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.

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

My baby sister and I shared a bedroom, when we stayed at our father’s house. She’s six years younger than me, so when we went over there, I was the one to take care of her, always. One night, my baby sister had a yeast infection, not uncommon for a girl, but since she was so little at the time, it was my job to make sure her medicine was taken care of. My father came into the room when I was trying to get her medicine inside her, when he shoved me off her bed and demanded I get into my own bed. He put down her medicine and pulled out a tube of athlete’s foot cream and forced it inside of her. She cried. I didn’t do anything. I don’t remember why I didn’t do anything; I was frozen. Avoidance was the best way to deal with my father-if you looked the other way, nothing bad would happen to you.

I didn’t say anything at all, in fear of my father finding out I would tell, but my baby sister cried for most of the night, and there was nothing I could do but hold her and try to calm her down. The infection obviously got much worse. We took her to the doctor, who found out what my father had put inside of her and called Social Services. He lied, as did his lawyer, and no charges were pressed. I was punished for telling for years. He was an abusive alcoholic.

I still blame myself for not stopping him in the action. A good part of me feels irrationally that this is no one’s fault but mine, because I could not stop it. If I could go back to that day, I would like to think that I would have done anything in my power to have made him leave. I truly am thankful that she doesn’t remember this, that I’m the only one who has to suffer with the memories, to suffer through the guilt of not protecting her. You never know who will be the victim of sexual abuse: it could be your girlfriend, your best friend, your mother or aunt, and it might be your baby sister. Please: speak out. Say something. Protect her. Do anything you can, everything you can, and stop it now. But, Dad, if you ever hear this: you didn’t win. I don’t care if you weren’t punished at all. I just want you to know, that this had no power over myself, or my sister. She’s a strong, beautiful young woman. You didn’t ruin her. you made her stronger. And I hope you get to live with the regret that you no longer get to know the person she’s become, or myself for that matter. I hope that this regret, this guilt, is so much worse than anything the legal system could have ever done to you.

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