Welcome to the SpeakOut! Blog

Break the silence that surrounds sexual assault, sexual harassment, interpersonal violence, relationship abuse, stalking, hate crimes, and identity-based violence. Share your story here on our anonymous blog.

To speak about an experience with any form of interpersonal violence is difficult, but it is also empowering. Breaking the silence reduces shame and helps others to speak out about their own experiences.

End the shame. Be empowered. Speak Out!

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We are holding our first fall Speak Out! in October 26th, 2017 from 7-9 pm in The Pit. For more information, check our Facebook page.

Because this blog features stories of interpersonal and sexual violence, we offer this *content warning* as a way of caution. We also ask that you do not reproduce any of the content below, as the authors of these personal stories are anonymous, and cannot give consent for their stories to appear anywhere other than this blog or at a Project Dinah-led SpeakOut event.

Thursday, November 8, 2007

I'm in the corner of my childhood bedroom, lying on my back, and my daddy's impossibly large hands are in front of me. He's changing my diaper. I'm currently sans diaper, and daddy is surely going to put on another one. What a nice daddy, changing my diaper when that's mommy's job. What a nice daddy to take one of those big, long fingers and probe at the vagina of his daughter, who, even as a toddler, knew something was wrong. Grandpa was told "daddy touched me," by the toddler and soon after, daddy no longer lived with us.

I haven't seen my dad since around this time. All I have of him is a fuzzy mental picture of a large white male's hand, set on doing disastrous and perverted things; but mostly set on finding a bit of power through a spot of toddler molestation.

For all that it sounds reprehensible, I don't feel anything. I feel a detached sense of disgust, as if I were telling someone else's story and merely feeling sympathy for them. Perhaps I'm perpetually in the denial stage that follows from traumatic experiences.

I do not talk to my dad now, nor do I really conceive of him as my father. He didn't pay child support, and he's never shown interest in me.

I long thought of my father as a sickened individual, a byproduct of a bad childhood and a perverted will. While those things are certainly related, so is the fact that he's a man in a system of patriarchy, and at the age of three, he saw my vagina and associated me with "girl."

I'm a victim of incest molestation. But I'm also a survivor - however numb I may be.

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