12/06/2025
I was 7, when I first started getting molested by 3 of my cousins.
I wasn't taught boundaries, personal space, or good touch vs. bad touch. I didn't think it was wrong, I honestly thought I was just hanging out with family. There were times they begged me, even when I said no. Sometimes they would wait outside the bathroom until I was finished, or until I fell asleep. Going to their house meant being molested, it was just part of it. This continued for years. I didn't realize it wasn't normal until I started dating and being sexual with partners. That's when I realized that intimacy isn't supposed to come from family members, and at 13, my “NO’s” were getting firmer. And one day, it had all just stopped. Growing up, my mom was in the home but not present. My father was never around. Because I had no siblings, I naturally gravitated toward my cousins. When I became older, I just needed to know how did I get thrown into family molestation? There was so much abuse being done, and everything being casually swept under the rug. No adults taking blame, or even being held accountable. Even now I am still conflicted with placing blame on my cousins, because I know they were only doing what they were being taught. We were all victims. I stayed silent because I didn’t feel safe. No adult was safe. Staying quiet was the only way to survive. It wasn’t peace. It wasn’t okay. It was fear, it was confusion, it was the only shield I had in a world where nobody saved me.
I had to dig myself out on my own. I now live with PTSD, depression, anxiety, and a binge-eating disorder. One thought, one smell, can take me straight back to those moments. When I had my own children, loving them and showing affection was incredibly difficult. My body was always in fight-or-flight mode. Even small touches made me believe that I was under attack. Having to tell myself to “breathe, you're okay” lasted for years. I’m 27 now, and the psychological effects of the trauma from 20 years ago still linger. I was told that I have to stop walking around like a victim, but I am a victim. Some days I’m conquering the world and doing phenomenal, and some days I feel like the trauma was just too damn much. So I give myself grace and space to grieve, and I get up and try again the next day. I told my mom when I was 22. I thought she’d finally hear me, finally hold me, finally choose me. But she brushed it off like it was nothing—said the past is the past, and there’s no reason to cry over spilled milk. And my father, he didn’t just blame me, he shamed me and told me that I should kill myself because no daughter of his, could have had that happen to them. They all failed me, my aunt who watched it happen, my mother who dismissed it, and my father who condemned me. I was a child with no protection, no guidance, and no safe adult in my entire world. How was I supposed to know better, if I was never taught anything?
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Child abusers, please stop and seek therapy and God.
Parents, talk with and believe your children. ❤️
Survivors, seek therapy. 💪🏽
(To share your story of abuse, message me)
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