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I was SA when I was 10 years old approximately, and my cousin 13 approximately (he is 3 years older than me). My depression start at that age approximately too, so know that im thinking about it that was maybe the reason. This week i told my mom about it, im 18, so my trauma happen 8 years later, i feel guilty because she want to talk with my family, not all, but yes some people of my family about what happen, i dont want ruin his life, even if he ruin mine, if he get some consequences i will feel guilty because this happen 8 years ago. My mom dont understand why i worry so much about it, i dont understand eather. I know that maybe he was conscious about that what he do was SA, because he was 13 approximately, not 7, not 8, not 9, not even 10. He meet his girlfriend when she was 17 and he was 19, and sometimes is a asshole, but i cant stop feeling guilty about it, even when i dont understand, because no one give me sexual education at 10, and im autistic, and when i was a kid it was more dificult undertand things. Sorry for my broken english, English is not my first language, i just want know why is not my fault, because its feel like it is.

A few years ago, I had an unpleasant experience. I had a cousin a year younger than me; at the time, we were both minors when this started (I'm 1.60 meters tall and he's 1.80 meters). A lot of things are going through my head, but we go on family vacations, so when it happened, we were at the beach. Anyway, it all started when he would hug me around the waist and put his face against my breasts. At first, that was it; I considered it harmless but strange since neither of us was into physical contact. As the days went by, it escalated. He would hug me around the waist a lot, press himself against me beyond all limits, climb on my back, almost immobilizing me, and press his body against me to the point where I could feel his erection. Then he started looking for moments alone to press himself against me. He would get into my bed in the early hours of the morning and hug me, maintaining an erection against my backside and breathing heavily in my ear, so I couldn't tell if he was asleep or not. But if I kicked him out, he would... He refused to back off, demanding more time. This escalated until one day he touched me. He was touching my buttocks, kneading them, and pressing his erection against my leg, seeking friction. With his other hand, he was kneading my breasts and trying to slip his hand under my shirt. I set boundaries a few times, but because I didn't want things to be awkward between us, I wasn't firm. I don't know how to categorize this since we were both minors, and I don't know what to think.

I don't know in which moment started. It was my father. I was a child. I was the favorite one between all of our brother and sisters. It was always subtle. The contact when I lay down on his bed, the slaps on the butt, or the comments that "you are so pretty that if I were your age and you weren't my daughter I would be with you.", added to the touch when I climbed onto his legs. It took me many years to understand that this, added to the fact that he did not see me as a normal father sees a daughter, hurt me tremendously. I felt like a trophy, like an extension of his body. I discovered that all this was abuse more than a year and a half ago. When I realized it in therapy I cried a lot. I felt very guilty about what happened, and even to this day I question whether I am not inventing everything, since everything is plausible and existed in reality, I just didn't want to see it as abuse. My older brother also abused my sisters and me, however, I have never been able to tell my family about my father. Seeing the pain they have felt with the news about my brother (relieved by one of my sisters), I see that it would only generate inconvenience and pain in my family. And being pragmatic, I couldn't achieve anything by revealing the news to my family other than complications. I know that if my sisters knew, they would want to talk to my father, and my father knowing would be able to stop paying my and my younger sister's alimony. And considering we're in college, it's something I can't afford. But I'm not going to lie, I feel disgusted every time I talk to him, I wish i would never have to talk to him.

I was a 7 year old girl with a lot of confidence, maybe that's why or just luck happened but the truth doesn't matter in this story, I grew up with only cousins and vafones brothers in a very close family, everyone knew everything it's quite surprising that they didn't know until I spoke what happened, during a vacation I don't remember the year or the place but I do remember that I was playing a hulk play 2 game, it was very late like 4 or 5 in the morning and my cousin was taking care of me he was older than 10 years old and he told me to sit on his lap, I remember how he took the game controller from me and then everything is confusing I don't remember anything until the following year, I matured quickly everyone said it was because I was an intelligent and agile girl, I was the next time that cousin tried to put a hand on me when I was 8 almost 9 I broke his nose.

Four Years Later: My Story Didn't End in That Courtroom Four years ago, I walked out of a courtroom after one of the hardest chapters of my life. I didn't know exactly what healing would look like or how long it would take. I just knew that I wanted to move forward. Four years ago, I stood in a courtroom and shared some of the hardest parts of my life because I had to. Today, I'm choosing to share my story because I want to. I want someone who is struggling to know that they aren't alone, that what happened to them doesn't define their worth, and that there is still so much life waiting for them beyond what they've experienced. I'm not sharing this because everything is okay now or because I've completely healed. I'm sharing it because I've learned that moving forward is possible, even when the effects of what happened are still part of your everyday life. Several years ago, someone I trusted betrayed me in a way that changed my life. He was my cheer coach, someone who was supposed to be a mentor, someone I looked up to, and someone I believed I could trust. Instead, he took advantage of that trust. He was eventually convicted of crimes involving the exploitation of a minor, unlawful photographing of a minor, and attempted child sexual abuse material. I was a victim in that case. I remember how quickly everything changed. One day, I was a young girl going about my normal life, and the next, I was trying to understand something that no child should ever have to experience. The hardest part wasn't just what happened. It was realizing that someone I had trusted had never been the person I believed him to be. I questioned myself. I struggled with trusting people. I felt angry, embarrassed, confused, and overwhelmed. Things that had once felt normal suddenly became difficult. Even places and activities I loved could bring back painful memories. It also changed the way I saw myself. Being a teenage girl is already hard enough when it comes to confidence and body image. You're growing up, figuring out who you are, and learning to feel comfortable with yourself. After everything happened, I became incredibly self-conscious. I struggled with how I viewed my body and with insecurities that were already difficult enough to navigate at that age. What happened added another layer to those feelings, and it took a toll on my confidence and the way I felt about myself. One thing I wish I had understood sooner is that I had nothing to be ashamed of. I was a child who trusted an adult who was supposed to look out for me. The responsibility for what happened was never mine to carry. It took time for me to begin separating the way someone else treated me from the way I viewed myself. I wish I could go back and remind that younger girl that she was never the problem. Then came the court process. I had to face what happened, speak about things I wished I could forget, and watch someone who had caused so much pain show little to no remorse. I never received the apology I deserved. For a long time, I thought getting through court would mean finally getting closure. I thought that once it was over, I could put everything behind me, but I've learned that healing doesn't work that way. A court case can end, but that doesn't mean the emotional effects disappear with it. For the first year or two after court, I had nightmares almost every night. Sometimes they were about what happened, and sometimes they were about what could have happened if he hadn't been caught when he did. Even though the legal process was over and I knew he had been held accountable, my mind didn't seem to understand that I could finally begin moving forward. Sleep became something I struggled with, and even now, four years later, there are nights when I still have trouble sleeping. I was prescribed medication for PTSD, depression, and anxiety as I worked through everything. As of this past June, I'm no longer taking any of those medications, which has been a meaningful milestone in my personal journey. However, I also know that medication was part of the help I needed at the time, and I’ve had to learn that there's no shame in that. Being off medication doesn't mean everything has suddenly disappeared. I still struggle with trusting people. What happened made me question people's intentions, even when they've given me no reason to doubt them. That has affected my relationships. There are times when I find myself hesitant to trust people, not because of something they’ve done, but because of what someone else did years ago. It's frustrating sometimes, knowing that someone who is no longer part of my life can still influence the way I respond to people who genuinely care about me. I still struggle with my body image and confidence. I still have moments when I feel uncomfortable with myself, even though I know I have nothing to be ashamed of. I also find myself constantly aware of my surroundings. Sometimes, I feel like I'm always on alert, questioning situations or people around me. It's as if a part of my mind is still trying to protect me from something that happened years ago. These are things that don't necessarily go away just because a court case ends or because enough time has passed. While all of these things have gotten better, they still haven't completely disappeared. I think that's one of the biggest misconceptions about healing. People sometimes assume that once enough time has passed, you should be okay, but trauma doesn't follow a timeline, and neither does recovery. Something I've learned over these four years is that healing isn't linear. There are times when I feel like I've made so much progress, and then something happens that brings back feelings I thought I had worked through. I used to get frustrated with myself when that happened. I would wonder why I was still struggling, why I couldn't just move on, or why something from years ago could still affect me so deeply. I still struggle with this sometimes, but I'm learning that having a difficult day doesn't mean I'm back where I started. It doesn't undo the work I've done or the progress I've made. For a long time, I was incredibly hard on myself. I felt like I needed to be strong all the time. I didn't want people to see me struggling, and I didn't want to show what I thought was weakness. I was embarrassed by what had happened, even though I had absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about. So I pushed my feelings down. I pretended I was okay when I wasn't. I convinced myself that I should be able to move on and that I shouldn't still be struggling with something that was already over. Looking back, I wish I hadn't put so much pressure on myself. I wish I had understood that being strong didn't mean hiding how I felt. I wish I had opened up more, allowed myself to cry when I needed to, and stopped feeling like I had to have everything together. I spent so much time trying to convince myself I was okay that I didn't always give myself the chance to actually work through what I was feeling. That's something I wish I could tell my younger self. Let yourself feel. Be angry if you're angry. Be sad if you're sad. Cry if you need to. Talk to someone when things feel overwhelming. You don't have to pretend you're okay just to make yourself or everyone around you more comfortable. You don't have to prove your strength by suffering in silence. Most importantly, stop being so hard on yourself for struggling with something you never should have had to experience in the first place. Another important part of my healing journey has been my relationship with God. Throughout everything I've experienced, I've learned to turn to Him for strength, comfort, and guidance. My relationship with God has grown tremendously over these past four years, and I truly believe He has helped me get to where I am today. I've always believed in the saying, "God gives His toughest battles to His strongest soldiers." I believe that God wouldn't give me anything I couldn't handle, even during the moments when I questioned how I would ever make it through. There have been times when I've felt overwhelmed, when I've questioned why things happened the way they did, and when I didn't understand what my future would look like. Through those moments though, I've found comfort in knowing that I can turn to God. My faith hasn't taken away every difficult day, every painful memory, or every struggle I still face, but it has given me hope when I needed it most. It's reminded me that I don't have to have everything figured out and that I don't have to carry everything on my own. I don't believe that what happened to me was something I deserved or something I needed to experience to become a better person, but I do believe that God has helped me find growth, purpose, and strength in the years that followed, and while I know I still have healing to do, I trust that He will continue guiding me through it. My faith doesn't mean that I never struggle. It means that even when I do, I have somewhere to turn. When I look back at the girl I was four years ago, I wish I could tell her how far she would come. I wish I could tell her that she would find reasons to laugh again, that she would continue making memories, and that the things she experienced would not have to define the rest of her life. Because today, that's what I'm most proud of. I'm proud that I kept going. I'm proud of the person I've become. I'm proud that I've learned to appreciate life in ways I might not have before, and I'm proud that despite everything, I haven't allowed what happened to control my entire life. I don't want to pretend that what I experienced made me stronger every single day. There have been days when I've felt anything but strong. There have been moments of frustration, sadness, and setbacks. However, strength isn't always about feeling fearless or having everything figured out. This is a lesson I’m still trying to teach myself. Sometimes, strength is allowing yourself to be vulnerable. Sometimes, it's asking for help, and sometimes, it's simply recognizing how far you've come, even when you still have a long way to go. One thing I've come to understand is that moving forward doesn't mean forgetting what happened. It means learning that your life can hold so much more than what happened to you. To anyone who has experienced a similar situation, I want you to know that your feelings are valid. Healing isn't a competition, and there is no deadline for when you're supposed to be okay. You don't have to forgive and forget what happened right away. You don't have to pretend it doesn't affect you, and you don't have to share your story before you're ready. You are allowed to have good days and bad days. You're allowed to be proud of your progress while still acknowledging the things you're struggling with. Your experience is part of your story, but it is not the entirety of who you are. When I look back at the statement I wrote for court four years ago, I see a young girl who was hurting, confused, and trying to make sense of something she never should have experienced, but I also see a girl who, despite everything, still had hope for her future. In that statement, I wrote: "I don't believe in somebody being better than somebody else, but I do believe that people's actions define them as a person." Those words still mean something to me today. For so long, I struggled with the decisions someone else made and the ways those decisions affected my life, but I've learned that his actions were a reflection of his choices, not of my worth. I cannot change what happened or the decisions he made, but I can continue choosing how I want to live my own life, how I treat others, and what kind of person I want to become. Near the end of that same statement, I also wrote: "I hope to stay resilient to the pain you've caused me, and I hope to work each day to be a better and stronger person than you ever have been." Reading those words four years later brings up a lot of emotions. At the time, I wanted so badly to be strong. I wanted to prove that what happened wasn't going to destroy me. I wanted to believe that one day, I would become someone I could be proud of. While I still believe in the importance of resilience, my understanding of strength has changed. Back then, I thought being strong meant holding everything together. I thought it meant pushing through the pain, hiding my emotions, and refusing to let anyone see me struggle. Today, I know that strength can look completely different. Sometimes, it's allowing yourself to feel the emotions you've spent so long trying to avoid. Sometimes, it's admitting that you're having a hard day. Sometimes, it's giving yourself permission to heal at your own pace instead of constantly expecting yourself to be further along, and sometimes, it's simply being proud of yourself for how far you've already come. I've also realized that healing isn't about becoming the person you were before something happened. It's about giving yourself the time, patience, and grace to keep growing into the person you're becoming. If I could go back and tell the girl I was then anything, I wouldn't tell her to be stronger. I wouldn't tell her to move on faster or to stop letting things bother her. I'd tell her to be kinder to herself. I'd tell her that she doesn't have to earn the right to be proud of herself by being completely healed, and I'd tell her that one day, she'll look back and realize just how much life she's lived beyond the things she thought would always hold her back. Four years later, I'm still not exactly where I want to be. There are things I'm still learning to work through, feelings I'm still trying to understand, and parts of myself I'm still learning to give grace to, but I'm not where I was four years ago, either. I've grown in ways I couldn't have imagined back then. I've learned to appreciate the good things in life, to recognize my own progress, and to understand that having difficult days doesn't mean I've failed. I know I still have a long way to go, and I'm okay with that. I don't have to have everything figured out right now. I don't have to be completely healed to be proud of myself. He took away things I can never get back, but I didn't let him take everything from me. Four years ago, I was hoping that one day I would become someone I could be proud of. Today, I can say that I already am. While I'm still not where I want to be, I have hope that I'll keep growing, keep healing, and keep building a life that I'm proud to call mine. My story didn't end in that courtroom four years ago. I have a feeling, the best parts of it may still be ahead of me. 2 Corinthians 12:9 (KJV) — “And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.” Isaiah 41:10 (KJV) — “Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.”