Recently, I was reminded of a family secret that I have keep. In my twenties through thirties, an extended family member repeatedly walked in on me as I was toweling off from showering—almost every time I stayed with him and his spouse. With a quick apology, he would leave. At first, I thought it just an error—full house, fewer bathrooms than users, etc. Then I realized he never walked in on me when I was brushing my teeth or peeing—only when I was naked. I tried to remember to lock the door. But, sometimes, I would forget—and, in he would come.
Of course, keeping this secret led to other violations, deceptions, and work-around’s. Once, when I had a broken foot and was particularly vulnerable, he squeezed my breast when hugging me hello. I saw him also fondly his mother-in-law’s breast. With me and his spouse as audience, he periodically told lewd stories of potentially true encounters.
Time went on, and I had a daughter. I decided I didn’t trust this person with my child. I did not want him to be alone with her. So, unless this limitation was stated, I would not leave her with the couple. This was hurtful to the spouse, as she assumed that I did not trust her with my child. I trusted her. I did not trust her spouse. This, also, I did not say.
The spouse is now dead. The perpetrator is now old. Our power dynamic has shifted—he is no longer the patriarch, and I am no longer a young woman.
At the time, I fantasized about stating how he had walked in on me at a family dinner one evening of a day when it had happened—and the family’s strong reproach of him. At the time, I thought my silence was out of respect for the perpetrator’s spouse. Now, I wonder. For one thing, I have no idea what might have been the response. I assumed my reveal would cause an uproar. Now, I realize it is probably more likely that my telling would have been met with indifference at best—I don’t think it was information that anyone really wanted to hear, and there were other signs of his misogyny that were being ignored. And, maybe it was this that kept me silent—the possibility of being dismissed, gaslighted, or blamed. Probably it was some of each—trying to protect both the spouse and myself.
Learnings from Keeping a Family Secret
Whatever choice you make when you have been—are being—violated is your right. It’s not acceptable that these situations exist—and particularly unacceptable that women, nonbinary persons, and gender non-conforming individuals are at higher vulnerability to sexual perpetration. Self-preservation is always legitimate. It is a system that needs changing, and not the responsibility of a vulnerable victim to redress.
But, what about my desire to “protect” the spouse? What does it say about my estimation of her strength to think that she needed to be shielded from this truth? I greatly respect this deceased woman. Repeatedly, she impressed me with her insights into others—clear-seeing, and simultaneously accepting and loving. She was compassionately perceptive. Why did I think it was in her best interest to hide this from her? Would I want someone to withhold such information from me? NO.
Were I able to go back in time, with the skills and insights that I now have, I would handle the situation differently. I find three big take-away’s from my experience:
#1: Self-Awareness, Self-Care, and Self-Preservation. If you are the object of intimate abuse, and to keep that secret to yourself, that is your right. After all, you did not cause this other person’s behavior, and you should do what is best for yourself, given this violation.
But know that the person will probably take your silence as an opportunity to violate you further. Wouldn’t it be nice if they matured, gained insight and respect, and just stopped? Certainly it would be. And, it’s highly unlikely. Perpetrators are wounded, defended individuals—not prone to insight and remorse.
I was not self-honest in how staying silent was self-protective—to acknowledge that my silence served me felt complicit. It wasn’t complicit—I wanted nothing more than for the violations to stop. I was unable to acknowledge that others might blame me, and that could illicit shame and self-loathing. It was highly possible that my telling would lead to a response that would trigger feelings of unlovability, and possibly being ostracized from the group.
So, if you decide silence is in your best interest, understand why. Then, you can plan how best to protect yourself from similar and possibly greater abuses.
#2: Speaking your Truth. If you do decide to confront the perpetrator, and/or tell significant others, recognize that you cannot control the response.
So, plan your telling careful. Would it be best to tell authorities, or have professionals present, for your safety? Most likely, you do not want to be alone with the perpetrator. For some reason, you are vulnerable—otherwise, they would not have picked you as their victim—so confronting them alone is unwise.
Consciously, I assumed I would be believed and the family would be outraged. I now doubt that—after all, I was not his only victim. Like most family secrets, the exact details of my experiences were unknown to others but the basic truth—that this person violated female family members’ bodies and was sexually inappropriate—was known. If there had been a desire to address the problem, it would have happened already.
Speaking your truth is about telling what you are experiencing—being true to yourself. Unfortunately, it doesn’t assure that the other person or systems will change—things might even escalate. The #MeToo Movement has shown the power and limitations of speaking up against misogyny. With enough brave tellings, solidarity, and time, we will have an impact. But, your one telling may not get you the reparations that you deserve. However, if you have the power and resources to speak, being true to yourself is extremely empowering—immediately—for you.
#3: Question “Protecting” Others. All intimate relationships contain some amount of deception: withholding of some information or presenting oneself in a filtered manner. Usually, this is done unconsciously. Part of enlightenment is seeing and revealing oneself more honestly in relationships. I don’t believe it is protective of a beloved to withhold a truth from them, if that truth provides them with the ability to more clearly make choices for themselves. I do believe it is inappropriate to clear your soul at another’s expense—to tell your truth because of your guilt, rather than in their best interest.
I have recently come to wonder how the spouse felt about her marriage. Would she have appreciated this information? Would it have confirmed other suspicions? Even if, at the moment of hearing, it was unwelcome, would she ultimately have appreciated knowing an unpleasant truth? Alas, I will never know.
And, were there other family members who might have been empowered to tell their truths, if I had had the resources to tell mine? And, even more importantly, might I have prevented future victims? Again, this is not my responsibility—I was a victim—but it was an opportunity. I could have negotiated my daughter’s time with the spouse differently, if I had told my truth. If there were future violations that I could have prevented, I do not know. And, finally, perhaps a confrontation might have initiated the perpetrator getting help—voluntarily or not. For these missed possibilities, I feel remorse.
Family Secrets—We’ve All Got ‘Em
We all have family secrets. Hopefully, yours is less egregious than mine—sadly, many are much worse. For any pain that you carry from being affected by your family secrets, I am sorry.
The first step is self-honesty: to name the secret and your response to it.
The next step is to examine what power you have to protect yourself from future violations. Some families or family members are—for at least now—too toxic to our development for us to engage with at all. Others we may be able to engage with, but with new parameters. And there may be permanent barriers that we will erect out of self-love. For example, I would never again stay in this person’s house—that just feels too vulnerable.
After thinking about how to protect yourself, decide who you want to tell the secret to—if not the involved parties, maybe a trusted professional or friend. It is lonely to feel that something has happened about which you cannot speak—it implies culpability, which although misplaced can be self-destructive. This may also help you develop stronger strategies for self-protection.
And, finally, is there something else you want to do with your pain? Is there some way that you can utilize this unsolicited abuse for the benefit of yourself or others? You don’t have to do this—you are not responsible for this family secret, for being subjected to these experiences. But, it may facilitate your healing to take your anguish and transform it—into art or motivation to support others, for example.
Blessings on you, my brave reader! All my love.
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