*This is a survivor’s story as told to Meghan Krein
When I think about my childhood in a quiet mountain town, what stands out most is the confusion. On the outside, our family looked perfectly normal — even well-liked. My dad was a successful business owner, and my parents had friends in high places. Behind closed doors, though, it was something else entirely: alcoholism, unpredictable rage, physical abuse, and sexual abuse that started as far back as I can remember.
I was the second of two children, and my older brother had his own painful experiences with the same parents. Competitive sports were my escape — they gave me structure, purpose, and eventually a full scholarship to college.
During my last two years of high school, I slept in my car many nights just to feel safe. I became hypervigilant, always reading the room, always ready with a lie to cover up the bruises and chaos at home. Like so many children in abusive homes, I didn’t have the language for what was happening to me. I questioned whether it was normal. I blamed myself. My brain protected me by burying the worst of the memories — especially the sexual abuse by my father.
Those memories didn’t resurface until my late 20s, triggered by a major loss. The years that followed were brutal. I barely slept for nearly six years, which eventually led to a serious brain injury and hospitalization. Miraculously, after that health crisis, the nightmares stopped, and I finally began to heal and sleep again.
For a long time, I didn’t talk about any of it. I kept relationships at a distance and built walls to protect myself. But now, in my 30s, something shifted. Today, I’m single, living with a roommate and running my own business. I feel free and genuinely happy in a way I never thought possible. I’ve learned to let people in. I’ve learned that truth, even when painful, brings deeper rest than secrets ever could.
The Turning Point
One of the hardest parts of childhood abuse is the crushing isolation and self-blame. I didn’t know resources like the Childhelp National Child Abuse Hotline even existed. If I had, the anonymity and confidentiality might have given me the courage to reach out and ask simple questions, like “Is this normal? What should I do?” Even if the first adult I told didn’t believe me or help, the message to keep telling until someone does could have changed everything.
That’s why prevention programs like Childhelp’s prevention programs are so important. It gives kids the language to name what’s happening, the knowledge that it’s never their fault, and the tools to speak up and keep speaking until someone listens. If I had heard those messages early on — “It’s not normal. It’s not your fault. Keep telling until someone helps.” — my story might have looked very different.
Breaking the Cycle
My contact with my parents is minimal and on my terms. I’ve made peace with what I can and cannot control. My brother and I are close, though we process our experiences differently. When I think about having children of my own one day — or even fostering — I feel both fear and hope. I want to be the safe, loving parent I never had. Sharing my story now feels like an act of freedom. If it helps even one child feel less alone or encourages one adult to speak up when they see something wrong, then it’s worth it.
A Message to Survivors, Kids, and Adults
To any child going through this right now: It’s not your fault. It’s not normal. You deserve to feel safe. Keep telling trusted adults — even if the first one doesn’t believe you, tell another. Help is available.
To parents, teachers, coaches, and anyone who works with children: Notice the signs. Ask the hard questions. Make the report. It’s always better to be wrong than to stay silent.
And to my fellow survivors: Healing is possible. You are not defined by what was done to you. When you’re ready, reach out. Brighter days are possible.
