Trauma is commonly associated with shame. We keep our trauma a secret because of that heavy feeling of shame so closely associated. We feel like somehow we are to blame for what happened to us. But something I’ve learned about a secret, is the power it can hold over you. However, once that secret is shared and it’s no longer a secret, it no longer has power over you. So, here are some of my secrets I’ve been working through for 20 some years.

When I was 4ish 5 years old, I was sexually abused by a family member. This happened multiple times. When I was about 12, I was sexually assaulted by a friends dad during a sleep over. This happened once and I never stayed the night there again. When I was 15, I was sexually assaulted by a guy 2 year older than me. I had always had a really big crush on him, and he knew that, and took advantage of that.

A lot of people have asked me the difference in sexual abused, sexually assaulted, raped, etc. To me, it’s whatever fits your experience and how you feel the term validates what happened to you.

So lets dive in at the start with the first abuse I experienced. A family member was grooming me. Using his position of power and authority to take advantage of me as a child. He was a favorite family member among my siblings and cousins. Always so fun, taking us to do exciting things. My nickname for him was “The Candy Man.” Now as an adult, I look back and of course realize this was all grooming behavior. He knew exactly what he was doing, asking me to keep “our secret.” But it wasn’t until the summer going into my freshman year that it got reported, and my life started to change.

One day out of the blue my cousin called to tell me about how she had been sexually assaulted by a family member. (the same family member) Suddenly, it was like a giant wave of emotion smacked me in the face. My stomach sunk, I was nauseous, and I couldn’t believe what I was hearing her say. I had lived my life almost forgetting this had happened to me as a little girl. Our brains are truly amazing at protecting us. That trauma gets suppressed in our mind, almost letting us forget all about it. I didn’t tell my cousin it had happened to me too. Not yet. I just encouraged her to talk to her mom and make a report.

A few days passed and all I could think about was every instance of abuse that happened to me, and how brave my cousin was for speaking out. I called her a few days later to tell her I too had been sexually abused by him, all those years ago. By this time she had told her mom and made a police report. I told her I didn’t want to tell my mom or file a police report, I just wanted her to know she wasn’t alone. In the back of my mind, I knew my parents would not handle this kind of news well and I didn’t want anyone to know. I still wanted this to be my secret.

A day later a detective knocked on our front door. My mom stepped outside to talk to her and it felt like they were conversing forever. That same sick feeling overtook my body as I paced in my room, looking out my window every few seconds to see them still talking. When my mom came back inside she said, “You have an appointment at the police station tomorrow to be interviewed. Your cousin said that you were being sexually abused by __?” I looked at her and said “okay.” Naturally, this infuriated my mom. I think looking back now, she was convinced this wasn’t true, but then my simple response of “okay” made her question her initial beliefs.

“Okay?!” She said. “What do you mean, okay?!” I said, “Okay, I will go talk to the detective tomorrow.”

The next day came and I went and spoke to the detective. Interview rooms have come a long way, thank god, because my experience was terrifying. I was sat in a small room with a woman (whom now I adore) that I didn’t know, and in front of me was a double sided window. My view was of a police officers lounge. At least that’s what it appeared to be. There were a handful of officers in uniform eating and conversing. I’m assuming their view was a mirror, but I’m unsure.

Talking to the detective was the first time (other than briefly to my cousin) I had spoken my truth. That I was a victim of sexual abuse. It’s true what they say about knowing something is true in your mind, versus saying something out loud, almost making it more true. Saying those words out loud, speaking in specifics of the abuse was painful. I felt ashamed and like I was in trouble for speaking about the multiple experience of abuse. Both because I was ashamed, and because I was telling a stranger something I hadn’t told anyone. A secret I had been holding onto since I was 5-6 years old.

The detective then said, “We have to make your mom aware. Do you want to tell her or do you want me to?” I asked that she be the one to tell my mom. It was hard enough to make the disclosure to her. I couldn’t imagine finding the courage to say it all again. Especially face to face with my mom. She brought my mom into the room and told her. Truthfully, I don’t even remember my moms response. I just remember having this feeling like everyone was judging me. I felt so exposed and dirty. I remember my body positioning being very closed in. Arms crossed, legs crossed, hunched over, almost like if I could make myself small enough, maybe I’d just sink into the chair and disappear. I wished.

I remember having a conversation with my mom on the way home. What I remember was she believed me, without question. She supported me from that very second on. She told me she was going to have to tell my dad. I remember being angry at that. I wasn’t ready for my secret to include so many others. Obviously I was naïve to think this, and making my dad aware only furthered my circle of support. However, my dad didn’t take the news lightly. I remember asking my mom where my dad was that evening, as he didn’t come home after work like he usually did. She told me he had gone for a drive around the dam. I went into my room, closed the door, and sobbed. It was then that I realized my life and the lives of those that loved me and this family member, were forever changed. And it felt like it was all because of me. (I had A LOT of self blame)

My extended family was made aware, as other female cousins in the family were interviewed as well, trying to identify if their were any more victims. Family dynamics got extremely dysfunctional from there. A lot of fighting, victim blaming, questioning, disbelief, and mass amounts of tears.

I look at this picture of me at 5 years old and I feel so many ways. I can’t believe that little girl was holding onto such a big secret. I wanna save that little girl from the isolation of her feelings that she doesn’t understand. I wanna tell her that “secrets” don’t exist among children and adults, so tell your mom what is happening to you, she will help you. I wanna take all of the scary sexual images out of her head that she doesn’t understand and fill it with images of baby dolls and family holiday memories of fun and safety.

I am still working to remember that little girl is me. That little girl was a victim, but I am a survivor. We are the same little girl, with the same mind, but we process those thoughts and memories differently.

It’s never too late to make a report and it’s so important to know the signs to make sure kids are having safe interactions with adults you think you can trust. This is an experience I will forever be healing from.

-Kenz