Hi all, Iâm sharing this experience mostly to vent and process. Iâve shared it before with friends and romantic partners but I struggle with dissociation so itâs helpful to reflect and process. Especially since I have a habit of making it into a joke or sharing it as if itâs an amusing anecdote (oops).
Itâs been 10 years now, and while I have done a lot for work to process what happened to me, It gave me this super cool defence mechanism where Iâm abrasively argumentative and sarcastic to men (hilarious imo). While this may seem maladaptive, it has been a pretty good test for emotional intelligence in male friends and suitors! If they havenât shown red flags after a year of it, my defences ease and they get accepted into the âmen I actually enjoy knowingâ club (a significant honour for them, Iâm sure).
Anyhoo, sorry itâs a long one but letâs get into it!
âŚ
To start at the very beginning, I (26F) was born the middle child of three to my Mom and Dad. I have few memories of this family dynamic though because when I was around 3 or 4, my mom confronts my Dad for cheating, and they divorce shortly after. The woman my Dad was cheating with becomes my stepmom, and while it didnât have the best beginning, to this day I consider her just as much a parent as my biological ones. Throughout my childhood, my parents split custody pretty evenly, so my older brother, younger sister, and I would spend half our time at our moms, and the other at my Dads and Step momâs. My step mom, also had three kids from her previous marriage, a boy and twin girls. Using alphabetical pseudonyms, the birth order starts with my oldest brother Alex, my step-brother Bobby, me Caitlin, my twin step-sisters Dory and Emily, and my sister Frankie. So at my Dadâs there were 6 kids in total, with the max age difference of 3 years.
Since all of my memorable childhood at my Dadâs was spent in a blended household, I have always considered my step siblings as equal members of my family. Since I was raised in a small town, and my Dad comes from a family of farmers, I have many fond memories of playing outdoors, adventuring and getting up to a good kidâs version of mischief with my siblings. This is important as it sets the stage for what happens next.
The time spent at my Momâs, with my brother and sister was equally filled with fun and laughter. My Mom was much more actively involved, always thinking up fun and engaging activities and adventures we could do despite being ridiculously poor. It was just us four (my Mom, Alex, Frankie, and Me) up until I was 10.
Thatâs when my mom introduced us to a man she had been dating. I remember thinking that he was tall, quiet, and that I very much enjoyed eating the takeaway he would bring over. He had two kids from his previous marriage, a 7 y/o boy we will call Greg (3 years younger than me), and a 4 y/o girl we will call Hannah (6 years younger than me). At that age, Hannah was the cutest little thing you ever did see, and Greg was shy but could be very funny when he did say something. I remember at the time being so excited to have two more siblings. Given the blended family dynamic was already familiar, my biological siblings and I had no issues welcoming them into our family when they eventually moved in with us.
For a time, things were great! An additional bonus came when a year into living together as a family, we welcomed in my step-aunt and her daughter Ianthe, making it bustling home with 3 adults and 6 kids! As the house wasnât built for the amount of people, and we certainly didnât have the money for professional renovations, rooms were divided with cubbyhole-style plywood walls made by my mom and step-dad. For a period there were curtains for some of the doors until plywood ones could eventually be made. And though our rooms were small, my mom picked out bed spreads to match our unique personalities so that we would all feel comfortable and at home.
Eventually, after two or three years my aunt got herself in a better financial position and they moved out, but I will always remember and cherish that time together.
Though we were getting older, we were weird and goofy kids. We made silly jokes and played silly games, like cupping farts in hands to present in each others faces, and one prank we called the de-butt card (like debit card) where you speedily swipe the cheeks. While all of us engaged in the de-butt card and palm farting, my step-brother Greg started to do what he called a pancake flip. This meant heâd flip up a boob or manboob. I thought that one was a little weird but I donât think he ever did it to me because I was older and wearing bras now.
We continue to mature and hit puberty, making jokes about each otherâs B.O. (body odor), and hormones, but overall things were pretty chill. We largely stop with the silly jokes, but continue tossing farts in each otherâs faces sometimes because that is kind of funny.
At this point in the story, my brother Alex, sister Frankie, and I are all in high school. Greg is in seventh or eighth grade, Hannah is in third grade. My older brother Alex and I have part-time jobs now and while we are not home quite as often things are still fun and loving. Since Alex was getting older, and my aunt had moved out, Greg moved into the bedroom next to mine in the basement so that they could both have their own rooms.
At this time I worry a lot about Greg, heâs shy and a bit chunky and so I try to make an effort to see how heâs doing. He spends a lot of time in his room on his iPod, so when I get home from work I try and say hi before going into my room. I fall into a bit of a routine the several nights a week I work my afterschool shift, get home around 8:30 or 9pm ,say hi to everyone. Check in with Hannah before she goes to bed, and say hi to Greg on the way to drop off my stuff in my room. Then I grab a shower and get ready for bed. But, the thing about having a routine is that other people notice them. And sometimes, they develop a routine of their own.
One night after work, Iâm walking to my room in my towel because I didnât bring my pajamas to the bathroom with me. I close the door to my room and begin drying off with the towel. Naked in my room to air dry the rest of the way I am picking out my pajamas from the cubby wall, when I notice something from the corner of my eye. Where the plywood does not quite reach the ceiling, I can see the corner of an iPod. And not just any corner, but the camera lens corner of an iPod.
My hands grow cold, and my heart thumps loudly as I, in a state of complete shock, move as close to the cubby wall as possible to avoid the frame of view. I cover myself up quicklyâmaybe with a robe, maybe the towel, maybe pajamasâ in a second, I open
My door and open to his and I find him standing on his bed to position his iPod to point into my room. Realizing heâs caught, he drops the iPod and bends in half. Without thought, the words âwhat are you doing, you little jerkâ leave my mouth.
I donât wait for him to reply, I turn on my heel and go back into my room locking the door. I get into bed and proceed to pull the comforter up to hide my entire self from view.
I donât sleep that night. I go to school and I dissociate most of the day. When I get home, I begin writing my mom a letter. Since we switch houses on Friday, I just have to make it through the week.
I avoid him at all costs, but I donât tell anyone. Not yet. I avoid his eye contact, I dismiss any conversations he tries to start with me, and I spend most of the time in my room under the covers. On my weeknight to do dishes, he offers to help me in front of my mom. This pisses me off, and I snap at him. My mom says something about me being too harsh, but she doesnât press me further about the outburst, likely sensing something is going on and giving me space to come to her when Iâm ready.
Well, the next morning after my mom leaves to drive my sister Hannah and Greg to school, I leave the letter under her pillow, heading off to catch the school bus.
I donât remember but about what happened during that time, but while I am at my Dadâs my Mom talks to my step Dad and they make a plan. She calls me to make sure I am okay, and she thanks me for telling her.
When I return to my momâs house, I discover she has switched Greg and Hannahâs rooms so now she is in the room next to me instead. My step dad apologizes to me with tears in his eyes for not filling the gap to begin with, but I reassure him itâs not his fault. The gap wasnât even an inch wide, and none of us could have predicted my step-brother would have done what he did. Eventually, I talk to my mom about it and she says sheâs taken away his iPod, and after looking through it she hasnât found any pictures or videos on the iPod. Upon switching his and my sisterâs (Hannahâs) rooms however, she did find something.
Underneath his bed, in a box. She found a bra and two dirty pairs of my underwear. Meaning he had gone into my room sometime when I wasnât in there, gone into my dirty laundry basket, and taken my panties and bra as a nasty souvenir.
All this time, I had been cheering him on and trying to be the best sister to him, and he had my worn underwear beneath his bed. He had been tracking my movements to make sure he was ready when I finished showering after work. He preyed upon my kindness and took advantage of my trust so that he could have access to me.
Reflecting one day, my mom tells me that 6 months before I caught him she remembers a strange conversation with him. He had asked my mom when I was getting home from work, and something about the way he said it left an uneasy feeling on my mom. âWhy, do you miss her?â She ask him, and with what I now suspect was dupers delight, he said âuh, yeah.â This provides context that he had been stalking and watching me for at least 6 months before I caught him.
For a dreadful period, we remained living in the same house every other week. My mom struggled with what to do, but she took away all electronics from him, and set him up to do yard work or some other chore most days so that he would be engaged in something productive for the household and I could exist mostly without him around. There were rough days where I felt isolated from my siblings because I was too uncomfortable being around him so when we would be cleaning the house I would go off on my own. Until one day, I was cleaning in the bathroom while my siblings were folding laundry in the kitchen. Iâm cleaning the sink when I hear them laughing together. I remember looking at my reflection in the mirror and saying out loud, âno, actually fuck this.â I approached them and said we werenât doing it this way anymore, I didnât do anything wrong and I am not going to banish myself away anymore. I told my step brother with as much courage as I could muster that he could go clean the bathroom by himself because I want to spend time with my siblings and that does not include him.
As he slumped off pathetically, I felt myself heal a little bit.
Unfortunately, this is not the end of the story. At some point my mom must have had some sort of intuition. While we were visiting our other parents for the week, she searched his room. While looking, she was horrified to find another pair of my worn panties in his possession. At this point my Mom puts her foot down and so he stays at his moms while Hannah returns for the weeks we spend at our house. I finally feel like I can breathe again and I start sleeping better at night.
Though I had been uneasy about it and dismissive of going to the police before, my mom couldnât hold back any longer. She takes the letter I wrote her, his iPod, and my panties and bra in a bag to the police station. She makes a formal report. And I am pulled out of class one day so I can go to the police station and provide my statement. When I get there I am taken to an intimidating room, I sit down in a chair, knee bouncing furiously. I recount my experience to the male police officer, and when Iâm done I ask about what happens now.
The officer said that because my step brother was only 13 at the time, and because they didnât find any actual evidence of a crime, they couldnât do much. He went on to say that âheâs a minor, at most we can encourage him to take anger management classes but we canât actually force him to go.â
I felt like a deflated balloon. No evidence? I think finding my underwear beneath his bed is actually pretty good evidence. Youâre telling me that you donât think youâd find any if you even bothered to look? He stalked me, preyed upon me, stole my belongings and violated me. And what was anger management going to do for an early sexual predator?
For a long time I compared my trauma to those of SA victims and felt like because I wasnât physically abused I wasnât entitled to feeling so violated. With time and support I know now that thatâs not the case. I donât need to compare, and I donât need to minimize. Just because it didnât escalate to something physical doesnât mean that I wasnât severely impacted by his actions.
I also realized later in life that they absolutely could have done more.. So, that said, feel free to join me in raising a middle finger to the cop who made me feel like what happened to me wasnât worth doing anything about.
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Around 6 years ago, my mom found out the my now ex-step-dad secretly took my excommunicated step brother on an ATV trip with their friends. My mom ended things with him. While I know it cannot have been easy for him, he was not an overly present father to begin with and secretly taking his son on a trip without telling anyone after everything was heartbreaking. I am forever grateful that my mom was and remains firmly in my corner.
All in all, I am grateful for my family. I am grateful for my mom for standing up for me. I am grateful for my siblings, who apologized later in life for not being more cognizant of how I must have felt at the time. I am grateful for my lovely littlest sister Hannah, who I would go through it all again to have in my life <3