Aly’s Story
Meet Aly
Aly is an 8-year-old girl.
She has blonde hair and blue eyes. Her favorite color is blue; she is bright and loves arts and crafts. She is your typical 8-year-old with an imaginary best friend named Beth. She is the middle child of three and looks up to all her family members.
She has learned a lot of lessons throughout her life. For one, she learned how to ride a bike; she also learned how to clean a toilet, thanks to her little brother who constantly “forgets” to put the seat up. But besides her parents sending her to a Spanish immersion elementary school, at the young age of 8, she learned the language of silence. She was fluent for six years straight.
-
In June of 2015, just after her eighth birthday, was supposed to be the start of a huge adventure across the pond. Instead, it became the trip where her innocence and trust were shattered. While on a train ride, her grandpa, a man she trusted and loved, stole her innocence. His actions forced a silence upon her, a silence that lasted for six years. At eight years old, she became a victim of sexual abuse.
As she became more fluent in silence, her understanding of the world became distorted. She was a child, trying to make sense of something incomprehensible, and for a time, she believed the lies her grandpa told her, that his actions were a representation of love. Time passed, and her world was swarmed with emotions. Every birthday and holiday spent with her grandparents turned into memories of fear, uncomfortableness, and insecurity. On her 14th birthday, she had a gut feeling that she needed to break the silence. He was a dangerous man, imposing emotions a 14-year-old girl should never have to experience—emotions any person should not have to experience.
Something they don’t tell you about learning the language of silence is how to break it. How do you go back to just speaking English and Spanish? It was as if her once-known languages were now foreign. Nothing prepared her more than the reality of it all. Taking legal action took strength she never knew she had. It was the unwavering support of Cornerhouse that began to help her find her voice again, offering a safe and understanding space to finally speak the unspeakable.
Amidst the hurt and chaos of her life, the light in her sparked, knowing she was not alone. I'm going to say this louder for everyone to hear: you are not alone. That 8-year-old girl needed to hear that. That 14-year-old girl needed to hear that. And everyone else in this room experiencing or who has experienced any hardship in life, look around and hear me when I say that you are not alone.
That little 8-year-old girl found her voice by age 15. She started healing—something she never believed would ever be possible. She had the hardest of conversations, but the best support one could ask for.
In July of 2024, as she entered her trial with a teal string around her wrist, a representation of being brave despite being a survivor of one of the worst traumas in her life. As more of her supporters came into the hallway to gather before the court, there was a warm, familiar presence: the presence of Cornerhouse. Cornerhouse is more than a non-profit; they are a team, they are a family, they are a relentless support through the hardships of life.
Cornerhouse was there during the most vulnerable moments, guiding her and her family through the forensic interviewing process with compassion and unwavering support. They provided a safe space to speak her truth, validating her experience and empowering her to take the first steps towards healing. That teal string she wore, a personal symbol of bravery, embodies the very spirit that Cornerhouse fosters in every survivor they serve. And now, through Bracelets for Bravery, we have the opportunity to extend that same empowerment to other survivors. Each bracelet is a symbol of hope, a reminder that they are not alone, and a direct contribution to the vital services Cornerhouse provides.
That 8-year-old girl, the one I've been telling you about, she's not just a character in a story. She's a part of me. She lives inside me today, providing me the strength that allows me to stand before you tonight. And she's here, continuing to fight for justice, using her voice for her story and for others. Your support tonight ensures that other children, other survivors, will find the strength to do the same.”
-Aly Gray
Stand with Aly. Keep Kids Safe.
Aly is resilient. With the support of CornerHouse, she and her family have begun to heal and find their way forward. But this should never be any child's story.
“Bravery is found in small moments - in strength, in courage, and in quiet resilience. CornerHouse was a place of healing and strength for me.”
-Aly Gray
Aly speaking at CornerHouse’s Cheers for Children
Bracelets for Bravery
In her path towards healing, Aly founded Bracelets for Bravery.
Bracelets for Bravery’s mission is to empower and support victims of sexual abuse through handcrafted, meaningful bracelets. 75% of the proceeds from each sale go directly to CornerHouse, an organization dedicated to helping survivors heal and rebuild. Each bracelet represents strength, courage, and the fight for justice.
“CornerHouse has been a place of healing and strength for me. Their support has made such a difference in my family’s journey, and it’s why Bracelets for Bravery exists: to give back, raise awareness, and support others who need it most.
When you wear a bracelet, you’re not just supporting a cause—you’re standing with survivors and showing that hope and healing are possible.”
-Aly Gray
Man or Bear?
-
Nothing could have prepared eight-year-old me for the assault by my grandpa. Nothing could have prepared me for the hands that were on me, the guilt I felt, or the pain he left in my life.
Man or Bear? I picked a bear because a bear wouldn’t force me like the man did. A bear wouldn't understand the word "no," but the man would understand it and choose to ignore it, just like the man did. I picked a bear because if a bear attacked me, nobody would ask me what I was wearing. No one would say I wanted to be attacked by the bear. I picked a bear.
I once loved my grandpa. He showed me how to swing at the park, he showed me how to do math. But he also showed me how not to push a kid on a swing, he showed me how easy it is to become uncomfortable around a tutor or teacher.
I was convinced I'd never stop choosing a bear when I thought about the man—the one man in my life who has hurt me more than anyone. But as I closed my eyes and felt the tears trickle down my face, I heard my dad's footsteps walking up the stairs and began to sob. I couldn’t choose a bear when I had him.
The man taught me what love is not, but my dad taught me what love is. My dad grew up with the abuse of his father in other ways than I did, yet it was still not love. I will forever look up to my dad, not only because he taught me love and provided the biggest support in my life, but also because he taught me love amidst his own struggles with Man or Bear?
Unfortunately, when you are forced into picking man, you grow up faster than anyone around you. Your childhood loses a few years, you grow up more mature than your peers, and you have to face the trauma silently, while everyone else around you stays their young, innocent selves. As I grew up facing the trauma and dealing with my innocence leaving me, I learned about resilience.
Resilience, I’ve come to learn, is not something you’re born with—it’s something you build piece by piece. When I first opened up about the man, I thought my dad would hate me. The guilt and shame washed over me every day, as if I had shattered something irreparable inside him. But instead of letting that brokenness define me, I found strength in the people who supported me, in my father’s unwavering love. He didn’t just listen—he helped me rebuild. Each conversation, each tear, each late-night talk at the kitchen table wasn’t just about healing from the assault; it was about learning that I could trust again, that I could stand again, that I was stronger than I ever thought I could be. Resilience wasn’t just surviving; it was the process of discovering who I could become on the other side of pain.
So today, three weeks after being asked "Man or Bear?", I choose "or." To me, "or" represents the courage to be brave, to learn, and to fight for justice. It means embracing my creative and strong self. It means using my voice and refusing to back down, even after enduring four years in court. Choosing "or" is about standing for what is right, beyond simple labels or choices. I support a man if he's right, and a bear if he's not. "Or" is my third alternative, transcending the original question. It means using my background and past to shape who I am today, without letting it limit who I can become. Choosing "or" isn't just about avoiding pain—it's about choosing strength, choosing my own path, and refusing to be defined by a past I didn't choose. It is my commitment to strength, resilience, and telling my story until it is heard loud and clear.
BY: ALY GRAY