by Christina Enevoldsen & Bethany Ruck Childhood sexual abuse often leaves the survivor vulnerable to more abuse and afraid of being victimized again. In this ten minute audio discussion, Christina Enevoldsen and Bethany Ruck share how they turn their violations in adulthood into tools for healing. “I had the belief that if I defended myself, [...]

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by Christina Enevoldsen & Bethany Ruck My daughter, Bethany, and I were both sexually abused by our fathers and were strongly opposed by our family when we dared to seek justice for her abuse. We’re sharing how we came to terms with our grief and how we learned to meet our needs apart from our [...]

By Christina Enevoldsen, Bethany Ruck & Penny Smith I live close to Beverly Hills, the plastic surgery Mecca, where the question is, “Are they real?” I’m also a few blocks from where the Academy Awards and many film premieres are held, where celebrities smile for the cameras and wave confidently to the fans, yet we [...]

by Bethany Ruck There I was, twenty-four years old and I’d never had a vaginal exam. I don’t like being touched in the first place, let alone being poked and prodded in my sacred areas. I had avoided the pap smear for years. Going to the doctor should be simple, right? I mean, all I [...]

by Bethany Ruck Today I was dealing with a lot of the preparation for my upcoming trail and found myself filled with an overwhelming anxiety. The kind where you shake from your core, and you don’t know whether to cry or scream. I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest. I [...]

by Bethany Ruck I’m now being forced to look at my childhood for what it was, not the pretty picture I imagined it to be. For years I convinced myself that I had a good childhood, despite all the abuse I endured. Then I remembered that the good times were really just a cover for [...]

My brother’s first memory was the adventure of crawling underneath the fence in our backyard to play with the neighbor’s dogs. I envy him. My first memory was of getting raped. I remember laying on the kitchen table with my open diaper covered in blood — an image that constantly repeats itself in my head. [...]