#WeAreBrave
SPEAK OUT. SPEAK LOUD. SPEAK TOGETHER.
Welcome to a safe, carefully moderated world of testimonials from survivors of sexual assault and rape. Join our community by sharing your story or showing your support. This platform is meant to heal and not re-traumatize. Please remember to practice self-care if reading these stories is triggering to you.
The #WeAreBrave Story Platform has made BraveMissWorld.com the #1 Google search result worldwide for survivors seeking to share their stories. Yet it was born by accident. When Miss World Linor Abargil decided to step forward and speak publicly about her rape in 2008, she launched the website LinorSpeaksOut. Her mailbox was quickly flooded with emails from survivors wanting to share their stories with someone who would believe them and offer words of support. Linor met with many of the women and men who wrote to her, and included their stories in her film.
When the documentary Brave Miss World was completed and launched in 2014, LinorSpeaksOut was merged into BraveMissWorld.com, which became the online hub for survivors wanting to share their stories. With generous grants from The Artemis Rising Foundation, The Fledgling Fund, The Francis Family Foundation, and The Roy A. Hunt Foundation among others, the filmmakers and a small team of volunteers have curated this one-of-a-kind collection of over 2,500 testimonials, each carefully moderated to screen out any remarks that are disrespectful of survivors. We are committed to making sure that everyone submitting and reading stories on our site feels safe.
Our goal is to change the conversation around assault and rape. Women’s voices are finally being heard. Until now, we have not demanded that the culture be changed. We are saying no to the deafening silence that has surrounded rape and assault. We encourage members of our community to share their stories, because we believe that healing begins with speaking out and receiving support. Each story on our site receives a supportive comment from a trained advocate, as well as comments from our #WeAreBrave community. Every story is incredibly different and unique, but they all share the tremendous strength and resilience of survivors.
We know our platform works, because of the feedback from those using our site whose lives have changed in significant ways as a result of watching the film and/or sharing their story with others. Every day, new viewers and visitors discover and explore #WeAreBrave and many write to thank us for creating and maintaining this important space. For all those sharing their unique personal experiences and brave accounts of the lasting emotional impact of rape and assault, you are not alone.
Our work needs you. Your continuing support has enabled us to upgrade this site and add the ability to submit audio and visual testimonials. Please DONATE to help us make sure this resource continues to remain available to all those who need it. All donations are 100% tax deductible through our 501c3 fiscal sponsor, Los Angeles Filmforum.
Contact us here: producers@BraveMissWorld.com
Watch the Emmy-nominated Brave Miss World on…
Netflix: https://www.netflix.com/title/80222025
iTunes: http://apple.co/1Og611n
Amazon: http://amzn.com/B0194BJ5MO
Vimeo: https://vimeo.com/ondemand/bravemissworld
He Never Apologized
Raped By 6 Policemen
I Trusted Him
Stranger, Friend, Lawyer, and Youth Leader
גבר אלים וחולני
I am a survivor
I think my “boyfriend” raped me
I Am Not Brave
Raped By Boyfriend
Afraid No More

My Story
A respectable collegue
Sexual Assault
Lightening Does Strike Twice
That “man”
Rock It!

Bad Programming
Quarterly Review
Still Haunted By It
My Daughter
Erase and Rewind
We were drunk
The Time I Was Raped
My Own Street
Rape at Bogota, Colombia
Anniversary
Breaking the Trust
Does the pain ever go away?
PART 2: My True, Horrid, and Concluded...
Years later… meeting my rapist again
a shattered girl and her dreams restored
Rape and Crisis
Why Me, Time and Time Again
It never stops changing you
I Too Was Raped
From a Boyfriend
Self Worth
Rape & Sexual Assault
My Story
Stand Strong
Repressed Memory
my story
Nerve damage
Child sex abuse
Raped By My Therapist
Raped in the Air Force
From Scared Girl to Strong Mother
Different face, but the same monster
Shelter My Soul
Stress
It never goes away
Despedida
Teatime
I need some advice
Just Words
My Rape Stories
Fishing Trips
I Am Beautiful Now
Losing My Virginity
Glad To Say I’m A Survivor
3 incidents
What am I doing wrong
Male dancer
Panic Attack
A Lifetime of #MeToo – How Sexual...
I don’t know anymore
Respect
Raped in College
Teenage Victim
What To Do IF You’re Not Raped...
My Journey Back to Life
Letter to My Rapist
יש חיים אחרי אונס
The Beach is Not Safe
My Brother, My Rapist
NYD
Rape or Not?
Need help
Mrs.
I Thought I Knew Him
Lost Soul
Because of You
Naive
Daycare
Why you should talk to your daughters...
Ending Misogyny
He had my pants down
College Campus Rape
Army
16 times
הטרידו אותי
Broken
Seis Años
Rape
I still see him on campus
University Bar
They asked if I was lying
Roofied
Rape and the Aftermath
Not Living the Life I Once Lived
I am More than a Victim
Fraternity gang rape
I am More than a Victim
We had sex before
I’m tired of hiding what you did
I didn’t know
J’avais 13 ans
Family
Ex Boyfriend
More Witness than I Care to Live...
Party Time
היי לינור
3 Days After Arriving at College
He said he loved me
Confused
I Hate You
Sexual Abuse in a Relationship
Digging my own grave
I don’t know who I am
I Trusted You
Brother & Sister
אוףףףף
They Blamed it on the Tequila
The children are the priority here
In The Concrete Jungle
4 short stories of sexual aggresion
Raped Twice and Attempted Rape Once No...
2 Years Ago
Do you remember your first time?
לפני 14 שנים
Afraid of the Truth
College Professor
I Thought I Knew Hi
My best friend
Someone so close to me
My fiancé is my rapist but I...
Multiple Times
Raped By 6 Men
Why Me?
I Don’t Even Know
When Will This Nightmare End
Too naïve
Why was it my fault?
The Night My Life Changed
My Story
Disappointed
Stronger Every Day
Moving On
I wish she wouldve helped me
I Was a Virgin
Attempted Rape
Speaking Up
My Scars Do Not Define Me
Myself
היי
Broken
Black and Blue
Ignored
I didn’t know what to do
Summer 2019
Sex doll
My story
Summer of ’09
Did He Rape Me?
Are you sure?
So Long Ago
Family of Lies
So drunk I can’t remember
1990
Dear Convicted Sex Offender (Finally)
Raped by Him
Friend of mines set me up
Sharing #MeToo’s
Abuse Continued
My Best Friend’s Brother
עדיין מציק
Confused for Too Long
Supe que fue un abuso cuando ya...
I Was 9
He doesn’t even know he raped me
Feelings After I was Raped 20 plus...
My deaf husband sued the Vatican
My Story
Taking Back My Love Life
This all started when I was 14 in my first day of class that I did not realize would turn into the 6 years of terror. I was sexually groomed by a senior at my high school. He’d stared at me the first day he saw me and then made strong sexual contact with me after class. He did this twice more later in the school year. Then he contacted on social media asking me sexual questions and wanted to get familiar with what I knew about sex. Then he figured out where I lived and stalked me there several years later. Throughout the entire 6 years, he forced me to watch him play with himself on Face Time and many other explicit things I won’t mention. He pretended he loved me and that I was the only girl for him. He’d convince me I was the only girl he was talking to. I was vulnerable because I had suffered a serious brain illness and spent a lot of time alone... I had depression... All he had to say is I Love You then I’d allow everything to continue. It’s not like I could think for myself when I could not even function due to autoimmune illness and not able to think clearly. He’d want videos and pictures... anything he could get of me. And he’d never let up on it until I’d say yes. I finally reported him in October of 2019 when he’d finally almost got a hold of me. I’d just started college and he begged me to be his girlfriend. He got me a bus ticket to see him and then things turned dark. He said he’d be locking up my clothes and filming porn of me so he could make money. That’s when I finally closed the door on the toxic relationship. I did not get on the bus and ultimately got the police involved. As scared as I was to contact his work I did it through The National Human Trafficking Hotline who contacted his military base in Killeen Texas at Fort Hood. I sometimes wonder did he love me? Did I walk away from someone who wanted me? He was there was so long and now did I ruin it? All the signs of Stockholm Syndrome. Crazy to call it that? Yes. He may not have been my physical captor but emotionally yes. I was emotionally drawn to him and felt like I needed him. He’d found a way to get me to confide trust into him. He almost got what we wanted but I took my love life back and shut the door that was opened for him to be near me. It was hard though I’m glad I walked away. There are not many sexual groooming stories out there, especially not ones that involve social media. But I’ve had nightmares of sexual assault by him, rape, physical abuse and many more horror stories. He was the perpetrator in every dream. Now that he’s gone I don’t have these dreams and I feel at peace. God was sending me the warning signs that I should be careful not to get too close to him. He’s dangerous. I don’t have these dreams anymore and have never had them about anyone else. You can read articles about sexual grooming all day long but until you experience it, you don’t understand it at all. It’s not just a term for having sexual contact with a child. It’s a term that describes how someone forms a relationship with a target that they think is normal. It van happen to adults but obviously teenagers and kids will probably take longer to recognize it’s happening to them and might take longer to respond or report. It took me 6 years! I thought he was a friend, a lover, someone I could trust. For him, I was just a victim. Someone to trick. How I viewed him is not how he viewed me. But #IAMBRAVEA Letter To The Man Who Stole...
I Didn’t Know I Was Raped
Thank you for being LOUD!
הסיפור שלי…
One in Four
Por Fin Puedo Decirlo
Acceptance
Broken Trust
Made in America
This Is Me, my fight song
Life Purpose
School Rape
My Best Friend
My best friend raped me
A Memory That Came Back
Who is Responsible?
I Am a Survivor
High School Rape
Catfished
First date: Raped after school at 15
Scar
My Story
The Night That Changed My Life
Miss
Piece
Scared and Confused
Too Trusting
Life Spiraled
I Was 3 Years Old
I know when I see a rapist...
His Charming Ways
Date Rape
Raped at the Air Force Academy
Abused By a Relative
First College Party
Sexual Coercion
לא יוצאים מזה…
I Am a Survivor
3x
Ms.
Moving on Alone from Rape
He Was My Boyfriend
Victim of sexual assault
75 Percent Humidity
Mistaken Identity
I’ve survived sexual abuse
Raped at the Air Force Academy
He doesn’t even know he raped me
I Shouldn’t Have To…
Off My Shoulders
My Daughter
I Was Only 7
Sexual Assault
De Los 6 a Los 12
En Enero de 2010
He ruined my life
Stop
Dear Coward
He said I wanted it
I Didn’t Even Know
Why Me Over and Over?
Today is my time to cry
She Should Be Over It
I Was Raped?
Was It My Fault?
Stockholm
Rape Victim / Rapist in Hollywood
I’m Only Stronger
That Night
לדבר, להלחם, לנצח
My/our German “Weinstein” Case
Unsure
Permanently Scarred
Workplace Sexual Harassment
Playing House
I didn’t say “no”
My Step Brother
Living Nightmare
My Abusive Ex-Boyfriend
So Alone
Raped at the age of 16
Everyone Else Likes You, Too
Sexual Abuse
I just realized this today.
Unethical or illegal?
“No” is Universal
Kidnapped and raped at gunpoint
Speaking Up for Women
Molested and Confused
I Am More Than It
People don’t think your spouse can rape...
10 years later I realised
Rape Being Considered a “Joke”
My story growing up with a secret
Mi Esposa
Simply My Story
I Don’t Even Know His Name
Indigo
I returned to fine art in 1990 when I took at class in indigo dyeing at San Francisco State University. I was lucky that the instructor, Yoshiko Wada, and another student from her class, were in the East Bay so that we could carpool together. We would talk textiles on our weekly journey across the Bay Bridge to the Campus. The other student was an accomplished Quilter named Linda MacDonald. Linda lived in Willits near the famous Mendocino Art Center, but traveled to Berkeley to attend this class once a week.
The Indigo vat was made in a 32-gallon garbage can and had to be kept covered between dyeing sessions. Indigo is a unique rich blue dye that develops with an oxidization process when exposed to air. Dipping the fabric several times, and allowing the natural fiber to oxidize before dipping it again, creates darker shades of blue. The dye in the vat is created from a mixture of indigo pigment, various chemicals and a reducing agent to remove oxygen from the dye. It is a rich green color while in the vat, which shows up on the fabric before it is fully exposed to the air. The smell emitted from the dye is unusual, a musky odor in my mind. I like to think that it smells like the color blue. The vat needs to be carefully stirred and maintained between dyeing sessions. There is a “bloom” on the top of the vat created by oxidized indigo, making a bubbly and shiny ball of material reminiscent of a flower. The “bloom” gets moved to the side before entry of the pre-wetted fabric. The process reminds me of baking bread or making yogurt where the steps need to be carefully followed to achieve the desired results. In the process of bread and yogurt making, there are living cultures involved in order to create the product, and with the creation and dyeing process of indigo, it has that same feeling of being alive.
In order to create interesting patterns, my classmates and I would use resist techniques on the fabric like pastes, stitching and clamping. Simple household items like clothespins could be used to create patterns by folding and then placing the pins at intervals along the fold lines. Beautiful and surprising results were achieved using these methods.
Image of Indigo dye on fabric during the oxidization process.
My dream of being a professional artist, all started in early childhood, and the first memories of my creations go back to Nursery School. I loved playing with all kinds of materials, like paint, clay, and crayons, just to name a few examples.
Mel (Melanie), painting at Jack and Jill Nursery School, Walnut Creek, California, 1960.
In 1974, a neighbor in Marin where I was living at the time and studying art at College of Marin told me about an Art School in Mexico. I ended up sending off slides of my work with an application to the Instituto Allende, and was delighted to hear that I was accepted. I began my journey to study there in San Miguel de Allende by flying to Mexico City in January of 1975. A bus ride completed that journey.
When I first arrived, I moved in with a family who had two small children, including a newborn. It seemed like a safe living situation for a 19-year-old woman, but that shortly proved to not be true when the husband started coming on to me. I ended up finding my own place on the other side of town. It was a spacious abode with a wall that was shared with a weaving factory next door. There were 2 adjoined bedrooms, a bathroom, a large living/kitchen area and a small concrete patio out the back door. There was no hot water, refrigerator or a telephone. When I needed hot water for dishes, I would boil some on the stove. For showers, I had to build a fire in a box below a water tank outside to get hot water. I felt much more secure living there and walking a further distance to the Instituto on the other side of town than living with the husband who had made me feel so unsafe. There was the Central Plaza, which was called the “Jardin” that was in the middle of town, and I would pass through it on my walk quite frequently. This was the site of fireworks and festivals, like the celebration of Cinco de Mayo. The streets were cobblestone and many charming shops and galleries were located downtown. The School itself was on a beautiful campus with large ornate doors in front that were closed when school was not in session.
Photo of the closed front doors of the Instituto Allende
I had heard about you and what you had done to other women before you appeared in my main living space one sunny spring afternoon pointing a gun at me.
You had a bandana wrapped around your face and tied behind your head.
I had heard you first, in the bathroom.
Dressed in a long polyester dress with colorful psychedelic patterns.
I wasn’t wearing any underwear or shoes.
I walked through the 2 bedrooms and turned left when I saw you standing there.
I screamed and shouted, “help me,” thinking that workers at the Weaving Factory would hear me and come rescue me.
Nobody came.
You said to me “Coyote” which I later learned meant to be quiet or to shut up.
You grabbed my shoulders and dragged me out the unlocked back door onto the concrete patio.
The tops of my feet got scraped.
I gave up.
I knew you were going to rape me.
I just wanted you to finish as quickly as possible.
You took off your belt and put down your gun.
Somehow I managed to pick up your gun and threw it over the wall embedded with glass on the top, into the alleyway. The same wall you had climbed over to get into my place through the unlocked back door.
Towards the end of this ordeal, I heard a knock on my door.
You left, climbing back over the wall.
I answered the door. My friend Rhonda had come by to visit me.
I told her what had happened and we walked to the Police Station nearby.
I had your belt with me. The one you left behind.
I went to the front counter, telling the officers behind the counter what had happened to me. They were laughing and playing cards at the time.
I showed them your belt.
They told me to bring you in if I saw you again.
I left with Rhonda and took a bath at the where place she lived. We didn’t talk about what happened.
We moved in together shortly after that.
I sent a telegram to my father and stepmother about what had happened to me.
Nobody came to help me.
Rhonda helped me when I got hepatitis A and could no longer go to school.
I was on my own when it came to figuring out how to return to the Bay Area.
I moved in with my father and stepmother.
They didn’t talk to me about what happened to me.
They sent me to a doctor who diagnosed me with type 1 diabetes. He showed me how to give myself insulin injections. He told me to practice by injecting oranges with empty syringes.
My mother told me years later that “You were never the same again” after what you did to me.
I survived. I gave up art for 15 years before realizing that I wanted to go back to art school. In those years, I became so disturbed that I had panic attacks, deep depression and needed to move in with my mother at age 30. I started therapy after becoming self destructive in my 20’s.
Depression also called “the blues” has been my long time companion. It has taken me a lifetime to heal. My iPhone predicts the words, depression, PTSD and C-PTSD for my text messages.
After my Indigo dyeing class at San Francisco State, I enrolled in the Textiles Fine Art program at California College of Arts and Crafts (now known as California College of the Arts) in Oakland. I was married at the time and had become pregnant with our daughter Emily right before classes started in September. Emily was born on May 13, 1991. By the Fall of 1992, I was a single mom and an art student. An inheritance from my mother who died in 1995, allowed me to graduate and to buy my first home.
I continued to work with indigo dyeing and created a large textile piece about my experience in Mexico.
After many years of therapy and other healing modalities, I recently started painting on canvas. Part of that process has been a Soul Retrieval session to bring back my 4 year old self who loved to paint. I am feeling uplifted and encouraged after many years of recurring periods of severe emotional pain. Stay tuned for more details about my new work.
One of my final pieces was a textile called “Out of the Blues.”