Content Warning
This entry contains childhood trauma, unsafe behaviors between minors, and themes of guilt and survival. This reflects real-life experiences and is not related to consensual BDSM, age-play, or roleplay. Reader discretion is advised.
If this feels heavy to read, please reach out to someone you trust.
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I Was Just a Kid, and So Were They
I lived with our Aunt Rebecca for about a year—from my 9th birthday to my 10th—when all four of us—me, Rose, Ethan, and Lily—were living together in the same house.
Rose and I shared a room. Ethan and Lily shared the other. We were just kids, trying to exist in a world that was already failing us in so many ways.
One day, Rose lost two teeth and got $4 from the Tooth Fairy. I still remember feeling jealous—not because I didn’t love her, but because when I lost a tooth, I only ever got a dollar. That kind of thing feels big when you’re a kid. And it stuck with me. The fairness and equality in that.
But that wasn’t the biggest thing that happened that day.
I walked in on something that confused me—something between them that didn’t feel right, even if I didn’t understand it.
Looking back now, I know that Rose had already been abused. She had already been hurt in ways that changed her, confused her, stole pieces of her childhood. And I can only imagine what was going through her head in that moment.
She was just a little girl. So was I. And Ethan was even younger.
I didn’t know what was right or wrong, and I didn’t know what to do.
What I do remember is how I responded—I told Rose I wouldn’t say anything if she gave me her money.
Not because I didn’t care. Not because I was trying to hurt her.
But because I saw that she was scared—scared I might tell someone. And I didn’t know how to handle that. I was a kid, too. I didn’t fully understand what I saw. I didn’t know what it meant. And I didn’t know what the right thing to do was.
So instead of stopping to think it through, I said something along those lines, not fully understanding what I was doing.
Looking back now, I see how messed up that sounds. But at the time, I didn’t mean it in a mean way. I wasn’t trying to hurt her. I wasn’t even trying to protect anyone. I was just reacting—immaturely, childishly, and with no real understanding of what was happening.
I didn’t see the harm in it. I didn’t fully understand what I was witnessing. And I had no idea how deep it really went.
Now, with the eyes I have today, I understand more. And I feel the weight of it. Not as a punishment—but as a way to take accountability and let go of the guilt I carried for so long.
Later that day, we went to the store. Rose didn’t have her money anymore. She was upset. I could see it, but I didn’t fully understand the weight of it at the time. We get back at each other one way or another. Maybe another surprise attack, jumping from the refrigerator.
Aunt Rebecca noticed I had it. She asked why I did, and Rose said something like: “I wanted to give it to her. She’s a good big sister.”
And I’ll never forget that.
Even after what happened, she still wanted to cover for me and felt shame. And Aunt Rebecca told me to give it back, which I did.
But what stuck with me wasn’t just the money. It was the shame. The confusion. The silence.
We were all just children. In a house full of unspoken things. No protection. No real guidance. Just trauma living in the walls, passing from one moment to the next.
And now I look back, and I feel everything: Guilt. Sadness. Confusion. And compassion… for all of us.
Because we shouldn’t have been in that position to begin with.
What happened wasn’t okay. Not what I saw. Not what I said. Not what we lived through.
But we were surviving. And when kids are surviving, they don’t always know how to do it right.
I forgive that little girl I used to be. And I forgive Rose. And I pray for healing—for all of us.
Because even when no one else protected us… we were trying to protect each other, in the only ways we knew how.
And now, looking back, I ask myself— Why didn’t I stop it? Why did I ask for her money instead of speaking up?
The truth is… I was just a child, too.
I was in a home without real safety. I was already surrounded by trauma, neglect, and confusion. No one had ever taught me how to handle something like that. Because no one protected me either.
What I saw that day left me confused. It shook something in me I didn’t know how to name. And what I did after… wasn’t evil. It was a survival response.
I didn’t know how to stop what was happening. I didn’t fully understand what I was seeing. And when I asked Rose for her money, it wasn’t out of cruelty. It was because I didn’t know how else to respond.
I thought I had to do something, and that’s what came out. But now I know better.
And I hold space for that confused version of me. She wasn’t bad. She wasn’t heartless. She was a little girl trying to survive in a home where survival was all we knew.
And today, I let her be seen. Not with shame. But with compassion.
I am not defined by what I didn’t know. I am healing now, and I forgive myself.
“When I was a child, I spoke like a child,
I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child.
When I became a man, I gave up childish ways.”
—1 Corinthians 13:11