When I was nineteen, I finally shared the secret I’d kept all my life—that my dad had sexually abused me for most of my childhood. My parents had recently divorced so the fear that my disclosure would end their marriage no longer applied.
My mom knew of another girl my dad had molested before my mom met him so she offered to go with me to report him. I told my mom that I didn’t want to take action out of vengeance. Looking back, the truth was much more complicated.
My dad had controlled so much of my life up to that point, even more than I realized. I was groomed for so long to protect him, even at my expense. Telling my mom about the abuse was one thing, but telling the police was another.
Soon after I broke my silence, I confronted my dad. He admitted to what he’d done, but blamed his parents instead of taking responsibility for the years of abuse.