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In my previous post, I wrote about how important it is to speak up when it comes to such a sensitive topic as child abuse certainly is. However, doing so takes a lot of courage. For me, it was not easy to let somebody know my secret side. There were times I wanted to forget all about my childhood. Back in 2002, I moved to another country and thought I can start a whole new life. I’m not the type of easily adjustable person, I want to have some security in life, and as a 19-year-old, I was scared of such a significant change. But I had to do it. I don’t know if it can be called some self-preservation instinct, but it was something stronger than all my fears of the unknown. To make it short, I moved away, graduated, and found a job. I slowly learned how to communicate with other people. I found my purpose in life and almost everything seemed just fine. Almost… There were times as holidays when I was visiting my family when some memories came back. My visits became rarer; three times a year, two times, once, once in two years… I soon learned I must keep a distance from those memories. Fast forward, in 2012 I got married. My wife knows about my past, and back then in 2012, she was the only one who knew something about it. I’ve suffered clinical depression for years already and my closest friend knew about it but that was all. I rarely spoke about my childhood and was trying not to think about it, but to look forward to the future. I was taking my medicine regularly, and aside from some minor relapses I was doing well. I thought everything was fine. But in 2013, one incident changed everything…

In 2015, after my first book was published, my immediate surrounding was shocked. Why? Because my book was dealing with child abuse topics. The book told the story of a child who was severely abused by her guardians. The character was fictional, but I took some details from true cases that happened. The character was built on my own childhood feelings and experiences (I will come to that later). I received shocked reactions, like “you should not write about such topic”, “you should write about happy things”, “I hope you didn’t write about sexual abuse” (I didn’t, by the way). I have to say, I felt miserable, like if I commit a crime. It hurt because that book was meant to be the tool for my relief from the things I kept inside me for so long. I wanted to tell the story, to help myself, and maybe to help somebody else who experience something similar. Based on this experience, I’ve often asked myself the question: is it proper to speak about child abuse? After 6 years, I can say: yes, it is!