The Pain of Surviving Abuse From the Ones Who Were Supposed to Protect Me
This one cuts differently. It isn’t about strangers in the dark. Instead, this is about blood, trust, and about being betrayed by the very people who were supposed to keep me safe. My story is the truth about surviving abuse from the ones who were supposed to protect me.
See, when people talk about trauma, they usually imagine some external danger. A bad man on the street, a freak incident, a rare tragedy. But what about when the danger lives inside your house? What about when the threat wears a familiar face? When “I love you” becomes the most dangerous phrase in your life?
Surviving abuse from the ones who were supposed to protect me meant being groomed into silence. Conditioned to question myself. Punished if I spoke up. Rewarded for pretending nothing happened. That’s how they keep the cycle going. Through manipulation, gaslighting, and fear.
How They Conditioned Me Into Silence
And when you try to speak out?
You’re met with disbelief.
“You must have misunderstood.”
“That’s just how they are.”
“Don’t ruin the family.”
Let me tell you something right now:
I didn’t misunderstand.
I didn’t make it up.
I didn’t “ask for it.”
I survived it.
Surviving abuse from the ones who were supposed to protect me leaves a fracture in your soul that takes a lifetime to heal. Because when the people who raised you also destroyed you, you grow up with no blueprint for love, no roadmap for safety, and no idea who to trust, including yourself.
Healing From Surviving Abuse From the Ones Who Were Supposed to Protect Me
I had to learn to parent myself.
To protect myself.
To become the safe place I never had.
And it wasn’t some overnight healing journey.
It was ugly.
It was lonely.
It was full of setbacks.
But it was mine.
And I kept walking through the fire.
I Will Not Stay Silent
You see, the world wants survivors like me to be quiet. To move on. To “forgive and forget.”
But surviving abuse from the ones who were supposed to protect me isn’t something you just move on from — it’s something you rise from. And rising means remembering. Speaking. Exposing.
I won’t protect the ones who broke me. I won’t carry their shame on my back.
Not now. Not ever again.
