, not everyone has a group of friends and family who fully support them. That's the reason I decided to write this, to give you my piece of advice, and this is it: You have to stand for yourself, and reach for people who can be helpful. To hold on. But mostly my advice is to never feel bad about yourself, because the truth is YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL, in your own way, YOU ARE SPECIAL, YOU SHOULD NEVER LET ANYONE MAKE YOU THINK THE OPPOSITE, BECAUSE YOU ARE WHO YOU ARE, and I know labels can hurt, but the words "SLUT" "WHORE" "BITCH" don't mean anything unless you give them meaning or let them get to you. I hope this can help you, and if anyone who is reading this feels bad or depressed, remember you have a great community in The UnSlut Project who will tell you this: YOU ARE NOT ALONE.
She should know about this site. She should know she's not alone.
The most popular girl in the eighth grade at my school has lost almost everything except for her friends, and the only reason they stay is because she's pretty and they "look up to her". They basically wish they had her confidence. She can fake a smile, pretty well, too. But I know she hurts. She must. Everyone in school has been spreading rumors and calling her hideous names. And almost every popular eighth grade guy in the city has seen her nudes. People call her a slut because she has had a lot of different boyfriends. It's gone to the point where people are saying her sixth grade sister has nudes also and sleeps around with ninth graders! At this point, every person in the seventh grade has called her a slut, and some seventh grade boys are beginning to get the pictures sent to them. The office has already found the pictures and tried to stop this, but boys have just been sending them out anonymously and no one will tell on them. They are the most popular boys in school, and who wants to be known as a narc? I wish I could help her, but she only opens up to popular girls. She should know about this site. She should know she's not alone.
I didn't feel like a "slut" - how are they supposed to feel?
When I was in high school, I was labeled a "slut." It was something I could never figure out. I don't know why I was labeled that way, or why anyone called me that. I didn't feel like a "slut" - how are they supposed to feel? I didn't even do anything to deserve it. Looking back years later, I still don't think I was ever as bad as some of the things I was called. I will never forget how bad those words hurt though. There's no such thing as a slut.
It actually took me along time to accept the fact that I was being sexually bullied. In fact it took me a long time to accept that I was being bullied at all. I didn't want to think about it.
It all started when I was in Year 8. My class was on the bus coming back from a field trip to a police academy. I went to go take a seat with my friend at the time when one of the boys called out my name and said, "Hey! Why don't you come sit on my lap?!" I didn't reply, I just blushed and sat down with my friend. I was actually a very shy person back in high school. I only really talked to my friends. I was loud in class, but that was only because I was used to everyone in that class - I felt comfortable with them all. This boy was not from my class. They all laughed about it and I felt like crying, I had never felt so uncomfortable in my life. I thought it had ended until the boy ended up moving into my class in Year 9. On the first day back, he had started to harass me and make sexual remarks. I left school that day crying and just made out to my mum that I was sick. I ended up having three weeks off before coming back due to my grandfather dying and family problems with my dad. Once again first day back, I was getting harassed. My friends didn't even bother to help me even though they all saw and heard what he would say to me. I wanted to die. I had thought of all the ways to kill myself and looking back at it now, I'm glad I didn't. I just had felt so alone! I'd come home, go straight to my room and just cry. I wouldn't physically hurt myself or anything like that because I had already seen enough of that at home. My father was the reason why I wouldn't self-harm since he did himself, and I refused to be anything like him. It just got worse and worse until one day one of the boy's friends came over to me and said, "(Name of boy) wants your vagina." I once again went home early and when I saw my mum I broke down into tears and told her everything about the bullying. I remember my mum getting so angry and she went and immediately called up the school and started yelling at them. She threatened to sue the school if they didn't do anything about the harassment. The boy didn't show up for a few days and I later found out that he had been suspended. I was so let down that he had only been suspended! I didn't feel safe at school at all! That was a part of the reason why I had started to skip school and just wouldn't show up. I didn't want to be there in the same room as him. He ended up leaving me alone, obviously feeling scared of the prospect of being sued. It actually took me along time to accept the fact that I was being sexually bullied. In fact it took me a long time to accept that I was being bullied at all. I didn't want to think about it. But now I have chosen to share my story and this is the first time I have talked about it in years. I still cringe today when I hear that asshole's name.
It took me 6 years before I dated again. Only to be emotionally be traumatised again. I am 28 years old now. I really don't think I can ever trust a man again.
I was 17 when I first met him. He was tall and extremely handsome, well spoken and had just finished his CPL (Commercial Pilots License) training. But I thought nothing of it, till few months later we met at my university. He was a charmer. But there was no connection. I had never had a boyfriend before and just wanted to concentrate on my education. He invited me to join him and his friends to watch Joe Satriani play and since JS was one of my favourite musicians, I didn't refuse. From then on, his friends became mine and our social circle emerged. Few weeks after my 18th birthday, my mum told me his family had asked for my hand in marriage. (It's quite normal to have an arranged marriage in my culture. I am part Pakistani and part Indian.) My father wasn't too keen but my maternal family pressured my mum into getting my dad to agree. I said yes. He was extremely caring and thoughtful at first. He would drive me to university and even pick me up. On the weekends we would hang out on campus. However, I wanted to do things on my own and he didn't like that. We hadn't had sex. We were Muslims and I thought Muslim girls should have sex after marriage. (I was not taught this by my parents, though.) He would get sad if I suggested we should not hang out every weekend as I wanted to study and sometimes hang out with my other friends. At first I thought he loved me and wanted to be with me, but slowly I began to realise, he's actually controlling me. One weekend I went home to my parents and texted him to say so. He replied Okay.xx and I thought nothing of it. But when I went back to campus, I realised nothing was okay. He was angry and abusive and I couldn't understand why. 'How dare you go without my permission?' By then, he had isolated me from most of my friends, and the ones which still stayed around were his best buddies. I felt trapped and abused. I told him he was scaring me and he would always make promises to not do it again. He would promise to build my dream home, take me on trips to anywhere in the world; we are not taught to look at these behaviours as signs of manipulation. But soon, it wasn't verbal anymore. My best friend invited me to a halloween party and I dressed up. As soon as he saw me, he dragged me by my arm and pushed me into his car. In the car he slapped me. That was the first time he had hit me like that. I didn't know who to tell. I felt if I told my parents I would be in trouble. I am not sure why I thought that because my parents were both feminists. But I was scared. I was an 18 year old, scared to death by a man who she was engaged to marry. However, the next day he was apologetic again. The same evening, he came into my place and started to touch me. We had kissed, but this was more intimate and I told him, I didn't want to have sex. That was the first time he raped me. And it went on for 2 further years. Every day he would make me give him a blowjob. But his real pleasure came from me blowing him whilst crying. If I didn't cry, he would slap me and continue to slap me till I did. This stopped only when my father found out. You see, my ex fiance was not a British citizen. He was here to study and was originally from Pakistan. When my father found out and confronted him, he left England and went back to Pakistan. It took me 6 years before I dated again. Only to be emotionally be traumatised again. I am 28 years old now. I really don't think I can ever trust a man again. - Maheen Najeeb