Childhood Sexual Abuse: Is Anyone Listening?

Every survivor of childhood sexual abuse remembers it differently. Some through nightmares, some through silence, some by punishing themselves.

This is Nicole’s story. Years later, she spoke of the childhood sexual abuse she had endured — through tears. Sadly, she had chosen the path of punishing herself.

I’m Soline, also known as The Shadow Bride. Nicole is my American friend from university, and right now, she’s my guest.

A Confession Long Overdue:

“A rough hand reached under the covers, toward my legs. I screamed in terror. My mother said, ‘You had a nightmare.’ But I knew exactly whose hand it was. It was my father’s.”

This is the story of my American friend Nicole — of abuse, and of a stepfather.

Nicole was mortified over the mess of the night before. She had gotten drunk, very drunk, and couldn’t fully remember the rest of what she’d done.

Ali was in the garden, watching the sea. Nicole, Liv, Camille, and I were in the bedroom. Chloe and Lea had left for Jordan that morning for an archaeological project.

Taking advantage of Ali being outside, we told Nicole what she’d done the night before. She was shocked hearing it — the worst part was that, blackout drunk, she had propositioned Ali for sex.

The shame of it crushed her. We all admired Ali’s moral integrity, so that proposition felt like a stain on him.

Breakfast, and a Side of Old Wounds

Breakfast was on the table… but Nicole wasn’t eating, her mood sour. She couldn’t even look at Ali.

Her mood dragged all of us down with it. Once again, it was Ali who lit the spark to lift the room.

“Mama Beatrice, why the long faces, all of you? Did someone come to ask for my hand and you turned them down? Careful — I don’t come cheap. No doctors, no engineers were good enough for my mother, apparently,” he said, laughing.

The first laugh came from Liv, then my mother Beatrice and the other girls joined in. Even Nicole dropped her frown and smiled.

I couldn’t help myself — I grabbed Ali’s cheeks and said, “My dark-eyed love, my little one, I’m never giving you to another girl. You’re mine, I’ll pickle you and keep you.”

Ali never lets anything go — he shot right back: “Looks like I’ll never be rid of you.”

“No, my love, I’m with you till death do us part. No escaping me,” I said.

The girls laughed, everyone’s energy and joy returned a little. They started eating with appetite. But Nicole still avoided meeting Ali’s eyes.

Words Fall Silent, Eyes Speak

Ali took a spoonful of honey. “Nicole, what is it, American cowgirl — are we not speaking? Come on, eat this honey, sweeten that mouth,” he said, smiling.

Nicole ate the honey from the spoon Ali offered. She thanked him, embarrassed.

Nicole said hesitantly, “Ali, I’m sorry about last night.”

“Nicole, why are you apologizing? Isn’t a human being someone who makes mistakes? How could I be angry at something God/Allah shows mercy for?” Ali said.

“God’s/Allah’s mercy? I don’t understand, Ali,” Nicole said.

*”This shame you feel now, this regret — it’s already a sign of God’s/Allah’s mercy. If God/Allah hadn’t let you feel that regret, could you have felt it at all? Anyway, eat your breakfast and smile. Drop the long face — we’ll talk properly after breakfast,”* Ali said.

We moved to the garden. A sweet breeze came off the sea that day, the kind of air that settles a person.

“Ali, I passed out drunk last night, I don’t remember anything. All I remember is being scared, and then Saint Michael came and took my hand. He said, ‘Don’t be afraid, I’m here,'” Nicole said, breaking into the conversation.

We started laughing. When Nicole took offense at our laughter, I explained.

“Saint Michael didn’t come last night. Ali felt bad for you. He said those words to calm you down — meaning, ‘I’m your Saint Michael, don’t be afraid, I’m here.’ And you slept curled up like a kitten in Ali’s arms,” I said, laughing.

Nicole looked stunned. “Saint Michael has been my only refuge since childhood,” she said.

The Dirty Hand Beneath the Covers: The First Touch

“A bad childhood, bad memories, and a harbor to run to… Saint Michael!!!” Nicole said.

A silence settled over us. Nicole’s throat seemed to close, like she couldn’t speak. That spark came from Ali again.

“Some people’s souls are corrupted. They’ve surrendered themselves to darkness. In the dark, hands wound innocent hearts. Those filthy hands exist for one purpose: to destroy innocence. And children are their favorite target,” Ali said.

Here it came — the scene that would unravel Nicole. Ali was doing what he always did.

“Those hands are always filthy, disgusting. They never stop moving over the body. No matter how much you wash, the smell of those filthy hands never leaves you. Eventually you start hating yourself,” Nicole said.

We girls were completely lost. What were Nicole and Ali even talking about, speaking in code like this?

“The purest, most innocent years — murdered by those filthy hands… They show no mercy, they defile. But those innocent children carry no sin. The past leaves its scars, those ugly memories. But there’s no scent of filthy hands on that little girl’s skin. That little girl smells like lavender. That’s the beautiful scent I sense in her,” Ali said.

Whoa, what was happening — we felt like we’d landed on another planet, completely lost.

Nicole couldn’t hold it in any longer. She started crying.

The Devil Behind the Mask

“I was six years old when the abuse started…” she said, and stopped.

Silence. Silence, like life itself had paused. My mind went blank. What was Nicole saying?

“There was thunder that night. I was scared. I pulled the covers over my head and prayed. Then someone came. Slowly, silently, a hand slid under the covers. It moved over my body. It went into my underwear…” Nicole said, struggling to continue. Then she went on.

“I screamed in terror. The hand disappeared. My mother came in, then my father after her. I told them what happened. They said, ‘You must have had a nightmare from the thunder.’ They didn’t believe me.

Later, when I wanted to take a bath, he wanted to ‘help.’ At first I didn’t understand. But later…”

Nicole went quiet for a long moment, wrapped in a deep silence.

“Every year that passed, it got worse. I was afraid to be alone at home with him. My mother lived in her own world — she saw nothing, understood nothing.

Years passed. I turned twelve. He started touching my body under the guise of jokes. He asked about my periods. Every time he asked, I felt disgusted with myself, with being a girl.

Then one day, while bathing, I noticed something strange. A hidden camera… He’d been secretly filming me in the bathroom. And in the days after, those disgusting hands started touching me…”

Nicole was crying and struggling to get the buried words out at the same time. After a pause, she continued. We girls were all in shock.

“Another night, I was asleep. I felt a hand moving over my entire body. He gestured for me to stay quiet. He abused me for hours,” Nicole said, sobbing.

None of us could find words. Ali just listened, calm.

“Then one day, while my mother was out, he tried to rape me. He wanted his own child instead of a stranger to be the one to take my virginity.

I begged: ‘Dad, don’t! Please, Dad, don’t touch me!!!’

But he didn’t stop. Just as he was about to pull off my underwear, I hit him in the head with a vase and got away.

How could a father do this to his own child — I couldn’t understand it. I ran outside in just my underwear and sat in the yard.

He told everyone I had mental health problems, that I was hallucinating. No one believed me.

I was just a child when the sexual abuse began. A child, a child… a little girl.“

Nicole broke into sobs, saying this. She was quiet for a while, then continued.

*Imagine a little girl. Abused in childhood. Doesn’t that leave trauma behind — always?

A Mother’s Betrayal, A Child’s Collapse

“My mother didn’t believe me. She beat me for it. Then she sent me away to a Catholic boarding school in another city.

I never forgot my mother’s words: ‘You little whore, you’ll seduce my husband!!!’

A mother’s words like that can shatter a child completely.

Anyway, I went to the school. But I wasn’t safe there either. He kept finding ways to bother me. He even convinced the nuns I was delusional, that I imagined things.”

The Unexpected Rescuer: My Aunt

“My aunt became my savior. I didn’t even know I had an aunt living abroad. Years later, she came back to America.

She heard from my mother where I was and came to visit. I asked why she’d never come before. It turned out she was an archaeologist, traveling from country to country. And she and my mother had fallen out over her disapproval of the marriage — they hadn’t spoken in years,” Nicole said.

“So that’s why you became an archaeologist,” Ali said.

“Yes. She became my idol.” She continued.

“My aunt visited once a month. One day he came again. ‘Get ready for next week, I’m taking you on a trip. A house by the lake,’ he said.

I asked if my mother was coming. He smirked. ‘No, just the two of us,’ he said.

I understood exactly what he was planning. He meant to rape me.

Two days after he left, my aunt came. Hesitantly, I told her everything — hoping she might help me. When my aunt heard it all, she cursed at him, hard.”

The Truth About the Man I Called My Father

“‘But he’s still my father!!!’

My aunt pushed back. ‘What father? He’s not your father. Your real father drowned in the sea when you were one year old. That man is your stepfather,’ she said.

I was in shock. I didn’t know whether to feel relief or grief. Learning that monster wasn’t my real father made me happy. But learning my real father had died devastated me.”

“Nicole, do you realize what you’re telling us? Abused as a child by the man you thought was your father, only to find out he’s your stepfather. Your real father is dead. An aunt you never knew appears out of nowhere. What kind of life is this? You never mentioned any of this in university — all we knew was that you lived with your aunt.”

“No, Soline, it’s all true. Facts that pushed me into depression for years. That’s why I punished myself, blamed myself, all this time,” Nicole said.

Ali finally broke his silence.

You Are Not to Blame

“Why do you keep blaming yourself? What sin did you commit? Being a girl? Being young? Being innocent? What’s your crime?

You are not a sexual object. You weren’t put on this earth to be some predator’s plaything.

You have a beautiful soul — I can sense the scent of lavender coming from it. You have a wonderful soul. Let the predators who tried to destroy it be ashamed. Why should you be the one ashamed?!”

Nicole started crying again — but this time it was different. Tears of relief, of joy. She threw her arms around Ali’s neck.

“Ali, no one has ever made me feel as valued as you have. For the first time, a man is approaching me to help me, not to sleep with me. For the first time, someone is saying words that soothe my soul. That’s you, Ali. Thank you. I’m so glad you exist,” Nicole said.

Ali replied with a joke: “Alright, don’t even think about kissing me — you already kissed me way too much last night, that scene is still stuck in my head.”

We all burst out laughing, and even embarrassed, Nicole laughed too.

“Nicole, please, don’t kiss me again. It goes against my faith. I’m Muslim — no one can kiss me except the woman I marry. Please keep that in mind,” Ali said.

Nicole hadn’t understood before, but now she finally understood why Ali was so careful about this. “Okay,” she said.

“My dark-eyed love, so I’m allowed to kiss you then, right?” I said.

“Oh no, don’t you go claiming special privileges either,” Ali shot back.

We girls burst into laughter again. Teasing Ali was always fun.

“Ali, I had another dream last night, will you interpret it if I tell you? And also — why did you say ‘I’m your Saint Michael’ while I was sleeping? The girls told me,” Nicole said.

“Of course I’ll interpret it, God/Allah willing, as best I can. When it comes to Saint Michael — everyone has something they hold onto in hard moments. You’re Catholic. Something inside told me to say it, so I did. And it calmed you down, that’s all,” Ali said.

Nicole went quiet, staring blankly at Ali’s face. Ali sat down beside her.

Rescuing the Child Within: Healing from Childhood Sexual Abuse

“Am I seeing things?” Ali cupped Nicole’s face in his hands and began to speak.

“Nicole, look into my eyes, please. You’re not the first person to be abused as a child in this world, and you won’t be the last. Your stepfather was a predator. There will always be people like him.

This is the war between good and evil. Stand tall — stop blaming yourself, stop punishing yourself.

I can see her, in your eyes — that innocent Nicole. You are a special person. You have a wonderful soul,” he said.

“I see so much in your eyes, Nicole. Spring. That little Nicole who wants to grow, to live.

That little girl inside you is angry at you. She’s asking, ‘What was my fault?’ ‘Why did you punish me for years? I was never the guilty one. I was only a victim of a stepfather’s abuse,’ she says.

Wake up, Nicole… That little girl can’t protect you anymore. Now it’s your turn. You have to protect her.

All you have to do is be strong. And to do that, feed your soul.

You are not alone. Look — you have friends. I’m here too.

You are not a sparrow with a broken wing anymore. You are Nicole. And God/Allah is with you too.”

Do You Think You’re Alone?

Or did you think you were alone all this time?

Do you — reading this — think you’re alone?

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