This has been on my mind for a while now. I’ve never been one to shy away from the fact that I struggled with PTSD or that I suffered from years of psychological abuse.

Actually, that’s a lie–it took months of strong, life-altering symptoms before I finally accepted that I had PTSD. I just didn’t want to believe that such a debilitating disorder had taken over my life. But once I had come to terms with my diagnosis, I was willing to do whatever it took to overcome it.

The abuse, on the other hand, was another beast altogether. Even though I’m at a point where I can acknowledge what I’ve been through, it doesn’t change how awful it was. And while I’ve conquered the most debilitating parts of my PTSD, I sometimes struggle with what I went through all those years ago.

Throughout my recovery I’ve had a few people ask about my experiences. Some were fellow abuse survivors, some were looking for ways to tell me the abuse “wasn’t that bad.” But most interesting were the ones who asked why I let it go on for so long. 

The first time I heard that I was surprised. But I don’t blame anyone for wondering that. When you’re not familiar with abuse, you might not understand how the relationship between an abuser and their victims works. And even though I’ve been through it myself, I won’t pretend to be an expert. Abuse is something complex and difficult for everybody, and no two stories are exactly the same.

But, just sharing from my experiences, here’s five reasons why I never spoke out while being abused.

1) I Didn't Know I was Being Abused

They say ignorance is bliss, but for me that obviously wasn’t the case. I was in an abusive situation for years, and honestly had no idea. Some of you are probably wondering if I could really be that naive, and the answer is actually yes. Of course I had heard of abuse through books, movies, and news stories, but I never thought it was something that could happen to me.

Of course I knew that something about my situation wasn’t right. I was raised in a good home with parents who loved me, and the abuse years were nothing like that. But I didn’t say anything because I believed I was the problem. I was constantly reminded of how I wasn’t doing enough, I wasn’t selfless enough. I was an added burden on other people’s shoulders and I should be grateful they put up with me. 

Just those words alone, uttered by someone I cared about on a regular basis, was enough to convince me that it was true. So for years I tried to bear it, thinking that it really was all my fault.

2) I Thought I Could Fix It

Since I blamed myself for everything that happened in the abuse years, it was easy to think that I could fix it all. If I could just do a little more, if I could just be a little better, then everything would go back to the way it was. Everyone would be happy, and this person taking advantage of me would love me again. 

It’s funny–if I heard someone describe their life that way, I would tell them to head for the hills. I would let them know that love and attention shouldn’t have to be earned, and that anyone who makes you feel otherwise is not good for you. But when it was happening to me I couldn’t see it for what it was. I figured I must’ve been the problem, because the only alternative was to accept that this person I cared about was capitalizing on the fact that I didn’t know any better.   

I didn’t want anyone to think poorly of this person, nor did I want to accept the reality of what I was going through. So rather than turn to others for help, I tried to take care of everything on my own.

3) I Didn't Want to Cause Trouble

While I didn’t realize I was being abused all those years, I could tell that something was wrong. I mean, when you hit that ultimate low of eating moldy food and picking dandelions in front of the library, you know something’s up.

But at the same time, I worried that if I said something people would think I was exaggerating. After all, that was what I heard from my abuser every time I went to them for help. “Stop being so dramatic.” “You’re so ungrateful.” “I’m busier than anybody, so who are you to complain?”

Eventually I learned to stop asking for help. I didn’t want anyone to think I was complaining, nor did I want to be a bigger burden than I already thought I was. Plus there was always that added fear that, if I did reach out, I would only get the same reaction. As painful as it was to bear everything I went through, I couldn’t stand the thought of reaching out to everyone I loved, only to get rejected every time.

4) I'm Samoan

Don’t get me wrong–I love being Samoan. My heritage is one of the biggest parts of my identity. It’s something that I’m proud of. But like every culture, the fa’a Samoa has its downsides. One of those being that we don’t talk about abuse. In a culture where God and family are at the center of everything, there really isn’t a way to cope with abuse because abuse is something that’s not supposed to happen. And when it does, it’s so much easier to ignore it rather than to actually deal with the issue. 

I could go off on that, but maybe that’s for another blog post.

 

5) I Was Embarassed

Above all the other reasons listed here, I would say this was the number one reason why I never went for help. Yes, I was ignorant. Yes, I knew it was a cultural taboo to talk about what I was going through. But greater than all of that was the shame that I was even in that situation. I remember feeling so pathetic for sinking that low. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to see me like that — scraping to get by, borderline suicidal, and so useless that I couldn’t even care for my own grandma. 

In hindsight, I can see what an impossible situation that was. I was a full-time college kid trying to pay for school and support two elderly relatives with my minimum-wage paycheck. I would bike or run home between classes just to make sure Grandma was eating and hadn’t left the stove on again. With all that stress, I was running on 2-3 hours of sleep a night. And through it all I had this unnamed third party constantly reminding me what a spoiled, ungrateful kid I was. 

With all of that going on, I’m honestly not sure how I made it through college.

 

Why I'm Speaking Out Now

I’ve worried about sharing this particular story because it’s bound to rub some people the wrong way. In our culture, it’s shameful to talk about abuse because it’s seen as bringing light to things meant to stay in the family. While I agree that it’s important not to air out the dirty laundry, I think it’s equally important to share our experiences–even the ones that might make people uncomfortable. 

Recently I’ve heard a lot of Polynesians speaking out about their struggles with abuse and mental health. Some to come to mind are Aunty Hinano Tanielu’s story about her struggles with depression, or Aunty Deslynn Jaquias and her work with the Healing with Aloha podcast. I can’t help but think that I could’ve gotten myself out of a terrible situation a lot sooner had I heard those stories in the abuse years. There is power in the written word and in knowing that you’re not alone. 

Also, since I’ve shared my experiences with PTSD, I think it’s only right to touch on the abuse and to clarify that neither my parents nor my siblings ever did anything to me that was untoward. Had I understood what I was actually going through, they would’ve stepped in right away. As for the actual abuser, I’ve accepted that I may never have that cheesy kumbaya I always wanted. That hurts, but I’m not sharing my story to call said sinner to repentance. They can work that out with God. 

For Those Being Abused

But for anyone going through something similar to what I went through, don’t sit around waiting for things to get better. One of the many ugly truths about abuse is things don’t get better. Not unless you do something about it. Don’t gaslight yourself into thinking, “Oh, it’s not that bad,” or “Other people have it so much worse.” Because here’s the truth: Just because someone might have it worse doesn’t make the abuse okay. NOTHING could ever make abuse okay.

You owe it to yourself and to everyone impacted by your existence to put a stop to it. Whether that means setting clear boundaries, leaving a bad situation, or getting professional help to deal with the aftermath, I plead with you to take those actions today. No matter what you’ve been through or what you may think you deserve, you have value as a human being. And nobody has a right to take advantage of that. 

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See you in the next post,

Kryssa