🎙️ Voice is AI-generated. Inconsistencies may occur.
A few years ago, I saw a news report of a young girl in Japan who sued her teacher for sexual abuse after 20 years. Many may have wondered why she waited so long, but I understand how difficult it must have been to come forward and share her painful memories of abuse.
I was sexually abused when I was 7 years old by someone close to my family, and it took me over 20 years to share it with my close friends. I have never told anyone in my family about the incident—I was afraid that my mother would be sad and blame herself if she heard what had happened to me.
Even to this day, I vividly remember the details of the incident and I am amazed that the memory never seems to fade.
One summer's day, I was walking on the street and a man I knew from the neighborhood stopped me and invited me to his apartment for a fresh donut. At first, I said no.
I was hesitant because my mother warned me not to talk to strangers, but I went because he was not a stranger. Even after so many years, I still vividly remember what had happened in the room. I remember being touched by him and feeling very uncomfortable. I needed to escape, so I told him my mom was waiting for me. It was a lie, but he became nervous and he let me go.
As I left, I asked him about my donut, and he pointed to a box on a table and said they were too old to eat. I felt stupid and regretted that I went to his apartment for the stale donuts. I didn't tell my parents because I thought I would be in trouble if I did. I was too young to understand what happened, but I felt ashamed and guilty.
Keeping the abuse secret has affected me in so many ways. I was not physically harmed but the abuse scared me in a way I cannot explain.
As April is national Sexual Assault Awareness Month, it is crucial to raise awareness and increase access to strategies and information for prevention every month of the year.
In a 2020 interview, Natalie Portman described what it was like for her to be sexualized as a young actress. She talked about how she protected herself by portraying herself as serious and conservative and she turned down jobs to avoid being associated with a sexualized character.
I did the same thing. I became very careful with any interactions with men and when anyone gave me a compliment about my looks, I always suspected that there were bad intentions behind their words. When I was asked on dates in my teen and young adult years, I always refused, saying that I attended a very strict all-girl school and my parents would not allow it. I hated the attention.
Eventually, as an adult, I met someone who made me feel safe. I married him in 1999, and we had two sons. After I became a mother, I constantly worried about my children and feared that something bad would happen to them if I didn't watch them carefully. Until my son was old enough to protest, when he would need to use the restroom, I would stand right in front of men's bathrooms and keep talking to him to make sure he was okay.
They are past the age of going to summer camp now, but when they were younger, an advisor in a teacher's conference asked one of them, "Did you do something fun over the summer? Did you go to a summer camp?" My son replied, "No. I never go to summer camp. My mom never lets me go."
When I heard his response, I felt guilty. I wished I had sent him to camp like the other kids, where he could have met new friends and had fun experiences such as swimming in a lake, hiking in the mountains, and sitting around a campfire.
I never explained why I was opposed to sending my children to a summer camp, but it felt much too risky for me. My immediate reaction to saying "no" was deeply rooted in my childhood experience.
Sexual abuse of children is very common, but it is a very difficult topic to discuss. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, one in four girls and one in 13 boys in the United States experience child sexual abuse.
As a hospice nurse, I have met many patients at the end of their lives who have shared with me their experiences of abuse. The burden of their physical and emotional trauma remains with them throughout their lives, even as they near death.
In one instance, a patient told me that she used to love baking bread, but quickly changed the subject and told me a different story. It seemed that the imagined smell of freshly baked bread triggered a traumatic memory. Shortly after, she told me that she had been raped by a group of soldiers who stopped by her house during World War II. Her parents, at first, offered them freshly baked bread.
At the end of the story, she corrected herself, saying it was not rape because they had asked first. But how could a young woman have had a choice to refuse soldiers with guns and rifles? The only comfort I found in the conversation was that her husband was holding her hand as she told the story, and he shed some tears with her.
Studies show that early childhood trauma has long-lasting negative consequences and contributes to poor health outcomes in adults, including mental health illness and substance abuse. Other recent studies have also shown that traumatic experiences in childhood cause the release of stress hormones, which can lead to changes in the DNA sequence and cause long-lasting damage to one's health.
The total lifetime economic burden of child sexual abuse in the United States in 2015 was estimated to be at least $9.3 billion, according to a Johns Hopkins study.
Some people can be at a disadvantage in living with the aftermath of abuse. Research suggests there are racial differences in trauma-related health outcomes, some evidence pointing to the more stressful environments people of color often inhabit as they grow up.
Underserved and systematically marginalized sexual abuse victims often do not come forward because they don't think they will be treated fairly, making them less likely to report abuse and seek healthcare services.
One of the advantages of working in academia is that I have opportunities to learn new and safe ways to care for patients affected by sexual abuse.
Prevention is the first step, and it begins with education about the signs and prevention of child sexual abuse. In partnership with Chicago Public Schools, Rush University Nursing Students provide sexual education to students in underserved communities as part of their public health nursing practicum.
Ideally, the world should be a safe place for all children, but that is not the case. Ignorance, fear, shame, and silence concerning abuse and trauma, do nothing to reduce the risk or consequences.
I am passionate about teaching current and future generations of nurses about the long-term effects of trauma and the available resources for those who have suffered abuse.
I believe that all nurses need to gain knowledge and skills in providing age-appropriate sexual education to children and providing the best care possible for patients and families affected by sexual abuse.
Far too many of us know the lifelong lingering effects of stories we can never forget. As a society, we can reduce the incidence and effects of sexual abuse with the knowledge that can help us protect children and resources that help victims heal.
Masako Mayahara is an associate professor and associate chair at the Rush University College of Nursing and a Public Voices Fellow through The OpEd Project.
All views expressed in this article are the author's own.
As told to Newsweek associate editor, Carine Harb.
Do you have a unique experience or personal story to share? Email the My Turn team at myturn@newsweek.com.
