I am sorry.
I want desperately to undo what has been done to you, and I can’t. I simply can’t. If you were one of my children, I would fold you in my arms and let you know you are a treasure. You matter just as you are. Not some trained, controlled, acceptable incarnation of you, but you in all your glorious, messy beauty. You deserve love and acceptance. It breaks my heart that you didn’t get that.
You deserve quiet, peace, and privacy. You deserve room to grow and a safe space in which to do so. I am sorry you didn’t have that space. I didn’t either. I did what I needed to survive, and I broke over and over again. My adolescence was a string of Faustian bargains, and I stumbled into adulthood yoked to some skewed culpability manufactured by the very people who forced me into those circumstances.
I grew up in a different time. There is no record of the events of my past, and I owe it to no one to dredge them up and justify my actions. All my supposed sins are my own. I can hold them close to me. I can guard my secrets, not out of shame, but out of love for my self.
I am sorry your pain was turned into a public spectacle. Do not feel shame. Do not be embarrassed. You are not to blame. There is a community out here waiting to fold our arms around you.
Because you are a treasure.