Because it’s supposedly the time to be with family, and I’ve “broken my family apart” with honesty, I’m writing this because it’s time to free my mind as well as a few facts. I have a family member (not naming names due to slander) who sexually harassed and assaulted me starting at the ripe age of 15. This harassment and assault carried on until I was 20, when I finally got the bravery to stand up to him.

It all began with him just talking to me, recognizing that I was a black sheep in the family, and knowing no adults in the family trusted me (because I was such an awful child).

I never said anything when I was younger for a handful of reasons; one being I felt no one would believe me. Second, I felt my family would blame me, as all teenage girls are sex-driven vixens, right? (Extreme scoff and eye roll.) Third, I didn’t want to hurt my younger cousins; I didn’t want them to feel the insecurities and heartache that would follow had they known their father was indeed an old man-seeking-teen sexual predator. Fourth, I was completely embarrassed that my uncle had harassed and assaulted me; sex was a shameful subject to speak of, especially in the environment I was raised in. And last but not least, I didn’t want it to be real, and I felt if I said it and acknowledged it, then it would become very real. I knew if I exposed him it would bring more misery to my life than I could possibly endure. My family was already on guard to attack me for any reason possible, and at the time I had no idea why they disliked me so, but now I see their motive was jealousy. I was the daughter of the screw up-addict in the family, and maybe they expected or hoped I would follow in her footsteps. My mother and father abandoned me at three weeks of age, and my grandparents took me in and raised me to the best of their ability. They provided me with a magical childhood and shielded me from dark truths. At least three of their five children (including my biological mother) envied my childhood, and every aspect of my youth was criticized and held up to five comparison charts. “The witches”, I would call them, as every time they rounded together some kind of bullshit would roll out of their cauldron.

Sorry, I got off track. Back the predator. Now, I’m not sure if I should call him a child molester because legally I was still a child, in hindsight I was definitely a child, but no teenager wants to be considered or named a child. And I’m not sure what the grey and blurry lines are that define a molester versus a sexual predator, but what I do know is his behavior and treatment towards me was 110% unacceptable and unwanted.

He took attention to the fact that I was naive and vulnerable and played up the friendly uncle card. He talked to me about everything and made me feel like it was safe to open up to him. And of course sex came up in conversation. I had one really terrible experience with a boy my age, got my heart ripped out and I was terrified to let myself get involved with anyone again for a long time. During this period, I recall him saying, after finding out I indeed wasn’t having sex with anyone, “…if you don’t go out and have fun and have sex, I’m going to tie you to the bed and fuck you with a dildo.” I might have been 16, possibly 17, and in my head I thought maybe he was joking, or his comment wasn’t actually offensive or a red flag because I had been taught that the only form of rape was male/female intercourse. Most of my childhood conversations regarding sexual predators were explained in the sense that a sexual predator would almost always be a stranger, no one ever told me what to do if it was an adult you and your family trusted. What lies I was taught. I was totally misled and completely uninformed. I was prime pickings for any predator: naive beyond imagination, tiny and petite, and I had no one by side.

Over time, he grew bolder and would corner me into showing him my boobs, and continue to pry about my sex life, as if it were an open casualty for conversation. But the straw that broke the camel’s back was an experience from when I was 20. I was at his house for a family gathering, and someone asked me to run to the store to grab something, and he immediately volunteered to drive. I was already on edge because of being in his presence, so I pretty much pleaded to go solo, but everyone around responded with, “Just let him take you, what’s the big deal?” The big deal was that I knew my creepy uncle was chomping at the bit to get alone with me, and I couldn’t tell anyone why I was so concerned. Before we could get a quarter of a mile down the road, this creep had yanked up my jean skirt and my underwear in one grab, and was ready to go further. I remember him making a comment about how small my clit was, and in that moment, I was terrified he may actually take me somewhere and rape me. I was in utter shock that it was happening and completely furious. I was a victim of abuse and violation, and infuriated that I had been trapped in this nightmare. How dare he abuse me, and in the same breath criticize my body. It was in that split second that I finally felt brave; enough was enough. Because I was truly alone with him, without any tiny children or wife in ear shot, I yelled at him and said, “Get your fucking hands off of me”. It was the first time I stood up to him. His first response was “Do you want me to take my dick out, will that make you feel better?” And I quickly responded with an “Absolutely not, don’t fucking touch me ever again.” I suppose in his attempt to make the grocery run not awkward he said, “I’m sorry, Jessie, I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.” As if doing anything sexual with your niece should be a comforting or appropriate action.

After that last incident, I let eleven years pass before I ever let those facts from my past cross my lips. I was 31, had been with my husband for ten years, and finally grew the strength and bravery to say something to him. I had never said those words to anyone. I know this probably sounds like a sexist statement, but having a daughter of my own changed me. I hate myself for not saying anything sooner, and not having those same feelings when my son was born, but I cringed at the thought of my daughter being around someone who had sexually harassed and assaulted me. The following year I finally told my aunt, and it was one of the most difficult things I had ever done. I already carried so much heavy emotion with this secret reality, and I hated for her to feel the same or worse, but I couldn’t go on pretending everything was normal, and ignoring major issues.

I know lots of people experience far worse things, and maybe because he didn’t physically rape me I didn’t feel it valid or worthy of telling on him…it seemed so minor compared to other stories. But as an adult and a parent, I want to show strength and educate others, especially my children.

As a warning, you can’t judge a book by its cover, and as the saying goes they can be like a wolf wearing a sheepskin. I know it can be difficult to accept that the people you know and love in a different light could possibly be guilty of treating others terribly, but when I finally came out with everything, and in turn, everything was admitted, one of my self righteous aunts (not the one married to the predator), said in response to me, “How do you think he feels?” This was also the same aunt who more or less blamed me for his actions, accusing me of going to his house and openly asking him how to get guys to have sex with me, making me responsible for this adult’s actions. For the record, if I ever had questions about sex, I never even considered asking my gossipy aunts, or even more specifically my creepy uncle. My response to “how do I think he feels”: I think he feels like he got caught, and like he knew better than to behave as he did, as a grown man in his late thirties.

Why did I wait so long to say anything, continue to keep quiet and go over to their house and blend in? Because I can’t imagine being 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, or even 20 and being accused of my own sexual assault and harassment. I can’t fathom what torment that may have brought me. But I do know that I am my own woman now, and I have more courage than I have ever had, and those people who have no faith in me are meaningless to my life. I will no longer let my demons from my past, or my insecurities shape me or my life. I have two really important humans that take priority over anything else in my world, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. This is me.

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