“No one wants to read in the newspapers about abuse going on in the family because it feels too much like, ‘It’s not my world! It’s not my world!’”
My grandfather sexually abused me from as early as I can remember. Seven years ago he was declared guilty of sexual assault and sexual abuse of minors, only to walk free. Some of you may feel uncomfortable reading my story, but that is exactly why I wrote it.
Thirteen Years
When I was five, I suddenly became sick to my stomach. That feeling never went away. “Why is your hand there?”, my little sister and I would ask him. The silent inevitability of being touched in the armchair whilst grandma made dinner, and the beckoning to his bedside in the early hours haunted our weekend visits. Between myself, my two cousins and my sister, the hide-and-seek games of ‘fee-fi-fo-fum’ announced his inescapable hands grasping beneath bed frames, duvets and our underwear. Endlessly tickling and groping his four granddaughters, we giggled nervously until our unknowing parents called us to the safety of their dining table.
According to Anna Glinski at The Centre of Expertise on Child Sexual Abuse, “One in ten children in England and Wales experience some form of sexual abuse before the age of 16”, with the majority of cases occurring in family relations like mine.
Like any young child, my innocence protected me from the bitter realities of my grandfather’s behaviour. While my inability to recognise sexual activity kept my impressionable conscience clean, it ultimately led to a longer, quieter and more sadistic suffering of the vile obscenities taking place in my childhood home. For 13 years, I silently endured the abuse, simply because I didn’t know grandparents weren’t meant to do that. So as my mind raced and my body squirmed, I assumed wholeheartedly, as children are taught, that the adult was to be trusted. That skin to be caressed is what a granddaughter should provide.
What if…?
I loved my grandfather; “Poppa”, we’d call him. On clear nights he’d show me constellations through a telescope in the garden. He’d bring us buttered toast on the white bread our parents would never allow. We’d build train sets across the carpet while Shaun the Sheep box sets played on repeat. He’d always tell me I was his favourite.
As I got older and my understanding of sexual activity and abuse developed, I continued as I had before: living in silence about my grandfather’s perverted behaviour. Anna explained to me; “Even when a child starts recognising something isn’t quite right, by that point, you’ll feel like you’re so engaged in it, you’re so a part of it, that the idea of telling somebody else is just massive”.
The responsibility to maintain my 12-year vow of silence overcame me. It was too late to come forward now. A wave of considerations flooded my mind. What would my parents think of me for not telling them sooner? Would they think I had enabled, permitted, or even enjoyed it? Would my dad be ready to disown a parent, and side with his child over his own father? Every family relationship would be compromised.
And worse, what if I was wrong? A moment ago I was oblivious to what was happening. How can I be sure I understand it now? What if I send an innocent, loving grandfather to prison? How can I betray him after the toast, the trains, the TV?
The doubt, the shame, and the threat of eternal guilt exhausted 12-year-old me. No child can manage such a frightening array of alien moral dilemmas, and the abuser knows that. As I had done for my life thus far, it was simply easier to endure. It is this internal and social isolation that facilitates child sexual abuse.
Walking on Eggshells
In 2017, at a sunny family gathering, my elder cousin pulled me and her sister aside. Only moments earlier, she had seen our grandfather harass the two of us. After years of suffering her own abuse, she was ready to tell her parents.
The weeks that followed passed quickly. When the news of my cousin’s disclosure reached my parents, my father took the next flight from our home in Switzerland to meet with his siblings in England. During what should have been a typical school day, my mother pulled me out of class to sit me down in Starbucks. There, my thirteen-year-old self, red with excruciating embarrassment, desperately tried to articulate an experience I was certain I was alone in.
“When there is a discovery of sexual abuse in a family, it’s like a bomb going off. No one knows what to say to the children. Everyone is walking on eggshells.”
I declined my parents’ offer to start therapy. At the time, I couldn’t see why I needed it. The abuse had been my entire life. If I had managed it this far, why should I need help now? After that, things went quiet. My grandfather’s name was no longer mentioned. My grandma attended family gatherings alone, and the spare pair of men’s slippers vanished from our hallway.
My uncle’s family took my grandfather to court. I declined to participate in the trial; I was depressed and adapting to our move to the Netherlands. Unbeknownst to me, my elder cousin courageously gave her testimony, prevailing even when the defence audaciously asked “But did you enjoy it?”.
No one knows how to navigate their family following the disclosure of sexual abuse. My parents asked me and my sister not to share the circumstances with our friends. Although intending protection, their silencing caused the shame of our experience to sting.
The Ironic Injustice
In 2018, my grandfather was found guilty of sexual assault and sexual abuse of minors. He avoided attending court and prison by claiming he’d developed dementia. He never admitted to abusing his grandchildren and continues to live in the comfort of his home.
Whilst I saw no correlation at the time, the resulting social chaos of my teenage years indisputably stemmed from the ramifications of my time as an unhealed sexual abuse victim. “What happened to you was traumatising, even if in the moment you weren’t sure what it was.”
The ability to give consent was foreign to me. When you’ve only experienced a world where you can’t give consent, you don’t bother thinking about whether you want to in the first place. Learning to say “no” was hard, but knowing when I wanted to say “no” was harder. “As a child in those circumstances, you have to put a lot of your feelings and fears, even if they weren’t conscious, down and down and down.” When your body has been so traumatically violated, your boundaries and desires blur. With no therapist to propose this impairment as a factor, my exposure to traumatic sexual experiences only accumulated as I navigated my adolescent years.
As the photos of my grandfather began to vanish from our photo albums, I too began to lose my memories of the more traumatising abuse. The ironic injustice here is that, like my own post-traumatic amnesia, my grandfather gets to forget his offences too, as ‘ill-health’ slowly deteriorates the burden of his memories.
Four years after first revealing my experience, a doctor treating my depression finally stated aloud that I’d suffered “traumatic sexual abuse”. As simple as it was, hearing those words and having someone recognise my circumstances was what ultimately allowed me to breathe.
Break Taboos
“I don’t expect you to react a certain way,” is how I prepare people today when I tell them about the abuse. I’m not looking for help or pity; I merely want you to listen.
As Anna herself declared, “No one wants to read in the newspapers about abuse going on in the family because it feels too much like, ‘It’s not my world! It’s not my world!’”. But it could be as much your world, your sibling’s, your child’s, or your parent’s, as it is mine. “By not talking about it we collude with the people abusing children because they depend on us not to talk about it.” It is only by breaking taboos that the 500,000 children facing sexual abuse each year can stand any chance of healing.
Shame, guilt, and doubt stop the majority of sexual abuse survivors from ever speaking out, even through adulthood. I cannot emphasise how lucky I was to be found, believed in, and supported, particularly in my endeavour to write this article. Thank you for reading it.
If you are affected by any of the issues in this article you can find details of organisations that can help via The Centre of Expertise on Child Sexual Abuse at www.csacentre.org.uk/get-support/.