Survivor Stories
Eva’s Story
The first time Eva met with Max, she was six years old. At that age, the world is small and safe. You
believe in adults who surround you since that is how childhood works: the world made by adults,
cushioned with innocence.
“I was playing with my brother, who is your friend other than your sibling at
that point, right?”
She said with a small laugh that quickly faded. Her mother was visiting a family
friend, a woman with an older teenage son.
"We loved it there. He'd buy us ice cream, candy… whatever I
wanted."
As Eva has chosen to call him, Max was 18 or 19 at the time. To her young eyes, he was fun,
calm, and generous.
“I never told anyone. You’re the first person I’ve told.” That one line of Sara became the heartbeat
of this story. As with Eva, she remained silent throughout the years. Their voices are also a part of
the larger digital moment, which booms across the campaigns, such as #WhyIDidntReport, and allows the
survivors who never reported their abuse to gather the confidence to speak out for the first time. It
is not only a story of trauma, it is a story of silence and what journalism can accomplish to create
space in which silence can be added responsibly.
It wasn’t until much later that Eva would realize that this trusted figure was manipulating her in
silence. The story begins with her, but the piece is about more than one child; it’s about the
responsibility of journalism in telling these stories and how easily those responsibilities can be
mishandled. But one night, Max offered to play a game with them in the quiet room near where the adults
were talking. She remembered she had to perform a stunt, and her brother needed to run behind a curtain
to get released. And when I failed to do it quickly enough, he would find out the trick, and I would be
a loser. She spoke more softly as she recalled.
"That is when I realized the trick was odd”
She paused, then repeated what she told him that night:
"No… I do not want to do that. It is Yukie.”
Eva
broke down during the interview. She had to struggle with tears, and she had to take a breath.
“The
hardest part is… I was too young to understand what it even meant."
There was no scream, no fight, no
disclosure. Just confusion and silence that would stretch for years. It was not until she was 13 that
Eva fully understood what had happened.
"I didn't know what to do with that memory. I convinced myself I
imagined it… It was too heavy to admit."
When asked whether she ever considered reporting it, she shook
her head.
"I was six. That was 20 years ago. What's the point with no evidence?”
She looked up, her tone
clear, if weary.
“Sometimes the only healing you need is understanding it is not your fault."
Eva could
not continue beyond that point. She authorized the sharing of her story to the fullest extent she was in
control of, with her voice. Moreover, most stories like hers end right there, not because they are not
worth telling, but because telling them will usually be more costly than staying quiet.
“I Didn’t Know It Was Wrong”: Silence and Childhood Trauma
What happened to Eva is devastating in itself, but even more so because she neither had the vocabulary
to describe it, the security to report on it, nor even the clear thought to process it. In addition to
this, she is not the only one. Another survivor, Sara, who wished to remain anonymous, got involved in
the abuse at the of-age 12 years.
“He was a relative”, she said at once, in a voice which trembled. "It started with weird comments."
She explained that he was sitting beside her at one of their family occasions and touched her
inappropriately, which left her with a feeling of ashamed and helpless.
“I froze. I could see my family around, the TV on, but I couldn’t move.”
Sara never told anyone. "You are the first person I have told," she admitted. "I did not think it was
valid, and I thought it would cause more trouble."
Now, 16 years down the line, she does not associate with that relative. I think it was so long before I
eventually realized that I had a right to be uncomfortable. I was not so well informed at the time.
Her statement resembles the realizations of some trauma researchers in the focus on the fact that
children cannot usually process the abuse in the moment. A study published in PLOS ONE revealed that the
cultural stigma and lack of understanding often cause the survivor to bury his or her story or postpone
it, sometimes over decades (Delker et al., 2020).
What connects Eva and Sara is not just the abuse; it is the silence that followed. The silence caused by
fear or shame or simply a lack of words. Silence that hides the criminals and separates the victims.
“Oh, I thought I had imagined it”, said Eva.
Sara also tried to question her feelings. In both situations, there was no need to go to shady alleys and
back streets; the rape was perpetuated where they lived, where their family members came to visit, and
even in the presence of people close to them. In a world where everybody is determined to lay bare the
monster, one tends to forget the most harm is usually found where you least suspect it.
Expert Voices: Why Survivors Stay Silent
Many survivors of child sexual abuse carry their trauma in silence, often for decades. According to the
experts, the fear to be not believed, the fear of breaking family bonds or fear of being accused makes
the majority of survivors never utter a word.
“It’s not that they don’t want to tell. It’s that the
world makes it unsafe to,” said Dr. Angela Whitman
a trauma counselor who has worked with hundreds of
CSA survivors. Cultural stigma and internalized guilt are especially powerful silencing forces for children.
“At 12, I thought I had caused it,” Sara said. “I thought it was something about me.”
Dr. Whitman adds, “If we want children to speak, we have to make it safer to speak. That means believing them, listening to them, and showing, not just saying, that it’s not their fault.”
It is here that great responsibility in journalism comes in. When handled carefully and accurately, survivor tales can assist other victims to come to the realization that disclosure can occur. That they are not by themselves.
Eva said, “I read a story on the Internet. It gave me the feeling that someday I would be able to say it as well”
Tales, such as the ones of Eva and Sara, not only break the silence but demonstrate to others how it can be done. And that is what can be made possible by a press that is ethical and survivor-focused.
“It’s Not Always a Stranger”: Sara’s Story and the Myth of the Monster
The concept of a child being abused by a stranger, the unknown stranger that might be out there at the
park or on the internet, prevails in the minds of most of the population. It is what the headlines want
to creep into, the one raising fear, and attracting tabloid views.
However, Sara's story dismantles that narrative entirely.
"He was a family member," she said without hesitation
The phrase lands heavy, devastating, but straightforward. Sara was 12 years old, and even at this young
age, she did not know the vocabulary of the event. But what she did know was that it was not
comfortable.
"It started with comments, not innocent ones.”
She recalled how the relative sat close and touched her inappropriately at a family event.
“I froze,” she said. “I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move.”
Sara spent years wondering whether the experience that she went through was even worth counting.
"He did not rape me," she said, then paused. "But I felt violated. I felt dirty. Moreover, I blamed
myself."
It took her 16 years and immense personal growth to say his name out loud, though she no longer does.
"I cut him off. I do not go to family events where he is there. Moreover, when people ask why, I say I
do what I want.”
Her story is more common than most people realize. The U.S. Department of Justice indicates that almost 93
per cent of the victims of child sexual abuse recognize their offender, who is usually a family member,
someone in charge, or a close family acquaintance.
However, the concept of the monstrous stranger remains the focus of media attention. It is more
challenging to bring out stories such as Sara, who was injured in a way that is so quiet, so normalized,
and woven into the way the family functions. They are not shock and sensationalism types found on the
nightly news.
“There is this idea that abuse is only 'real' if it is violent or committed by someone you do not know,"
Sara said. "But what happened to me was real. It shaped me. It made me feel unsafe in my own home.”
By offering her story, Sara is not merely claiming her narrative back, but she is also battling the myth
that CSA always has the face of a stranger. He also wears a smile when he comes to a family party.
SARA
I didn’t feel it was valid. I kept silent for years.