Highlights
Warning: The following essay discusses sensitive topics including child abuse, sexual assault, and self-harm.
Childhood is supposed to be a safe and happy time in a person's life. But for me, it was a time of confusion, fear, and silence. The adults who were supposed to love and protect me were often the same ones who caused me harm—or who failed to stop it. For many years, I carried shame that was never mine to carry. Today, after years of silence, I am sharing my story because I finally realize that it was never my fault.
Some of my earliest memories are of harsh words, criticism, and fear. Growing up, I often felt like I was walking on eggshells around my mother and grandmother. Their moods could change quickly, and I never knew what version I would get on any given day. Sometimes, the abuse was emotional; other times, it was physical. I learned to stay quiet, make myself small, and try desperately not to upset anyone.
A Violation of Trust
When I was around four years old, my mother's boyfriend began sexually abusing me. At an age when I should have been playing with toys, watching cartoons, and learning to read, I was exposed to things no child should ever experience. I did not fully understand what was happening. I only knew that it made me uncomfortable, scared, and confused. Children trust adults and are taught to obey them. When the adult hurting you is supposed to care about you and keep you safe, it creates a confusion that is difficult to describe.
As the abuse continued, I began to believe many of the lies survivors often tell themselves. Maybe I had done something wrong? Maybe I deserved it? Those thoughts were reinforced by messages I received from the adults around me. Instead of protection, there was blame and silence. The abuse did not stop there.
My babysitter's husband also sexually assaulted me. Again, someone I should have been safe around chose to violate that trust. Living through repeated abuse changes the way you see the world. No place felt safe. I learned to be constantly aware of my surroundings and to anticipate danger even when none was present. I carried fear inside me every day. One of the most painful things about childhood sexual abuse is the way it affects a person's relationship with themselves.
Secrets and Shame
Somewhere along the way, I began believing my body was the problem. I remember being told, both directly and indirectly, that I was abused because of how I dressed. Looking back now, that idea seems absurd. I wore sundresses like countless other little girls. There was nothing inappropriate about me or my clothing. But children believe what adults tell them.
Over time, shame settled into my bones. I became uncomfortable with my own body. I began hiding beneath oversized boys' clothes as I got older. Baggy shirts and loose pants became my armor. I thought, if I could only disappear—if I could hide every curve of my body—maybe, I would finally be safe. Of course, my clothing was never the reason for the abuse. The reason it happened is because bad men were allowed into my life. That truth took many years to understand.
Throughout my childhood, I carried secrets that felt far too heavy for someone my age. Every day was a battle between wanting someone to help me but being terrified of what might happen if I told. Fear, shame, and confusion kept me silent. The abuse continued until I was 13 years old.
What finally brought it to an end was my sister's courage. She told what had been happening to me. I still remember the mixture of emotions I felt about her sharing my secret. I was relieved that the abuse was finally stopping, but I was also afraid because everything was changing. I was angry about what had happened to me, and I was sad about the childhood I had lost. Most of all, I began to understand something I had never allowed myself to believe before—it wasn't my fault.
The people who hurt me took many things from me, but they could not take my ability to love and build a future. And they could not take my voice.
Lasting Trauma
Even though the abuse stopped, healing was never easy. Trauma doesn’t work that way. People often imagine healing as a finish line, but it’s really a lifelong journey. The abuse may have ended when I was 13, but the effects followed me into adulthood.
I struggled with overwhelming emotions that I did not know how to process. Sometimes, the pain felt so intense that I needed a way to make it visible. That is when self-harm entered my life. I began cutting myself because the wounds on my skin seemed easier to understand than the wounds inside. Physical pain gave me something tangible to focus on when the emotional pain felt impossible to explain. Looking back now, I understand that self-harm was never about wanting attention. It was about trying to survive emotions that felt too large to carry alone.
I wish I could say my struggles ended there, but as a young adult, I was raped. For years, I kept that secret buried deep inside. My husband was one of the only people who knew. Keeping that secret felt easier than sharing it. At least, that is what I told myself.
From Victim to Survivor
Over time, I began asking myself an important question. Why am I hiding? Why am I carrying the shame for crimes committed against me? The people responsible are the ones who should carry that shame. That realization did not erase the pain, but it changed the way I viewed my story.
For too many years, I saw myself only as a victim. Today, I see myself as a survivor. Being a victim describes what happened to me. Being a survivor describes who I became.
One of the greatest challenges I have faced has been learning how to trust and connect with another person. Trauma taught me that people are dangerous and that vulnerability leads to pain, and this caused me to build walls between myself and others.
When I met my husband, I brought those walls with me. I also brought fear and triggers, and both visible and invisible scars. Building a healthy relationship was not always easy. There were times when I struggled to feel safe and to trust. Often, I reacted to situations based on past experiences rather than present reality.
Yet, my husband stayed. Together, we learned what safety could look like, and we built trust one day at a time. We created a relationship that allowed me to experience the security I had rarely known throughout my life.
That does not mean the pain disappeared. Even today, I live with triggers that can transport me back to painful moments without warning. Sometimes, it’s a song; other times, a sound. Sometimes, it’s the way someone breathes, or the feeling of a prickly beard.
People who have never experienced trauma often struggle to understand this. They wonder why survivors can’t just move on. The truth is that trauma changes the brain. Certain sounds, smells, feelings, and experiences become connected to painful memories that can return years down the road. Living with trauma means learning how to navigate those moments rather than pretending they do not exist. It means recognizing triggers and practicing coping skills. It requires giving yourself grace on difficult days. Most importantly, it means understanding that healing is not measured by the triggers that still haunt you.
Reclaiming My Story
Today, I’m still working through the effects of the past. Some days are easier than others. But I'm no longer the frightened little girl who believed everything was her fault—or the teenager hiding beneath oversized clothes. And I am no longer defined by the actions of people who hurt me.
I am a survivor. But my story is not only about surviving trauma; it’s also about resilience and choosing to heal, even when healing feels impossible.
The people who hurt me took many things away, starting with my childhood, but they did not take everything. They could not take my ability to love and grow and build a future. Most importantly, my abusers did not take my voice. For many years, I stayed silent because I was afraid of what people might think. But now that I’ve found my voice again, I am sharing this piece of me to hopefully help other survivors find theirs.
Tonya Nickol is a writer who lives with her family in Ohio.
Editor's Note: The opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily represent the views, policies, or positions of the Institute for Family Studies.
*Photo credit: Shutterstock
