Narratively

After a serious trauma, some survivors find comfort and empowerment by creating a new identity.

I never thought I would care. And then, suddenly, I did.

After a football-playing classmate raped me, everyone in town acted like it was all my own fault. The worst part is that I started to believe them.

My modern version of prostitution was fun, easy and body-positive—until it wasn’t.

In the last decade I’ve built a prosperous career, met the man of my dreams, married him and lost him—all the time haunted by my brief stint selling my body for money.

Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve known having kids is not for me. At 25, I couldn’t be more certain about my decision to undergo sterilization. So why does every doctor, nurse and therapist in sight keep trying to convince me otherwise?

When I was drugged and assaulted by a friend in high school, I didn’t even know whether to call it rape. Thirteen years later, Internet activism helped me process my old trauma.

A groundbreaking new court system treats prostitutes as victims rather than criminals. But one sex-worker-turned-advocate reveals the flaws in that equation.

My domineering dad stood by me during my gender transition, but I didn’t truly become a woman until I finally stood up to him.