I confided in my parents about being abused and yet they did nothing

Alia in highway

When a trusted grownup violated the trust of a child

The first time I was violated I was 8 or 9 years old. My mother’s cousin, who is also my aunt’s (bua’s) husband, had come to our house. Ours was a small house. My parents and my brother were in the house. But still the brute got hold of me in an opportune moment in my parents’ bedroom. He held me tight, thrust his hand inside my frock and bit my lips.

I ran to my mother in the kitchen as if a fawn escaping a tiger’s paw. Though I did not realise well what had just happened yet I told my mother everything, because I hated the experience. Alas! Fake family prestige held my father from doing anything for me. He lacked the courage to confront his sister’s husband. I was bewildered. I’d expected Ma to do something. I was confused.

Related reading: Teenage rape. The end of innocence.

Then it happened again

They did nothing, but couldn’t they have been careful?

They did nothing, but couldn’t they have been careful?

If they were at least careful I would have been spared further trauma. On a Raksha bandhan, a few years later, we were all invited to my bua’s house. Her house was near my maternal grandfather’s house where we were visiting then. That brute came to our house to have Rakhi tied by my mother. Yes, my mother still tied him Rakhi. While returning he proposed to take me and my brother with him while my parents were to finish a little work and join us later. My parents let me go! My protests were drowned. No one, absolutely no one heard my trembling heartbeat.

Bua’s house was big. It did not take the brute much time to catch me unguarded. The few years which had elapsed between the two incidents only made me a more attractive prey. He pinned me on the bed and crushed my breasts. I wanted to shout but my mouth was gripped in his jaws. He stuck his tongue into my mouth right up to the gullet. Then he crushed me so brutally that I gasped for breath. He was thrusting himself violently on me. After a few minutes of hellish struggle he let me go.

Related reading: How to tackle catcalling, wolf-whistling and other forms of harassment

Was it my own fault?

He did not even warn me not to tell anything to anyone. Was he sure that I would not tell or that even if I told no one would confront him? How correct he was! Unlike other scared children, this time too, I was able to tell everything to my mother. Not a word was said. That night I lay awake as I could hear my parents talking in a hushed tone. In the morning, to my utter shock, my mother told me to hush up.

child abuse crying
Representative Image: source

I was 12 then, old enough to know what had happened with me. Rushing to the washroom, I cried inconsolably. I puked. I wanted to bang my head on the wall in anger.At the same time  a doubt crept into me. Why didn’t Ma and Papa say anything? Was it my fault then? But that day something changed. I stopped sharing my feelings, my secrets with my Ma any more.

Related reading: I will never do to my daughter what my parents did to me. They pushed me into hell

My trauma left a long-lasting impact on my relationships

But this incident was yet to claim more relationsips. Years later, when I was married, the first few months were a replay of the same horror, though it was perhaps my own making. Whenever my husband came near me I was traumatised. An otherwise normal person became a scared and disoriented person in bed. I dreaded the nights. My husband at first tried his best to make me comfortable, but that made me wilder. He started suspecting I didn’t like him and asked me about it. This trauma started taking its toll on our marriage and also my health. I was nervous all day. My hand shook uncontrollably. Our relationship was becoming more and more strained.

I knew I had to do something

And then my husband stopped using the same bedroom. One part of my mind was relieved but the other side said, it is enough. I must do something right now. I should tell him everything. If he understood, then our relationship would be saved. If not, then it is already on the verge of breaking. I should take this risk.

I bared my heart to him. My fear, my anger, my hatred, I bared it all. For hours ran the cascade of tears. He slowly took me in his arms. Cocooned me in his embrace. I felt a deep solace. He understood my pain! Gradually I fell asleep in his arms, peacefully, for the first time after our wedding.


Haunted by childhood abuse, how do I move forward?

My uncle touched me wrongly


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