Why It Took Me So Long to Admit It Was Abuse (My Story)

For years, I couldn’t say the word abuse. I couldn’t describe what happened or even allow myself to think about it. I couldn’t think about my childhood without those memories overshadowing everything else.

Because I was a child when the abuse happened, and because it took place many years ago, there are still parts of my story that feel hazy. Trauma has a way of affecting memory, and while some of the details are difficult to recall, there is one thing I know with certainty: I experienced childhood sexual abuse. Admitting that has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but it’s helped me regain a sense of power and control over my story.

There are many reasons why it took me so long to admit what happened, and my hope is that by sharing my experience, you may recognize some of those same reasons in your own story. If you or someone you love has struggled with similar experiences, please know that healing is possible. If you’re looking for practical steps after recognizing abuse, I share my healing journey in Healing from Childhood Sexual Abuse.

A personal note: This post shares my own experience with recognizing abuse. Everyone’s experiences are different, and I’m not suggesting that my story reflects everyone’s situation. If parts of this resonate with you, I hope they help you feel a little less alone.

In This post, I REFLECT ON:

• I Didn’t Know What Abuse Was
• I Thought Abuse Had to Look Different
• Shame Kept Me From Admitting the Truth
• Admitting It Felt Like Betraying My Family
• The Moment Everything Finally Clicked
• What Changed After I Finally Called It Abuse
• If You’re Struggling to Call It Abuse Too

I Didn’t Know What Abuse Was

In my experience growing up in a South Asian family, open conversations about “good” touch and “bad” touch were uncommon. Rather than teaching me what boundaries were acceptable and unacceptable when it came to my own body, I was primarily taught how I should behave around men (e.g., always sit with your legs down and close together, never wear clothes that could be perceived as revealing etc.). Because I was a compliant child doing exactly what I was taught, identifying my abuse became incredibly difficult.

Deep down, I feel like there was always a small part of me that questioned if something was wrong. However, because I lacked the education to understand the gravity of the situation, the idea of keeping a “secret” between my abuser and I easily overpowered any doubts I had. Even though my relationship with my parents was loving, it wasn’t an environment where I felt comfortable voicing my doubts. Out of fear of potential negative consequences, I kept quiet, assuming that everyone was going through the exact same thing.

I Thought Abuse Had to Look Different

Throughout the abuse, I was manipulated into believing that this had to remain a secret between my abuser and I. My abuser framed it as a private game, which made it feel exclusive and almost intriguing to my childhood mind. He also repeatedly told me that the experience was my choice and something I actually wanted. After hearing this over and over again, I eventually accepted it as the truth.

Over time, this “game” created a distorted sense of attachment to my abuser. In my mind, it couldn’t possibly be abuse. After all, he was a trusted family member whom my parents frequently put in charge of my brother and I. I deeply internalized the confusion: how could it be wrong if it involved someone we trusted, someone I had grown attached to, and a secret experience that only the two of us shared?

Shame Kept Me From Admitting the Truth

As I grew older, every time I thought about my childhood, I was overcome with feelings of guilt and shame. I reached a point where I was beginning to realize that my experience wasn’t something everyone went through, and I found it increasingly difficult to think about my childhood at all.

I became consumed by questions like why I didn’t recognize the abuse sooner, why I didn’t stop it, or why I never told anyone. Many survivors blame themselves for what happened. I share more about why this happens in Why do Survivors Blame Themselves After Childhood Sexual Abuse. Because I had been made to believe as a child that the abuse was my idea, I grew up thinking there was something wrong with me, which only amplified the shame I already carried. Eventually, it became so overwhelming that I started suppressing my memories and distracting myself whenever they surfaced, hoping that if I ignored them long enough, they would eventually disappear.

I refused to fully admit the abuse, even to myself. Instead, I tried to convince myself that I was remembering things incorrectly or misunderstanding what happened. I mean, if I never allowed myself to think about or process my trauma, did I really have to acknowledge that I had been abused? I convinced myself that speaking about it out loud would only make the shame and pain worse, so suppressing it felt like the only way to cope.

Even as I write this post, feelings of shame still creep in, and every part of me wants to distract myself rather than sit with these memories. Despite all the healing I’ve done, I still find it difficult to place myself back in the past. I have to constantly remind myself that I’m judging my childhood actions through the lens of an adult. When I intentionally look at my experiences through the eyes of the child I was, it’s easier to give myself compassion and understanding.

Admitting It Felt Like Betraying My Family

Growing up, my extended family was incredibly close-knit, and I feared how our dynamics would change if the truth ever came out. To protect my family and their reputation, I developed an avoidance response, forcefully pushing away any thoughts of the abuse and refusing to speak about it. I was terrified that opening up would potentially make my abuser look bad, which was something I wanted to avoid because of the impact I believed it would have on everyone.

My parents trusted him completely to take care of my brother and I, so by default, I trusted him too. In the South Asian community, blind loyalty and perpetual respect for elders are deeply ingrained. Because of this, the thought that an elder could intentionally harm me never even crossed my mind.

As I grew older and began to process what happened, I was constantly consumed by what would happen if this “secret” was exposed. I felt a heavy sense of shame about the potential gossip, fearing what people would say about my parents and me. I worried that because I was a child when it happened, people wouldn’t believe me, or worse, they would blame me, ultimately ruining my family reputation.

The Moment Everything Finally Clicked

The longer I went without processing my abuse in a healthy way, the harder it became to live my daily life. I began feeling like I was living on autopilot, trying to get through each day. I struggled with persistent feelings of hopelessness, depressive thoughts, and continued to suppress memories, praying every night that things would somehow get better on their own.

It wasn’t until a situation happened within my family that was completely unrelated to me that I began to question everything. To this day, I don’t know why, but watching that situation unfold made something click in my mind. For the first time, I realized just how unresolved my trauma was. It awakened a part of me that finally realized that, for me, healing required professional help.

I began therapy, and my life changed. Walking into my first session was terrifying because saying the words out loud somehow made everything feel more real. I spent years convincing myself that staying silent was safer, so speaking those words out loud felt like stepping into the unknown. The patterns, behaviours, and reactions that had always felt confusing or made me believe something was wrong with me finally began to make sense. I started to understand why I responded the way I did as a child and how those same patterns had followed me into adulthood. Over time, the shame and guilt I carried for so many years were gradually replaced with validation, support, and the understanding that none of what happened was my fault.

Today, I’m still learning how my childhood experiences have shaped certain thoughts, behaviours, and patterns I carry into adulthood. The difference is that, in the past, I lived with unhealthy patterns and accepted them as part of my identity. Now, I actively work to reframe my thinking, challenge those negative patterns, and replace them with healthier ways of coping and responding.

What Changed After I Finally Called It Abuse

I always imagined that once I became strong enough to acknowledge my abuse, the weight would lift off my chest immediately. Instead, naming my experience did two things at once: it brought both relief and guilt at the same time, leaving me overwhelmed by emotions I didn’t know how to make sense of.

On one hand I felt a profound sense of validation and a newfound comfort in speaking my truth. For the first time, I felt ready to heal. However, simultaneously, I was flooded with a mix of anger, confusion, and grief for the life I might have lived. I found myself questioning who I would be without this trauma, while battling a misplaced sense of shame that I should have known better or done something to stop it.

Initially, confronting my truth felt much more difficult than suppressing them. There were numerous days where the overwhelm made me want to retreat into my old avoidance techniques rather than face the abuse head-on. The hardest part wasn’t admitting that I had been abused. The hardest part was accepting that the child I had spent years blaming was never the one who should have carried the blame in the first place. However, over time, those raw, negative emotions began to fade away, slowly replaced with validation and self-compassion.

Today, I no longer view myself as someone who “should have known better”. Instead, I see myself as someone who is healing from something that was never my fault. I refuse to let the actions of someone else define the rest of my life. The greatest thing that naming my abuse did wasn’t create instant peace, but it opened the door to begin healing.

If You’re Struggling to Call It Abuse Too

If you’re struggling to name your experience, that’s completely okay. You don’t have to put a label on something if you’re not ready. What matters most is that you’re getting the support you need to heal.

If you’ve ever questioned whether your experience was abuse, I hope my story reminds you that you’re not alone. Questioning your experience is something many survivors go through. You can choose whatever words feel right for your situation, and no matter what those words are, you deserve to be taken seriously and supported. You don’t need to label your experience to deserve help or begin healing.

Your story matters. You matter. And always remember that you are so much more than what happened to you.