Another Lost Childhood

| By: Committee for Children

Editor’s note: Today’s blog was written by a dear friend of mine who also happens to work in the prevention field. Although everything in this piece is true, the author asked that it be posted anonymously.

There’s never a good time to tell your loved ones you were a victim of childhood sexual abuse. If you’re ever in that boat, be prepared—most people don’t take the news well. This seems especially true when the loved ones in question realize that the abuse took place right under their noses, that they missed all the signs for years, and that they could have stopped it. The best responses I’ve received when disclosing the details of my abuse to family, friends, and significant others are horror, outrage, pity, and guilt. The less favorable reactions have run the gamut from blaming the victim to denial and apathy.

As you read this, you may feel empathy and a willingness to put yourself in my place. And I appreciate that. But I ask that you also imagine that you are the adult who is hearing this story from a grown adult who was once a small child you cared about deeply. Imagine this is the story of your grown son, younger sister, or student. And think about how you might react.

Between the ages of 3 and 10, I experienced sexual abuse at the hands of three different individuals. It’s hard to believe, I know. Most stories I hear on the news and in my work involve molestation by one abuser—usually an adult the child and family are close to or at least familiar with. But my abusers were of different ages, preyed upon me at different times in my childhood, and, while my family definitely knew each of them, the abusers had no connection to one another apart from their individual relationships with my family members.

As a teenager and young adult, I developed an explanation for the unusual coincidence of being found by three different sexual predators within a seven-year period. The reasoning seemed clear: There was something about me—something inherently wrong—that led to these situations. It was a thought that plagued me for much of my life. I became paranoid and angry. I didn’t trust others, and I didn’t trust myself to choose good, non-abusive people to connect with and rely on.

It was a lonely time.

As an adult, I realize I did not bring these things upon myself and that the guilt I felt for most of my life was an unnecessary burden. On the other hand, I can’t deny that aspects of the explanation I came up with still haunt me. Something about me signaled to abusers that I was easy pickings. And something about my family allowed these people to become close to us, to molest me, and to get away with it. Perhaps the teachers, doctors, and caregivers in my life were oblivious to the psychological and physical toll the abuse took. Perhaps it was that the abuse started early and the lasting effects (depression, secrecy, and anti-social behavior) made me a loner and a prime target. Or maybe it was that I didn’t have any of the necessary skills to resist my attackers, to report their behavior, and to communicate accurately what had happened to me.

Now that I work in the field of prevention, I read a lot about skills that might have helped me at least report, if not prevent, the abuse. I feel as if I lost my chance at a real childhood, and it makes me sad and frustrated that the adults in my life didn’t teach me how to protect myself and empower me to feel ownership over my own body.  Now that I have divulged the secret of my abuse to my loved ones, many of them feel similar frustration. They seem to wish they could go back in time and tell me how to keep myself safe, not just from strangers, but from acquaintances, family friends, or anyone who might wish me harm. They wish they had let me know that I could come to them about anything that might feel confusing, scary, or strange.

I don’t blame my family or my teachers for the abuse I suffered, but the simple truth is that they were afraid to talk about touching safety. They thought my peers and I were protected as long as we knew not to take candy from strangers. It was a lapse in education, both at school and at home, that could have prevented years of sexual abuse followed by years of self-loathing.

So before you finish reading this, I urge you to take a moment to imagine a child you love. Hold the image of that child in your mind and imagine what it would be like for him or her to come to you in 20 years with a report of sexual abuse. You can help this not come true. You have the power to advocate for prevention education, to talk to children about how to stay safe, and to break the silence surrounding child sexual abuse. Schools and caregivers need to understand what a massive, widespread problem this is and do everything they can to make sure children are protected.