They all shared their stories and before long, I was the local "slut." They shouted disgusting insults to me in the street. My mother could barely look at me.

I am a 40 year old married woman with children. I am a professional with a comfortable life. But every day I am plagued with memories and shame from my experiences of slut shaming as an adolescent. I grew up in Catholic Ireland, including Catholic schools with no sex education and parents who never taught me about periods never mind sex. I had a critical and cold mother and was always a worrier with low self esteem.
By 15 my parents' relationship was a mess, home life was horrible and my parents separated as my other siblings had all moved on to university. I was left at home with my mother who retreated to her bedroom and I was essentially alone. Like my peers I began drinking heavily at weekends and soon got involved with a group of local boys. They were essentially a street gang and very different to the boys I was meant to hang around with (though I wasn't meant to spend any time with boys at all).
Soon I started to try to win affection from one boy and it seemed to be sexual acts were the way to do this. I couldn't understand when this didn't work out. But his friends were only too willing to give me the attention I so desperately craved. They all shared their stories and before long I was the local "slut." They shouted disgusting insults to me in the street. They came to my house at night and tried to get me to come out. They told other friends who wanted in on the action. I was in so much misery but I had no idea how to get out of it. I got something from being part of the gang. I didn't realise the price I was paying.
My mother realised what was going on and was disgusted with me, tho never had a straight conversation with me. She could barely look at me. Girls I went to school with heard and talked. My reputation was in ruins. I finally left for university after years of this. I quickly developed anxiety and depression, more so than I had ever experienced before.
When I would come home I would bump into these people from my childhood and I would still be laughed at and ridiculed. I went on a date when I was 30 and one of the men in question had a conversation with my date when we bumped into him. I never heard from the date again. It didn't get left behind in childhood, in reality or in my head.
The next 20 years I struggled alone until I finally sought therapy. I have spent the last 10 years in psychotherapy and I am still suffering with shame today. I understand and forgive myself for the part I played in all of this. But I am terrified that my name is still mud. I'm terrified that now I have returned home with my family that my children or husband will find out about my past. I feel as though I will never be free. -- Niamh in Ireland