Dear young one,
How I wish I could wrap my arms around you and offer you the biggest hug. Your life feels like a whirlwind right now, and you’re struggling to comprehend the chaos that has just invaded your world. You’ve been hurt in a way that no child should ever have to endure. It’s not just a one-time incident; you’ve faced violation repeatedly, and you’re unaware that your body has been touched inappropriately.
I can envision you that day—returning home, confusion and fear etched on your face. It breaks my heart to know that you felt unable to share this with your parents. No child should face something so traumatic alone. I still hold resentment towards our mother for not being there when you needed her most.
There must have been a reason you felt you couldn’t confide in her about something that changed your life forever. If my own child were in that situation (and they have been), I would feel like a complete failure if they didn’t feel safe coming to me.
That day would mark the start of a difficult journey for you. I remember how hard it was for you to fall asleep that night, replaying the horrifying scenes in your mind and questioning everything. Was it normal for a “doctor” to examine you in a dark, damp cellar? And if he was really a doctor, why did he threaten you if you dared to speak up?
You were too young to understand. How could you grasp the concept of what had happened? Yet, the knot in your stomach and the burning sensation you felt made it clear that something was terribly wrong.
My heart aches for you, knowing you were alone, grappling with feelings far too big for a child to manage. I wish I could sit beside you, brushing your hair, and holding you close to make you feel safe again. I wish I could be the nurturing figure you needed at that moment.
Since you couldn’t speak out, the pain manifested itself in other ways. It makes me cry to see you acting out, desperate to rid yourself of confusion and conflict. I wish I could shake our mother awake to see your behaviors as a call for help. Instead of the warmth and support you deserved, you faced punishments and blame.
Fate had other plans, and soon after, someone who should have been a protector betrayed your trust once again. Whatever remained of your belief in goodness faded away. Your adult self still grapples with that loss. Did he even realize the impact of his selfish actions?
After that incident, I see you replaying it in your mind, questioning if all fathers treated their daughters this way. I wish I could tell you, “No, this isn’t normal. He was so wrong in what he did.”
By age 12, while your peers were focused on typical childhood interests, you sought knowledge about the troubling subject of touch. In a world where sex was a taboo topic, you turned to books, trying to find answers. I’m sorry you had to seek education in such a distorted way.
Dear younger self, I know it’s too late for me to say this, but you need to hear it: You are not to blame. You are incredibly courageous. Now, as a mother myself, I understand just how brave you were to keep moving forward without crumbling under the weight of your experiences. I’m sending you a hug filled with all the strength you needed back then. I’m whispering to you, “You’ll be okay,” because there was no adult to reassure you then.
I apologize to you on behalf of those who should have supported you—like our mother, who should have said, “I’m sorry I didn’t see what was happening.”
I’m proud of you for standing strong today, for seeking help when you needed it, and for building a beautiful family despite the past. It breaks my heart that your son had to endure similar pain, but I admire how he trusted you enough to share it with you. I only wish you had a mother who could have given you the love and support you provide him.
I hope these words bring you some comfort and help you release the burdens of the past. I’ve tried to give you a taste of what you deserved to hear long ago. It may never be enough, but I know and I’m truly sorry.