What No One Tells You About Surviving Childhood Sexual Abuse

No Shame in Survival: Reclaiming Your Peace After Childhood Sexual Abuse

I was sexually abused as a child. And for most of my life, I didn't say that sentence out loud. Not because I didn't know it was true — but because I didn't know I was allowed to say it.

That's the part no one talks about. Not the trauma. Not the flashbacks. Not the psychology.

The silence.

The part where you carry a memory inside your body like a secret, but you keep living. You laugh, you date, you work, you perform, you succeed — and deep down, some part of you believes you must have done something to deserve it.

That's the mindfuck of childhood sexual abuse. It doesn't just hurt you. It rewires you.

The Silent Epidemic: What the Numbers Tell Us

I was seven years old when it began. Too young to know how to stop it. Too young to even fully understand what was happening. And they knew that. For five years—until I was twelve—it continued.

I was asleep when it started—waking up to hands on my body, paralyzed by confusion. In a home already fractured by violence and addiction, where was I supposed to put this new reality?

That's what people forget when they ask survivors,

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" "Why didn't you fight back?" "Why did you still talk to them after?"

You're not alone in that silence. Research shows that between 60-80% of child sexual abuse survivors withhold disclosure, with many waiting 5 years or more to tell anyone—if they ever tell at all Recent studies indicate that many children endure prolonged victimization or never receive intervention because they don't disclose what's happening.

The gender disparity is stark: 1 in 9 girls and 1 in 53 boys experience sexual abuse or assault at the hands of an adult. Child sexual abuse affects boys and girls at different rates, though all children are at risk, but boys are significantly less likely to disclose their abuse. Studies show that women are more likely to disclose to parents, while men often only tell friends, if they tell anyone at all. Research shows significant gender differences in disclosure patterns, with women reporting disclosing to more people and receiving more positive responses than men.

Think about that. Millions of survivors silently carrying their trauma, just like I did. Just like you might be doing right now.

Because abuse doesn't always feel violent. Sometimes it feels confusing. Disorienting. Sometimes it feels like love, laced with poison. Sometimes it feels flat out fucking weird and you don’t know why.

And when your body reacts — when you freeze, or go numb, or dissociate — you blame yourself. Because no one ever taught you that those are trauma responses. You just grow up thinking: "I should've done something."

But you did. You survived. That was everything.

The Silence That Became My Identity

I didn't just carry the memory. I carried the silence. The shape-shifting shame that shows up in performance, perfectionism, people-pleasing.

I became someone who had it all together. Because I was terrified that if anyone saw beneath the surface, they'd see what I was trying to bury.

Growing up in a strict religious household only deepened this shame. My mother wielded faith like a weapon—a tool for control through fear. When my father cycled in and out of mental hospitals from the time I was twelve, I learned that vulnerability meant weakness, and weakness was punished.

Between eviction notices and economic insecurity, between prayers and violence, where was the space to speak about what happened in the dark?

And I wasn't alone. Studies show that victims who experience both sexual abuse and family dysfunction face even greater barriers to disclosure. Research also reveals that children from homes with violence, addiction, or mental illness are not only at higher risk for abuse but also less likely to tell anyone when it happens. Childhood sexual abuse often occurs alongside other adverse childhood experiences, increasing both risk and barriers to disclosure.

This is what shame does to survivors. It doesn't shout. It whispers: "This is your fault." "Don't make a scene." "Don't ruin their reputation."

And for years, I didn't.

Because here's the hard truth: Sometimes your abuser is someone everyone loves. Sometimes they're kind, respected, funny. Sometimes they're a mentor, a family member, a friend.

And when that's the case, you learn to protect them more than you ever learned to protect yourself.

The Healing Journey: Non-Linear and Necessary

It's not linear. It's not tidy. And it's not just about naming the abuse. It's about facing what the abuse taught you to believe about yourself.

That your voice is dangerous. That your instincts can't be trusted. That closeness is confusing. That sex is something you owe — or avoid. That you should be over it by now.

I believed all of that.

Even in therapy, I found myself minimizing. Talking about "boundaries," "power dynamics," "inappropriate behavior." Because "abuse" felt too sharp. Too raw. Too real.

Research shows that it can take decades for survivors to find the language for what happened to them. Studies reveal that the average age of disclosure for adult survivors is between 40 and 50 years old—decades after the abuse occurred.

Most people don't realize that 90% of child sexual abuse is perpetrated by someone the child knows and trusts. This betrayal leads to what researchers call "betrayal trauma," making it even harder to recognize and name the experience as abuse. Most child sexual abuse is perpetrated by people close to the child, creating betrayal trauma that compounds the difficulty of disclosure.

It took years to say the word out loud without flinching. Not because I was lying to anyone — but because I had been lied to for so long.

The Truth That Set Me Free (and Might Set You Free Too)

You don't need a perfect memory to tell the truth. You don't need a witness. You don't need a confession. You don't need to forgive them. You don't need to justify your reaction. You don't need to sound calm when you finally speak.

You just need to believe yourself.

That's it. That's where healing starts.

Not in explaining. Not in confronting. Not in waiting for someone else to say, "Yeah, that sounds bad."

It starts the moment you stop editing your own reality for the comfort of people who never protected you.

And here's what I want you to know with absolute clarity: I am not ashamed of what happened to me. It wasn't my fault. And it's not your fault either.

You have nothing to be embarrassed about.

The shame belongs to those who hurt us, not to those of us who survived.

What I Know Now That I Didn't Then

Dissociation isn't weakness. It's survival. My brain was doing its job when it pulled me away from my body as I woke to unwanted hands.

Shame isn't the evidence of guilt. It's the residue of being silenced by a home culture that prized appearance over reality, that valued religious reputation over genuine safety.

Your abuser doesn't have to be a monster. They just had to know better — and chose not to.

You don't owe anyone a sanitized version of your story. Not the parts about the abuse. Not the parts about growing up with a father institutionalized and a mother who couldn't protect you. Not the parts about poverty and eviction and fear.

You're not broken. You're someone who survived something you never should've had to endure.

And here's what research tells us: about 30% of sexual abuse is never reported to anyone. For many, the secret remains locked inside for decades—if it ever comes out at all. Studies show the average delay in disclosure can range from 3 to 18 years. When abuse victims do eventually disclose, research shows the average delay can be years or even decades.

Men face unique barriers to disclosure. Social stigma, masculine identity concerns, and lack of recognition that what happened was abuse all play roles in this silence.

And if this happened to you — I want you to hear me clearly:

You're allowed to be angry. You're allowed to grieve. You're allowed to name it. You're allowed to talk about it without guilt. You're allowed to live — fully, loudly, unapologetically — even if they never apologize.

Final Word: You Don't Have to Carry Their Secret Anymore

They didn't just steal your safety. They taught you that staying quiet was the "right" thing to do.

But silence doesn't make you noble. It just makes you invisible. And you don't have to live like that anymore.

You get to speak. You get to feel. You get to rage. You get to rewrite the narrative — not for them, but for you.

Because you were never the problem. You were the one who lived through sexual abuse while also navigating violence, addiction, mental illness, religious control, and financial insecurity. You were the one who kept going when the world gave you every reason to quit.

And now you get to tell the truth.

— Cody Taymore

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Resources for Survivors

If you're a survivor of childhood sexual abuse, please know that help is available. You are not alone, and you deserve support:

National Sexual Assault Hotline (RAINN)
1-800-656-HOPE (4673)
24/7 confidential support and connection to local resources
Online chat: rainn.org

SNAP (Survivors Network of those Abused by Priests)
1-877-SNAP-HEALS (1-877-762-7432)
Support for survivors of religious and institutional abuse
snapnetwork.org

1in6
Resources specifically for male survivors
1in6.org

StrongHearts Native Helpline
1-844-7NATIVE (762-8483)
For Native American and Alaska Native survivors
strongheartshelpline.org

Remember: Recovery isn't linear, but it is possible. Reaching out is an act of courage, not weakness.