Everyone Thinks He’s a Good Man But They Don’t Know What He Did to Me

I was about six years old when it started. Those were the years that should have been filled with laughter, safety, and innocence. But instead, I learnt fear. I learnt …

Relationship Oct 15, 2025 0 3 Add to Reading List

Everyone Thinks He’s a Good Man But They Don’t Know What He Did to Me

I was about six years old when it started. Those were the years that should have been filled with laughter, safety, and innocence. But instead, I learnt fear. I learnt to keep quiet.

Every time I close my eyes and try to forget, I can’t. Because he was close. He was older. Someone I trusted. Someone who should have known better. But he saw my weakness and used it.

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One day, when I went to bathe and no one was around, he came into the bathroom and asked me to touch him. He touched me too. Sometimes, he took me to his room, asked me to lie down without clothes, and used his body to play with mine. He would ask if I liked it. I didn’t even know what “it” was.

He stole my innocence little by little.

I didn’t understand what was happening. I didn’t have the words. I didn’t know what the white stuff was. I just knew something felt wrong. But I was too young to speak up. Too scared. He told me never to tell anyone. And I agreed—not because I wanted to, but because I didn’t know what to say.

It went on for about three years. Three years that changed my life before I even knew what life was. When it stopped, I thought I could forget. But I haven’t been able to.

It was only when I grew older that I understood what he had done to me. I learned words like rape, abuse, and virginity. And every time I heard them, it hurt deeply. What confused me most was not knowing if he had entered me or not. I didn’t know if I still had my virginity. I couldn’t go around saying I hadn’t been touched, and it wasn’t just about being a virgin. My pain was that the person who did this to me was my own elder brother.

When I started dating, I was scared of sex. Scared of being asked about virginity. My first boyfriend asked, and I said yes. Because I didn’t really know what sex was, or if what happened to me counted.

Then I met my husband. He is kind and loving. But I was afraid he would leave me if he knew the truth. So I told him I had been raped as a child, but by my brother’s friend. That is the story he knows. When we had sex for the first time, we realized I was still a virgin. We believed that maybe there had been no full penetration. But even with that, the damage was already done. I was still afraid of intimacy.

I want to love my husband fully. I want to be free. But the past lives in my body. Every touch from him reminds me of what I went through. Sometimes, I hope he falls asleep before I come to bed, just so I don’t have to face the fear.

Even now, at almost forty, I feel numb. Touch doesn’t mean much. What should bring joy and closeness brings pain and sometimes tears. My marriage is beautiful in many ways, but the spark between us was taken long ago. Taken by someone who should have protected me.

My mother is alive. Sometimes, I wish I could tell her everything. Just to hear her say, “I’m sorry.” Maybe that would help. But I stay quiet, because I want her to live in peace, even if mine was stolen.

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As for the man who hurt me, life hasn’t been kind to him. But people don’t know what he did, so I’m still expected to treat him well. He is my brother. That makes it hard to be free. If he died today, I wouldn’t cry. He killed a part of me long ago.

This is my story. This is my pain. I survived, but I carry scars. Every day, I try to make peace with the little girl I was and the woman I’ve become.

So forgive me if I’m overprotective of my daughter. If I don’t let her call men “uncle,” or go to sleepovers, or visit homes with boys. My innocence was stolen by my own brother. Tell me, then, who can I truly trust?