Amelia Elizabeth Gutierrez

Sexual abuse in childhood fucks you up in quite subtle ways that you sometimes don't realise are abnormal until much later.

When I was 7, my mother made me go to Irish Dancing classes. The teacher groped all the kids, including me (and parents weren't allowed to stay for the lessons). After the first lesson, I told my mother what had happened and said I didn't want to go back. She said I was going to keep going whether I liked it or not. I cried before every lesson and she told me to stop being a baby. After a few months, the teacher was arrested and news spread around town that he was a paedophile. My mother said the accusations were probably made up. The teacher went to jail.

When I was 10 my mother decided that there was something wrong the way I walked (there wasn't) and took me to a paediatric podiatrist. He made me strip down to just my underwear, which were loose-fitting boxer shorts (even if I was already wearing shorts with the same inseam as the boxers), and lie down on the bed. He would put his hands on my inner thighs to "massage" them, and he would lift my legs high in the air and look down my boxer shorts. I was made to go back every month, and I remember each time trying to find the perfect combination of clothes that would make him not make me strip, but it never worked. I didn't even bother telling my mother I didn't want to go, I knew I would get shouted at.

When I was 11, we had builders in the house doing construction work. They didn't like the fact that our bathroom had no lock, so they installed one without permission. I took a shower one day, and seeing this new lock on the door, I decided to use it. My mother always used to come into the bathroom when I was showering to rummage through the pile of towels for no apparent reason. This time she couldn't get in, she hammered on the door and shouted at me to let her in. I did so. She berated me heavily for using the lock, and made the builders remove it the next day.

When I was 13, there was one night when I couldn't sleep. After a few hours of failing to sleep, I heard my mother walk into the room (I was never allowed to close my bedroom door). I pretended to be asleep. She walked over to my bed, put her hand under the duvet, and assaulted me. I didn't move, I was just frozen the whole time.

My mother died when I was 17. Everyone in my family told me that I must be so sad because she was such a wonderful and kind person. I just nodded along and didn't say much. One time I tried to confide in a family member about what she had really been like, and I was told that I must be wrong because she was so wonderful and kind. I've never brought it up again.

I don't mention all these things for sympathy, but rather because they demonstrate a pattern of me consistently being put in situations that I *hated*, but that I had no choice other than to just go along with. Any time I expressed a desire that diverted from my mother's wishes, I was told "too bad". So I quickly learned to not have desires at all, just to let life happen to me. Even beyond the CSA, I was never asked "What would you like to do today?" or "Would you like to do X?" I was just told what I would be doing every day of my life, right up until my mother's death.

Even now, many many years later, I struggle to remember that I have an inner life as rich, complex and valuable as other people. I frequently forget that the things I do or say can influence others. If I tell someone something, even something like my name, and the next time I meet them they remember it, that feels shocking to me, because my mind expects my words to have no impact.

I struggle a lot to say no to things. If someone invites me to something, it feels to me as equivalent to my mother telling me I'm going to do it. I just go on autopilot, and sometimes it's only after the event that I realise I could've said no. I forget that I have control over my body and my actions, I forget that I can demand things that other people may not be happy about.

Recently I was talking about some activity I did, and I was asked if I had found it fun. I started to say "yes", but then realised that I hadn't actually found it fun, I actually didn't enjoy it at all. But it never occurred to me that I could have an opinion on the activities I did, that I could say "actually I don't like this" and my words would be respected. If my mother asked me if I was having fun, any answer other than "yes" would result in severe consequences.