As a child, I really didn't have a huge idea that other people weren't going through what I was experiencing. I thought that it could just be a part of life and growing up. I slowly learned that what was happening to me was not alright, not normal, and not something that should be happening. I couldn't bring myself to tell my mom until sometime in the last year or so.
I was so afraid that my mom would react like this family did, that she would be ashamed of or mad at me. I cannot even express how many times I tried to talk about what was happening, what had happened to me. I'd open my mouth to start to talk about it, but then would change the subject or conveniently 'forget' what I was saying. My mom did everything when I was younger to try and make sure that these things she went through as a young girl did not happen to my sister and me, but even all of her careful questions and explanations of good touch/bad touch couldn't overcome the feelings of being abused.
It's only really been within the last year that I've been able to talk more openly about the things that happened to me as a little girl. Even then, I still feel so vulnerable that when people ask me questions about what happened, I can't answer them. Many times, I do want to answer these questions, but the power that these abusers hold over us silence even the most talkative tongues. Other times, I can't describe things I've experienced or even remember what happened. These, of course, end up being the things that people I've spoken to about my abuse want to know about.
If anyone in your life has been sexually abused or assaulted, the most important thing to do is to be supportive and understanding. No one knows exactly what happened to me and, in all likelihood, no one will. It is not that I don't trust the people in my life enough to speak about these things, but there's a pain that exists that can't really be described, even to myself.