Names have been changed.

I was 9 years old when my Uncle Julio started behaving inappropriately. He would tell me that my butt was big or that I had nice breasts. Then he would make faces like the dudes do at the corner, like I was a piece of meat that he was ready to devour. I physically developed very early, but I was still a little girl, not a woman. It was me, my mother, her brother Julio, my other uncle Ray, and my grandmother living in our house.

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When I was in the 4th grade, Julio started to touch me in places that he shouldn’t have. He first did it when we were playing around, taking advantage of our wrestling. At first, I thought it was OK. He never threatened me to stay quiet. He would just buy me things. He would give me money, presents, and food that my mother couldn’t always afford to get for me. She could only take care of what I needed and not what I wanted. This made me feel like I owed it to him to tolerate his inappropriate touching, like it was supposed to happen, like it was only right.

He bought me everything I asked for, which meant I didn’t have to bother my mother. I knew that she didn’t have a job, so my uncle giving me things took the pressure off her. I thought that after my mom got her job back it wouldn’t have to happen anymore. But she was never able to get her job back, so it seemed like we still needed Uncle Julio’s bribes.

Plus, my uncle and I had fun when he wasn’t molesting me. He was always able to keep me laughing. He would tickle me and make funny faces and gestures. He was being a father figure to me when he didn’t have to be. I also felt bad for him because he had a disability in his right hand that made him look weak and unattractive. He never had any kids or got married, and I think that he may possibly still be a virgin. So I let him do this to me even though I didn’t like it.

I don’t think that he cared one bit about my feelings when he was getting his own satisfaction molesting me. And for a long time, I didn’t even know how I felt.

Anger I Didn’t Understand

I started getting into a lot of fights at school. I’d talk back to teachers and leave the class to hang out in the hallway. I was angry a lot, and I didn’t know why. My mother knew I had anger, and she sent me to therapy sessions, which made me think that something really was wrong with me. At school I got the impression that therapy was for crazy people, people who had things wrong with them.

The therapy sessions made me angrier because I couldn’t trust anyone. I never spoke about my uncle to my therapist. I only told my best friend Michele what was happening.

I thought that I was angry about my parents. My mother didn’t have a job, my mother and father were always arguing, and my father was in and out of my life. Meanwhile, the abuse escalated. My uncle began asking me to take off my clothes. I never did, but one time I dropped my towel so he could see me. He’d told me that if I didn’t drop the towel, he wouldn’t buy me the things that he had promised to buy me.

When I was 10 years old, I met a boy named Peter. At first I saw him as just a friend. At this age, in the 5th grade, I was pretty much a tomboy, and I saw boys as only friends. But then I began to act more like a young lady around Peter, dressing and acting more like a girl. Soon Peter was touching me the way my uncle did, but my feelings were different when Peter did it to me.

Nobody to Tell

I liked it when Peter did this to me. It made me blush, smile, and giggle. But when my uncle did it to me it felt disgusting and wrong. This contrast made me realize that what my uncle was doing was wrong and needed to be stopped.

But I didn’t know what to do. I felt stuck. I couldn’t talk to anybody except Michele about it, and she told me not to tell any adults. I couldn’t tell anyone in the family because I knew that they would take my uncle’s side.

I never considered telling Peter about it. I felt like he wouldn’t care or he would judge me, so there was no point in telling him. I felt like he would look at me differently and that was the last thing I wanted since I was falling for him. I couldn’t tell any teachers because I felt like they wouldn’t understand and somehow I knew I would end up in trouble.

Even though I now knew the abuse was wrong, I continued to keep it a secret for the next few years. I became depressed. I was admitted to a hospital after confessing to my therapist that I had had thoughts of committing suicide when I was 12.

After that, I became less passive about the abuse. I decided that I wanted it to stop no matter what, so I began to spray my uncle with cleaning products or air freshener when he’d touch me. I also came up with a plan to somehow videotape or record him admitting it to get him caught, but I never got to that plan. I was going to show it to my mom so that she could show it to the police and he would go to jail. I just wanted to be happy again with my mom.

The Truth Slips Out

I made the mistake of trusting a teacher with this information. It was a hot day, the second to last day of 8th grade. I was sitting with my favorite teacher at the time, Ms. Maley, and she began to rub my back. We started talking and I blurted out that I didn’t think my mom loved me.

Ms. Maley asked why I said that, and I answered, “We have a lot of problems at home. I hate that she can’t see the sh-t my uncle is doing to me even though…”

image by YC-Art Dept

She interrupted me. “What do you mean? What is your uncle doing to you?”

At this point I started to realize that I was saying the wrong thing to the wrong person. But it felt like there was nothing I could do to stop it. I made her promise not to tell anyone, and then I told her about the molestation.

She got angrier the more I told her. I moved in my chair a lot and fidgeted. I began to cry. This was the first time I’d told anyone besides Michele, so I broke down while Ms. Maley held me in her arms. She looked at me with such sympathy. She gave me a long and needed hug. It was the first time I felt that somebody cared. A huge weight was lifted off my shoulders, and for the first time in a long time I felt good.

My Mom’s Accusing Look

That afternoon I was in my room watching my television as usual. I heard the door but I ignored it. A while later my mother came in my room and said, “Some people are here to see you.” She looked confused, and I thought I saw regret in her face and heard it in her voice. But to this day I can’t figure out what her regret was for.

My mother asked, almost in a whisper, “Did you tell a teacher that Julio was touching you?” She asked me the question accusingly, like I shouldn’t have said anything even if it was true. And then I realized that the people were from Children’s Services (ACS).

I told my mother the truth. She looked as if she was sure that I didn’t know what I was talking about and then she asked me if I was sure that it wasn’t just a dream. I was stunned. All I could do at that moment was to back away with tears welling in my eyes. I was hurt.

I went to speak to the ACS workers. They seemed mean and arrogant. As soon as I walked in the lady briefly introduced herself and the other worker. She put up her hair into a ponytail and nastily said, “Look, I’ve had a long day at work and I really don’t wanna be here right now. So I’ma ask you one time and tell me the truth. Did he or did he not do it?” I reluctantly began to tell her about the situation because at this point there was no turning back.

I never considered lying about it after that. I wasn’t the one in the wrong, he was, and I thought I knew that I couldn’t suffer anymore for something that he did to me.

After that, my uncle did stop touching me. I felt relieved about that, but the rest of the family was on his side and against me. They barely talked to me. One of my great aunts, Maria, actually told me that I should consider changing my story to ACS if I wanted to stay with my mom. No one asked me if it was true.

My mother didn’t say much. Sometimes she would look at me for a long time like she wanted to tell me something, but she couldn’t find the words. Other times she would just try to avoid eye contact with me. She seemed mad at me.

I thought I was ready for that type of reaction, but I wasn’t. She’s my mother and I love her. I thought she would be by my side when I needed her the most. But she wasn’t and it broke my heart.

I was home for another two months, which felt like an eternity. Then I was taken into custody and placed in the ACS building. The next day, I was placed in a DRC (diagnostic residential center). I was discharged from that place about four months later and was placed in a foster home. I’ve been in five different foster homes since.

Doing It All Myself

The worst part about ACS removing me from my home is waking up every morning and not seeing my mother. I can’t live with her because she still lives with my Uncle Julio, but I do keep in contact with her. I’m my mother’s only child, and I believe that she didn’t want me to ever get hurt and that she never wanted to believe that her brother would bring harm to me.

I’ve been in foster care for two years now, and I’m handling things alone because my mother can’t. She gets too emotional and somebody has to be strong, and I guess that somebody has to be me. I don’t expect my mom to move out from my uncle because she doesn’t have a job and can’t afford to, but I’d like her to take his pictures off the wall and I would like for her not to talk to him, at least not in my presence.

I would also like to feel proud of her but I never do. I pray that one day my mother can be there for me the way I need her to be. But until then I’ll try to replace crying by filling myself with pride.

I’m not a quitter and that’s part of the reason why I’m proud. I realized when I went into care that I now needed to look out for myself because nobody else was going to. It’s a willpower thing. You’ve got to have will and be resilient.

You have to care for yourself whether someone helps you or not. No one in my family was proud of me. No one ever told me the right thing to do; I just went with my instincts and tried to develop good morals and principles on my own.

I’ve been able to keep myself together all this time—doing well in school and other activities, being careful with boys, learning to love myself. I am extremely proud of that. That first day away from my mother, I didn’t think I could make it, but I have come a really long way.