Author Honey Badger

I am no longer available to be the container for family systems that do not account for my safety, my health, or my history. When my body says no—through pain, exhaustion, or activation—it is not asking to be overridden. It is asking to be believed.

That if you want relief, you must reveal. That if you want support, you must show your wounds. That if you want to be believed, you must be seen in pain

Refusal is not immaturity. It is not laziness. It is not a lack of healing.

Belief, in this framework, is conditional. It must be earned through detail. Through exposure. Through a willingness to reopen wounds so that others can inspect them and decide whether they qualify as real.

Timelines. Processes. Authorities that claimed to know what healing should look like. I no longer trust those things.

Grief is tolerated if it is brief. Anger is allowed if it is contained. Silence is acceptable only if it eventually turns into insight.

We are expected to recover in ways that reassure others. To soften our language. To make meaning quickly. To show improvement on a timeline that makes institutions comfortable

Writing under a pen name allows the work to exist without performance. Without pleading. Without the constant threat of being asked to give more.

For survivors, consent must be ongoing, revisable, and responsive. A “yes” offered in one moment does not obligate the body in the next. Capacity can change. Tolerance can fluctuate. What felt manageable yesterday may feel overwhelming today.

That there would be a moment when the body stopped hesitating, when memory loosened its grip, when I could say—without reservation—that it was over. That moment never came. What came instead was something quieter: trust without guarantees.

Not because my body didn’t want to move, but because movement had once been taken. Directed. Overridden. The body learned that leaving—dissociating, freezing, going still—was safer than staying present.

This is not a rejection of therapy. It is an acknowledgment of its limits—particularly for trauma that did not end when the event ended but lived on inside the nervous system

Military Sexual Trauma is often spoken about as if it were an interruption—an unfortunate incident that happened alongside service rather than within it. Something to be acknowledged briefly and then folded into a larger narrative of resilience, duty, or strength. That framing is false. MST is not a footnote. It is not an aside. It is not a complication to an otherwise honorable story. It is an injury sustained inside a system that relies on hierarchy, silence, and obedi

Survivors of military sexual assault have bravely stepped forward to share their harrowing experiences through various mediums, including books, documentaries, and personal testimonies. These narratives serve not only as a form of catharsis for the survivors but also as crucial educational tools for the public and policymakers alike.

The Epstein scandal exposed a horrifying network of abuse and exploitation involving powerful individuals. Yet, despite overwhelming evidence and public outrage, the US Government has shown a disturbing lack of action toward holding those implicated accountable. This silence and inaction send a clear message: survivors of rape are not a priority.

Sexual assault survivors in the military, on university campuses, and during their childhood face a harsh and often unforgiving reality: the very systems that are designed to protect them frequently fail to provide the necessary support and justice. This deeply troubling phenomenon has been documented extensively, revealing a pattern of neglect and institutional inadequacy that leaves survivors feeling abandoned and voiceless

The United States faces a troubling contradiction. While billions of dollars flow to foreign aid, such as support for Ukraine and illegal aliens, many veterans who have served this nation, especially survivors of military sexual trauma (MST), remain neglected. Among them is Julie Jewels Smoot, a veteran who endured rape by a fellow service member and faced victim blaming, retaliation, and emotional abuse. Despite the Democrats’ public stance as champions of survivors and advo

Despite the profound and often devastating impact of rape on individuals, survivors frequently find themselves grappling with overwhelming financial burdens that can exacerbate their already challenging circumstances. The repercussions of such a traumatic experience extend far beyond the immediate physical and emotional toll; they also manifest in significant financial strains that can last for years.

Sexual assault in the military is a serious crisis that deserves immediate attention and action, not only from lawmakers but also from leadership at the highest levels of government. The lack of a robust response to this epidemic is indicative of a broader cultural problem that prioritizes the reputation of the military over the safety and rights of individual service members.

Many survivors have poignant stories tied to educational institutions, such as the University of Cincinnati, which serve as both a backdrop for their academic pursuits and a stage for their personal struggles. Within these walls, crucial support systems are expected to provide help during crises, yet all too often, they fall short of fulfilling this vital role. For instance, a 2020 study revealed that only 24% of students felt that their school responded adequately to reports