When I look back on my childhood through the lens of healing, I often find myself thinking: What if someone had seen me? What if someone had known what to look for? What if someone had asked the right questions—or any questions at all?
There were so many missed opportunities for prevention, for intervention, for compassion. The silence surrounding my abuse was deafening—and it didn’t have to be that way.
So today, I speak not just as a survivor, but as someone who has dedicated her life to changing this narrative for others. These are the ten things I wish the world around me had known when I was a child victim of sexual abuse.
1. Just because a child looks “okay” doesn’t mean they are.
I smiled. Performed. Said all the right things.
But inside, I was crumbling. Children become experts at hiding trauma. Don’t assume that silence or success means safety. Look deeper. Children speak in actions not words. Pay Attention. Ask questions.
2. Abuse doesn’t always come from strangers.
In Blackout Girl, I talk about my different experiences with sexual abuse and how I was lulled into safety by people I knew. People I trusted. The “stranger danger” narrative failed me—because most abuse happens within a child’s circle of trust. We need to teach kids that even people they love aren’t entitled to their bodies.
3. Believe children the first time they speak.
When a child shares something confusing or uncomfortable, listen without judgment. When I hinted at my pain, I needed someone to hold space for my truth—not try to explain it away.
4. Secrets are a red flag. Always.
Abusers thrive in secrecy. They groom children to keep quiet. What I needed was for someone to say: “No one should ever ask you to keep a secret about touching or being alone with them.” Those secrets then became my home. I began storing all my feelings inside myself in hidden places. Keeping everything a secret. And, those secrets kept me sick.
5. Alcohol and drugs weren’t my problem—they were my survival tools.
I started using substances because I didn’t have the tools to cope with the pain. My addiction wasn’t about partying—it was about numbing. Instead of punishment, I needed support, trauma therapy, and someone to ask: What happened to you?
6. Schools, churches, and youth organizations must be more than mandatory reporters—they must be proactive protectors.
So many adults in my life were never “trained” on the signs of abuse. Even today with the laws we have, prevention isn’t a checkbox on a training module—it’s a daily practice of presence, listening, and accountability. People noticed I was not ok. However they weren’t required back then to act.
7. Healing can’t happen in isolation.
I needed community role models who had survived and thrived and, to see that I wasn’t alone. Survivors need connection—to themselves, to others, and to hope.
8. Sex education must include body autonomy and consent—from an early age.
My first sexual experience was rape. I did not know what sex was. I didn’t know I was allowed to say no. I didn’t know what was being done to me was wrong. We wait far too long to teach kids about their rights. We must start early and revisit often.
9. Trauma-informed care isn’t a luxury—it’s a necessity.
Whether it was the police, the ER, the courtroom, or even a teacher—I wish more people understood trauma. Instead of asking what I did wrong, I needed them to understand what had been done to me.
10. My voice was never broken. It was buried—and I needed someone to help me dig it out.
What I wish the world knew is that survivors don’t need saving—we need space to rise. I didn’t need someone to fix me. I needed someone to believe in me, to listen, to advocate, and to stand beside me as I reclaimed my voice.
These aren’t just reflections. They’re a call to action.
Parents: create open spaces for your children to talk about anything.
Teachers and coaches: look beyond behavior and into the heart of what may be driving it.
Lawmakers: prioritize prevention, expand trauma-informed services, and never stop pushing for justice reform.
Fellow survivors: you are not alone, and your voice matters—now more than ever.
We cannot change what happened to the child I was. But together, we can change the world we offer to the children of today.
Because every child deserves to be seen. Heard. Believed. And protected.
