I didn’t know there was something wrong with me when I was a child. I didn’t know that what had been done to me when I was age 3 to age 8 had made me bad somehow. Eventually, that is exactly how I felt though. The only thing made clear to me as a child was that I was not to talk about what had happened to me. My mother demanded complete silence. I was not to tell my sister, grandma, cousins, friends, church leaders, school teachers, boyfriends, or even later my husband. If anyone knew what my brothers did to me it would destroy our family. So I kept quiet for years and let it destroy me instead.

Finally, when I was sixteen I told a bishop at the Mormon church I attended. He had me repent and read a book called The Miracle of Forgiveness. Making me repent was the first time I understood that what happened to me made me bad. He never spoke to my parents or reported it to anyone. Once I left home and went to college I told the man I was engaged to. His bishop told him to break off our engagement and he did. My best friend asked what happened so I told her, and she didn’t speak to me for months. Both my ex-fiance and friend eventually apologized, but the damage was done. I remember feeling overwhelmed and really bad for telling anyone. It weighed on me for months. These overwhelming feelings only served to strengthen my mom’s order to be silent.

In 2000 I met and got engaged to my now-husband. I was worried he would not want me if he knew what had happened to me as a child. I was also worried that my childhood would impact our marriage and knew I needed to let him know before we got married. Even with the bad experiences I’d had telling people, I still felt strongly that in relationships it was important, to be honest, so I took the risk and told him. I told him I knew I was going to be overprotective of our kids if we had any. I told him it was ok if he wanted to call off the engagement, he didn’t. With his support, I finally began going to counseling.

In 2005 we were pregnant with our first child. Up to this point, I thought I was doing pretty well. Only a handful of people knew my secret. Married life and work kept me busy with other things. Life was mostly good. I am not sure what it was about carrying my own child that changed me, but I will say that the over-protectiveness I had been concerned about was definitely triggered. I was only a little way into my pregnancy when my family decided to have a little family reunion at my parents’ house. Suddenly the thought of giving my brothers hugs while carrying my baby girl gave me anxiety. This was only the beginning of what would be years of struggles.

I knew this needed to be dealt with, but was not sure how to move forward. With the reunion looming a few weeks away I decided to contact my oldest brother, he had been the primary abuser. He was open and supportive, and we talked for over an hour. He told me how much it tore him up for years. He said sorry. He admitted to telling a bishop when he was 19 (I

was 10 at the time). Again, this bishop did not report it or even speak to me. I don’t know if the bishop even spoke to my parents. As we spoke my brother cried, I cried, and I found some hope that maybe our family would start dealing with it. I went to the reunion.

 

By then, all the warmth expressed over the phone had dissipated into panic. He did not want the secret out. I decided my next step was to talk to my mom, let her know that I spoke with my brother and ask for help to work on healing. Once the reunion was over and everyone left, I took my mom for a ride in my car so we could talk. She was very agitated that I had talked to my brother. Then she asked if my husband knew. When I told her yes she started screaming at me and attacked me physically. I was 5 months pregnant and driving a car. To say I was shaken from this event is an understatement. I immediately dropped her off and began the long drive back to my home, the following years would be an exhausting struggle.

Over the next few years, we moved our family many states away to create some space for me. Distance at this point was my only defense. We also welcomed three more children. I began reading book after book about emotional intelligence and anything else I could find to build a healthier foundation for my children. I wanted my kids free to be who they were, not to be told who they were. I wanted them to feel accepted and authentic. I wanted my kids to have honesty in their family, not secrecy, I felt this was so central to having healthy relationships. Last, I wanted my kids to have emotional intelligence and healthy boundaries. It was important to understand that even if we were all related, that it didn’t mean they had to accept bad behavior from each other or their parents. That each family member deserves to feel safe and respected. My husband gave me complete support in everything I wanted for our children. Slowly we began to thrive.

In 2018 my father’s health was declining. I decided to make one last attempt at healing with my family. I went to visit my parents and invited all my siblings. My husband stayed home with our kids, as I knew I wasn’t ready to have them near any of my family yet. My siblings all came, and so did their children. It was amazing to see all my nieces and nephews. It was amazing to see my sister, the oldest of us, who I had grown close to over the years. But it had difficult moments too. My oldest brother gave me a hug and he started crying. He said he didn’t think we would ever all be together again. He was happy and emotional, and it was genuine. He was happy that we were all together, but he had just hugged me and I was frozen. Everyone was smiling and laughing, talking and moving around me, while I withdrew inside myself. Everyone asked why my husband and children couldn’t come. I said finances, but the truth was much deeper. It wasn’t just that I didn’t want to be hugged by my abusers, I didn’t want my young children to be hugged by them either.

This is what silencing does, it makes the abused carry all the pain alone with no respect for boundaries. I was in a room full of people, and very very alone. It creates a family that wants to move on without healing or repairing any damage to those hurting. My parents had caught my brother multiple times when I was little, and I am told he got in trouble, but they never spoke to me about it. Silence… At one point my oldest brother invited our middle brother to join in the abuse. Eventually, he did. What if my parents had not made us keep secrets from siblings,

especially my sister who was supposed to be watching me? What if they had not silenced the abused child? What if they had made steps of protecting and repairing our family, instead of pretending our family?

I wanted to hold onto hope we could mend our family. I wanted to believe I could be included, simply with the understanding that I had certain boundaries for myself and my children. In early 2019 I decided I needed those boundaries for my own well being and healing, so I spoke to my mom about two choices: 1- We could either be honest as a family so that my boundaries could be respected and healing could move forward together; 2- I could disconnect from family and heal alone. She said all the right things, words of love and support that I had waited for years to hear. Apologies and tears about wanting to make things right. In the next breath, she said she loved me and was very supportive and understanding about my need to distance myself from family. That she didn’t fault me for needing space from everyone. She said all the right words, and in the end chose silence over me. She chose for me to heal alone.

I disconnected from brothers, in-laws, nieces, and nephews… It was extremely painful. None of my sisters-in-law would know why I disappeared. None of my nieces or nephews would know why. None of them know the truth. I am simply gone. For a number of months since then, I have kept my mom in my life, my dad does not have much longer to live and I have had a hard time letting go completely. On September 11th of this year, my mom said the following to me, “You won’t have any friends if you tell. No one wants to hear about that.” This triggered memories of when people had done exactly that, turned their backs on me. It made me scared to speak out again. I could feel myself withdrawing emotionally from the world. Not this time though, I refuse to fall again. Because there are people who will love me and will be my friend regardless of what happened to me as a child. I am now officially disconnecting from my mom.

The weight of this secret for me is more than the loss of my innocence and loss of family. It is the weight of feeling responsible for the happiness and safety of both of my brother’s wives, kids, and future grandkids. If I tell I destroy the world they know. If I don’t I risk another child’s life like mine being destroyed, not a risk I am willing to take. This weight is crushing. Anxiety and worry overwhelm me. I step back, needing to move slow, and focus on accepting myself just as I am. I surround myself with people who care, ones that understand my bad days, and laugh with me on my good. I am becoming more open and authentic, and I know that my best years are just beginning.

“The more you love your decisions, the less you need others to love them.” Unknown 

 

I’m so sorry for and frustrated by your family’s treatment of you. I’m also extremely impressed by your strength, your moral code, your parenting, and your spirit.