Trigger Warning: This article touches on subjects that can be sensitive.

Talking about rape is difficult. The stigma around rape leads some survivors -- both male and female -- to keep quiet about what's happened to them. For the longest time, I was one of those people. I stayed silent, allowing the abuse to continue. I was afraid no one would listen to me, that no one would believe me. But now, I want to share my story. I don't want to be afraid and I don't want to be ashamed of my past.

About nine years ago, I was raped by the man who was supposed to be my father. The man who was supposed to raise and protect me. When he married my mother, he promised that he would treat me as his own daughter, that he would protect me and keep me safe; he promised that he would never let anything or anyone hurt me. I don't remember exactly how things started, but I know that it didn't take long for him to break those promises. I was fifteen when he took my virginity, and I had hopes of doing amazing things in life. I had my life planned out in the most basic and cliché way -- I wanted to graduate high school and go to college (Millersville was my first pick; Shippensburg was a close second). I wanted a career as a teacher, and I wanted to fall in love with a guy who was going to sweep me off my feet. I wanted children, but not until I was married to the love of my life and settled with a career and a home.

When I found out I was pregnant, I felt like my entire world was falling apart. It was two o'clock in the morning when the doctor came in with the results -- six weeks along -- and to tell me they wanted me to have an ultrasound done. I was terrified as they moved me to another room. The technician asked me questions that I numbly answered. She explained the internal ultrasound process as she gently slipped the wand between my legs.

"Hmm. I can't seem to find the baby." There are no words to describe the feeling I got when I heard her say that. That feeling intensified when she informed me that I could have miscarried. They sent me home with instructions on how to take care of myself after the ultrasound and told me to come back in a few weeks. When I went back, they found the baby. They couldn't explain why the internal ultrasound didn't pick up on it, but there was no doubt. I was pregnant.

I felt like things were falling apart all over again. My mother blamed me. My boyfriend's parents sat me down and explained to me why I was better off getting an abortion -- even though they didn't know the true story. My boyfriend at the time made promises he couldn't keep (I don't blame him. He was a freshman in high school) and he broke up with me shortly after I told him I was pregnant. I was angry -- at myself (because I thought it was my fault) and at the man who'd done this. And despite my best efforts, I found myself angry at the baby I was carrying.

I'd never contemplated abortion. I'd never thoguht I'd find myself in a situation where that would be a viable option. But for weeks I found myself thinking about it, thinking about how my life would go back to normal if I ended my pregnancy. I researched prices with Planned Parenthood. But ultimately, I couldn't do it. Even though my pregnancy was a result of rape, I couldn't bring myself to take it out on the human growing inside of me. But that's not to say that I embraced my pregnancy with open arms.

I was fifteen, and I was a sophomore in high school. Being pregnant meant I had to give up color guard, which was something that I was extremely passionate about. My biology teacher had to make exceptions for me when we did certain experiments, and I couldn't partake in gym class (not that I complained much about that). I hid my pregnancy for as long as I could, and when I couldn't hide it anymore, people asked me a handful of questions about my baby's father. And each time, I lied through my teeth. I became an outcast because I no longer held the same priorities as my friends. I may have been a teenager, but I was responsible for another human being. I had to put my baby first no matter what the cost.

In June Audrina will be nine years old. She is a crazy, intelligent, whirlwind of a little girl. She keeps me busy and on my toes. And she is the reason I'm still here. I could have chosen to end my pregnancy, to continue to see myself as a victim. But I don't. I'm a survivor. I don't look at her and see her as a rape baby; I look at her and see my little girl. My baby. I could have made the choice to end my pregnancy because her conception was less than ideal. But I love my daughter with all my heart; I have from the moment I first heard her heartbeat. My journey to motherhood was less than ideal, but I feel like the luckiest woman in the world to have had the opportunity to be her mommy.