⚠️ Content Warning
This entry discusses childhood exposure to inappropriate behavior, blurred boundaries, and early trauma. Reader discretion is advised.
Names used in this post have been changed for privacy and are not real or identifiable individuals.
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Playing House in a Broken Home
When I think back to the time I lived with my biological mother, the memories come in pieces—some filled with innocent laughter, others heavy with things no child should have carried. One of those memories is of my sister, Rosa, and me.
We used to play house or Barbies together. It started like the pretend games kids often play, but something about ours was different. Rosa was always the woman, and I was always made to be the man. And part of that meant acting out forms of affection we didn’t fully understand—and even then, it made me feel strange inside.
Back then, I didn’t fully understand why it felt weird. I just knew I hated always being the guy. I didn’t like it. But I went along with it, because that’s what the game became. And in the environment we were in, with everything we were exposed to, we didn’t have healthy examples of what was okay and what wasn’t. We were exposed to things we never should have been exposed to. We were shaped by things no child should be shaped by.
Looking back, I know now that wasn’t okay. It wasn’t just innocent play—it was a sign that something deeper was influencing us. Not because we were bad, but because of what we were mimicking and what we were trying to understand through those actions. We had been exposed to things that blurred the lines too early.
We understood more than we should have. And less than we needed to. We were just trying to make sense of the world we were living in. We weren’t acting out of confusion—we were mirroring what the environment around us had already shown us.
It wasn’t our fault. We were children. And we deserved better.
I carry no shame toward my younger self or Rosa. But I do carry sadness. Sadness that two little girls were put in that position. Sadness that love and play were tangled up with discomfort and survival. We weren’t trying to be wrong—we were trying to feel safe.
Now, I see that clearly.
We weren’t trying to do something wrong. We were imitating closeness, the only way our environment showed it—without healthy boundaries or models of safe affection. The fact that it made me feel weird, that I hated always being “the guy,” and that it stayed with me this long shows me my body and heart knew something wasn’t right, even when my mind didn’t yet understand.
What we were doing wasn’t about curiosity or rebellion—it was about coping in an unsafe world. We were exposed to behaviors and dynamics that shaped what we thought a connection looked like. We played roles that mirrored the dysfunction around us. That’s not shameful—that’s survival. It makes sense that our play was confusing. It wasn’t born from innocence alone, but from an environment that blurred innocence with exposure.
We were children. And what we needed—boundaries, affection, guidance, comfort—wasn’t there.
I’m honoring that now by facing it with clarity. And I honor us both for surviving it.
“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”
– John 1:5
