I’m a pretty open person, given everything, and I am writing this article knowing full well that what I’m sharing is personal and probably a bit shocking. But it’s so incredibly important—I’m willing to put myself in the most vulnerable place I can think of so that you can be exposed to what is afflicting so many people in a real and honest way. You need to know everything about my sex life, and I need you to know it too.

Okay, so maybe not everything, but I need you to understand some aspects of it because I’m not alone. When I was 15, I got into an ultimately extremely abusive relationship with a boy a few years older than me. After 11 months of mental, physical, and sexual abuse, I successfully ended the relationship. But I didn’t end the abuse.

He started threatening the safety of myself and my family, first verbally, then physically. After days of death threats and suicide threats, he broke into my home twice—once to read my diary, and the second time to stand over me while I was asleep to use my phone to contact and get information from my friends. Needless to say, I was scared shitless. And really, really depressed.

Many months later, after more threats and stalking from him, the police discovered him and a friend conspiring to break into my home—only this time to physically hurt and tie up my family, and rape me (this was explicitly stated in their messages).

Almost a full year after I broke up with him, he went to trial. Six months after that, he went to prison with a two-year sentence. One year after he was put behind bars, he was let out on good behavior. And now, five years later, I am still serving the life sentence that is being a survivor.

Of course the breaking in and stalking have had major effects on me. I lock my doors religiously, I jump at a call from an unknown number, and I almost never feel safe when I’m alone. The physical abuse has had an affect on me as well—while we were together, he tried to strangle me. Now shirts with high necklines, or even tight necklaces, make me feel like I’m suffocating. And I hate when people touch the front of my neck.

But the sexual effects are what have really changed my life. A few weeks after I had turned 16, my abuser raped me in the back seat of his car in an abandoned parking lot. After that day, he would come over three or four nights a week, rape me in my own bed, and then leave. Usually, he would follow up with an accusatory text insinuating that I was cheating on him. It was a classic abuse case, a textbook situation, a cycle that grows out of control and is hardly ever stopped. It happens to thousands of people every day, yet nobody talks about what it means for the survivor and her/his sexuality post-trauma.

At first, I was scared of men. All men. I mean my grandpa, my teachers, my cousins, my dentist. Men became a symbol of danger for me. I didn’t let anyone touch me for a year and a half afterward. And even when I did, it wasn’t at all a normal experience.

I did a very good job of blocking out most of what happened in my room those nights when I would hear his car pull up, the engine dies, the car door open, then slam, the footsteps creep to my front door. I would wait until he texted me to open up, then take my time walking the few steps to the door. He would walk right past me and straight to my room. I don’t remember much of my 16-year-old days, or 17 for that matter. I do get triggered, though, and those triggers lead to horribly vivid flashbacks.

And, you guessed it, those flashbacks come while I’m having sex. It’s no surprise, really, but it always catches me off guard. If you hold my hand too tight, or maybe make a certain sound, or even have a look on your face, it can cause a flashback. Or, you could be doing everything right and I would still start to see my ex, towering over me. It doesn’t really matter what’s happening, whether it’s slow or rough, loud or soft. Flashbacks come when they want to, and nothing seems to stop it.

So, you can imagine how this might play out in a relationship. I am having sex with my boyfriend, a flashback comes and since he knows that they happen, he recognizes it on my face instantly. We stop, we wait for the sobs to subside, we cuddle, we dress. We move on, because what else can we do?

However, what about when I’m not in a relationship? What about when I just want to have a fling, a one-night stand, a hookup? I have two options; you tell me which one you would choose:

Option 1: I don’t tell Mr. Hookup about my abusive history (how would that casually come up in conversation anyway?). I start getting into sexy mode, and in the back of my mind pray to whatever deity I can conjure that a flashback doesn’t happen. Maybe my prayers are answered, and it goes swimmingly, and I can feel normal for a night. Or maybe I do have a flashback. I start shutting down during intercourse, slowly but surely turning off everything that was previously turned on. I stop making noise, stop making eye contact, stop reciprocating. I become a shell of a person, just like I was when I was with my ex. It’s a defense mechanism, it’s my natural response, and it’s scary as all hell.

Eventually, Mr. Hookup notices I’m not all that into him anymore. He stops with a sudden “Oh” and asks “Aa—are you okay?” before realizing I am certainly not okay, pulls himself out of me and commences to not have a clue what to do with the shaking, crying girl laying on the sheets in front of him. I don’t even know what to do with her, since I have disassociated and floated away from the room where all I can think about is those 11 months I spent with my abuser and the flabbergasted male I managed to seduce. He might pack up his things and leave, or he might try to comfort me and fail. Either way, he certainly is never speaking to me again, and I am left feeling deserted, ashamed, and empty.

Option 2: I decide to tell Mr. Hookup about my past before sexy time starts. Let’s see, where do I fit that one in? Maybe I mention it during the ride home, to have the Uber driver as my buffer. Or I could try and shout it in his ear in the club, hoping that he’ll catch enough to understand but not feel awkward about not knowing what to say back, since I wouldn’t be able to hear him anyways. Or, I could start with it the first moment I meet him, you know, weed out the bad ones at the get go. I’ll probably say something like “Hey, so, just so you know, a few years ago I was in a very abusive relationship with a guy who ended up going to prison and he raped me a ton and now I have this thing where every now and then I get flashbacks during sex so like don’t touch my neck or squeeze too hard or maybe it’ll happen anyways it won’t be your fault I just wanted to let you know ahead of time in case it happen maybe it won’t happen or maybe you didn’t want to have sex with me and I totally got the wrong signals so just ignore everything I just said.”

Please, be my guest, choose an option. Let me know how it works out for you.

I’m not sorry if that got too detailed, or if I made you uncomfortable. I’m not sorry if you happen to be a guy who experienced one of these options with me. I’m not sorry if this is all news to you. I refuse to be sorry. Why should I be? He wasn’t.

Next time you have sex with a survivor, consider the massive courage it took them to let you even look at their body, let alone touch it, let alone enter it or let it enter you. Survivor’s bodies are like sacred temples that have been raided and looted, it’s contents smashed and stolen. Our temples might not look as perfect as yours, but they’re still just as beautiful. Don’t assume our flashbacks are fake because you can’t see what we’re seeing. Don’t make it about you and insist it’s because you did something wrong. Don’t diminish what we are feeling by assuming we will be fine if you just let us be for a bit. And don’t get selfish and pretend like our survivorship shouldn’t affect you too.

I guarantee every reader right now that each of you knows at least one survivor. You might not know they are a survivor, but that doesn’t mean you don’t know one. You probably know more than one. So you should care about this just as much as I do. You should also try to understand it, instead of ignoring it, because when you ignore a thing it gets worse, but only when you understand it can you beat it.