I know I wasn’t old when it started. I was a child. Barely four years old. I lived with my mum, dad, and some of my uncles. My daddy was constantly traveling for work. My mum was also busy working most of the time. So when they were both absent, my uncles took care of us. Among them, there was one who liked me. The entire household knew that I was his favorite.

He would play with me and buy me sweets. For this reason, he too was my favourite. So no one saw anything wrong with it when I had to use the washroom and he would go with me. They thought it was all innocent but it never was. This uncle would unzip his pants, and ask me to play with his joystick. He said it was a toy. At that age, what did I know? I only knew that I got more sweets whenever I played the pulling game with his toy.

I started feeling something was wrong the day he called me into his room and tried to breach my innocence. I was too little for him so he was unsuccessful. I was in KG2 when this happened. He threatened me into keeping my mouth shut about it. I didn’t understand what was going on but I started becoming very timid and shy. I didn’t feel comfortable going to him anymore.

Dad was not around and Mum had to take care of us all alone. The pressure was much on her and she would constantly shout at me because I was becoming too timid. She also didn’t understand why I started staying away from my uncle who was supposed to be my favorite. Unfortunately, I couldn’t tell her why.

By the time I turned twenty-three, I had completely forgotten everything that happened with my uncle. One day I was reading a book. There was a child in the story who went through the same ordeal as I did when I was little. That was when all the memories of my own experience came back to me. I got severely depressed.

Unfortunately and coincidentally, I was going to be the maid of honor at that same uncle’s wedding. How do I tell my family that I now remember what he did to me when I was a child? I couldn’t. So I kept quiet and the wedding happened. After that, my depression grew to the point where I was suicidal.

I was at work one day when one of my supervisors at work asked me, “What is wrong with you? You don’t look well. I have been watching you these past few days and I have deduced that something is eating at you. Talk to me.” He was nice and friendly. I did not open up to anyone in my life about my struggles but when it came to him I just blurted out, “I am depressed.” He was now even more concerned. He said, “I want to help you deal with this. What can I do?” I shrugged and asked him to just be a friend.

Back then, whenever I felt overwhelmed I left the house. I would book a room at a guest house for a day and be by myself the entire day. I wouldn’t talk to anyone. I would just lie on the bed from morning till evening, and then go home.

Two days to my twenty-fourth birthday, the urge to end my life became overwhelming. So I left the house and went to book a room in a guest house. That day everything I used to do to calm myself down did not work. All I could see was the many ways I could put an end to my suffering. It was at that point I remembered my supervisor’s words, “Whenever you feel low and you need a friend, call me. If you become flooded with thoughts of ending it all, please don’t. I am only a phone call away.” So I called him.

For the first time since my ordeal began, I had somebody to talk to. I told him that things were particularly bad that day. “Where are you?” he asked. I told him. “Please, don’t do anything crazy. I am on my way.” One thing I had never been able to do when I was growing up was to be alone in a closed space with a man. I didn’t understand why until my childhood memories came back. And when it did, I became more intentional about never being alone with a man anywhere.

This is why I was concerned about my supervisor coming to the guesthouse to meet me. “Hey, if I don’t come to where you are, how can I help you?” You have to trust someone at some point. Why don’t you start with me?” I was in a fragile place. I needed someone and he was willing to be there for me. So I shelved my reservations and allowed him to come.

He came and finished what my uncle started. I was a virgin and that made him happy that he succeeded in breaching my innocence. He went on to laugh at me and show me my blood. Who would I tell? Wouldn’t people call me stupid for meeting a man in a guesthouse, only to come out and scream RAPE?

I chose the way I wanted to go. I pictured myself doing it. I went through the entire process in my head. I wondered if I should leave a note or if I should go quietly. The more I thought about it the more I was certain that life had nothing good to offer me.

I was lost. For some reason, I didn’t go through with my plans to exit the world. Rather, I found myself in several relationships that were each abusive in their own way. It was like I was drawn to a pattern. I was drawn to men who only hurt me. Nothing I did to make them love me was enough.

I knew I wanted to be loved right. I knew I wanted to heal from my trauma. But I did not know how to get better. The last time someone promised to help me he hurt me. So I no longer went about looking for help. I bottled up my pain and accepted it as my burden through life. Then I met a man one day.

The first time we spoke he asked, ” Why do you sound so stressed?” I was surprised that someone who had just met me could see through me so easily. I couldn’t explain it but his presence calmed me. Our story began from there.

Our first date was at the beach. For the first time ever, I met a man who was not in a hurry to put his hands on me. I found myself telling him things about my past that I never told anyone. He listened without judgment. He was a virgin but he was not bothered that I was not.

He became the hand that steadied me whenever my melancholic waves hit. He was patient, gentle, and always kind to me. There was never a time I needed him that he did not show up. I saw myself as a mess but he saw me as a treasure that needed to be protected and revered. Through his eyes, I started seeing myself as someone worthy of love.

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Most people preach about self-love. They tell us you have to love yourself so well that others will see it and show you the same measure of love. “People treat you how you treat yourself.” Is that not what we say? Well, my case was different.

When I met this man, I had no ounce of love for myself. He saw it but he loved me anyway. He loved me into accepting myself. Through him, I finally saw that I could be more than the girl with a tragic backstory. He loved me into accepting that I am beautiful. He loved me so hard that I understood I was enough. I did not have to work hard to earn love. I did not have to love myself first to be loved. I was just enough.

What Would You Do Differently For Them?

Today, this man who knows me completely yet loves all of me is my husband. We have been married for years now. Nothing has changed between us. He still takes care of me. He has been helping me heal ever since I met him. And I am in a much better place. I was so convinced that everything good was stolen from me by my abusers but he has shown me that nothing was taken from me. Everything good, beautiful, and special about me still exists.

To anyone who relates to my tragic experience in any way, I am sharing this story for you. I know it is difficult to believe but this is not your end. If you keep holding on and walking the healing journey, you will start to see all the beauty you possess and your past will no longer hold you hostage.

–Abena

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