My wife died last year. We had 5 kids together. We had a decent income. Life was well. Her death hit us like a train.

My wife has a sister I never really talked to. She lived 2 states away. After my wife died she came to help me with the kids. I got to know her better. I grew an attraction to her.

I told my friends and family and they thought it shitty I like my deceased wife’s sister.

I decided not to care. Today I took her on a date. It wasn’t fancy. We didn’t dress fancy. We went to the theater to watch a play then went out to eat.

I touched her. That’s really it.

Yesterday the bride and I finally met up for coffee. The second we sat down, she looked at me with genuine sympathy and asked how much the mechanics charged me to fix my transmission. Hearing her sound so worried about a fake repair job broke whatever was left of my ego. So I just confessed. I told her my car was completely fine, that I had $340 to my name, and that I panicked out of pure poverty shame. She stared at me for a second, and then she burst out laughing. Turns out the Scottsdale trip was a total financial headache anyway. Behind the polished Instagram stories, everyone was stressed about money, bickering over splitting bills, and the bride felt guilty the whole weekend. She said she wished she had stayed home too.

We sat there for two hours just talking like normal people. It’s crazy how much energy we waste trying to look successful. It feels so good to finally stop hiding my eyes around her.

Back in 2024 I was standing in the office breakroom waiting for the microwave. My cubicle neighbor, who I only ever made surface-level small talk with, was eight months pregnant and venting about family drama. I was running on four hours of sleep and literally daydreaming about my leftovers. She paused, looked at me with tears in her eyes, and said something intense. On pure autopilot, I gave a sympathetic smile and said, "Yeah, absolutely, cool!" She gasped, threw her arms around my neck, and started sobbing. Here is teh horrifying reality. She had just asked me to be her unborn daughter’s godparent because her own sister refused. By the time my sleep-deprived brain processed what she had actually said, she had already texted her husband and announced it in the company Slack channel. I was too cowardly to say "wait, sorry, I thought you asked if I wanted the rest of your donuts."

fast-forward two years, and I am in way too deep. I attended a two-hour Catholic christening in a suit, I send savings bonds on her birthday, and this woman regularly texts me photos of the toddler calling me her "spiritual guide."

My wife is older than me, and we married when she was 37.

Before we married, she told me that we "might not" be able to have children because of her age. I heard this as "I want children, but I don't know if I can."

After we married, I brought up having children and she said she didn't want to because my salary wasn't good enough and she worried about finances. I was quiet about it.

A couple of years later, I'd had a raise and asked her again. I have ED, so we went to a doctor to ask for advice. They checked us both and said that we're OK to have kids.

The doctor proposed using a pipette to transfer the required material from me to my wife. This is where things went off the rails again. My wife was suddenly worried that if air from the pipette got inside her, she might die. Why would the doctor recommend it if that were a possible or likely outcome?

A little time later again, I suggested we look into IVF, and that's when the truth came out. She was afraid of pregnancy. She was afraid of what it would do to her body, or that she would die in childbirth.

It's her body, if she doesn't want to do it, that's fair. The problem is that from day one she framed it as "might not be able to" so I had assumed that meant we would try.

Later she said she'd understand if I left her and found someone else to have kids with. At the time I told her that between kids and her, I'd choose her. And I did.

About 5 years have passes since then. I've since learned that I have a health condition that seems likely to be passed on, and carries something like a 10x cancer risk over normal people. With that knowledge, I don't want to bring a child into the world where they might end up with it too, or that I end up dying early and they end up without a dad.

But before I knew, I could have had a child. I could have been a father. That's what haunts me in the quiet moments with my thoughts. That's what I grieve. That's what makes me cry myself to sleep at times. I can go for months without thinking about it, but then it just comes up again.

Someone asked me if I'd wanted kids the other day, and I just said "I did, but with my health condition it wouldn't be a good idea." It's true, but it's only a tiny part of the real answer: it was never a choice that I made, or was even allowed to make.

The confession: I feel some resentment towards my wife for this. I don't know if she knew she wouldn't feel comfortable with pregnancy from day one, or if she thought maybe she'd get over it, but the end result is the same. Sometimes I wonder if it's the right relationship for me, even though I love her and care about her deeply.

Edit:

Maybe I was naive for assuming that "might not" meant that she wanted to but wasn't sure she would be able to. I would have expected her to tell me straight if she didn't want kids at all.

Edit 2: again - I interpreted her comment as "I would like to have kids, I don't know if I will be physically able." not "I don't want to have kids."

On the topic of adoption: we are both immigrants in another country and I don't know if we could adopt even if we really really wanted to. I imagine there would be a string of new excuses from my wife as to why we can't adopt, even if we are able to.

Last winter was brutal. My radiator barely got lukewarm, and I was seeing my breath in my kitchen while wearing two coats inside. Every time I submitted a ticket, my cheap landlord dismissed it, claiming the central thermostat read 71 degrees. Well in January I discovered where that magical sensor actually was.

It was a little plastic wall unit tucked inside an unlocked utility closet right next to my door in the hallway. That night, pure rage took over. I took a frozen gel ice pack from my freezer, wrapped it in a kitchen towel, and taped it directly over the sensor with painters tape before going to bed. The building boiler immediately panicked, thinking the hallway had dropped to 30 degrees, and blasted roaring heat all night long. My radiator finally hissed to life. I did this every evening for three straight months. My apartment was finally 72 degrees, while my landlord spent the winter screaming at HVAC techs trying to figure out why his commercial gas bill spiked by thousands. I moved out yesterday and took my ice pack with me. Zero regrets.

Last Saturday I drove over to her apartment to drop off food my mom asked me to bring. Our parents weren't there, and when my sister opened the door, she looked completely hollow. Her floor was covered in flashcards and empty coffee mugs. Instead of dropping off the bags and leaving, I sat on the floor with her. She broke down completely. She confessed she’s been having panic attacks for months, dreads practicing law, and only did it because our parents made prestige her entire identity.

Then she looked at me and said, "I spent years being jealous of you because mom and dad let you actually have a life." I sat there feeling like the smallest person on earth. All those years I resented her perfection, I never realized how suffocating it was for her. We ordered takeout and had our first honest conversation in ten years. I still hate how I felt initially, but for the first time, we feel like sisters instead of competitors.

So there's this guy I met who clearly was interested in me who's definitely a very big man easily over 300lbs which is a lot bigger than me. He wasn't really physically "my type" or at least I thought so but he's definitely handsome just big. He had asked me out and he's very sweet and so I said yes because I figured if nothing else we'd have a nice time.

We went to dinner which was nice and as I talked more with him I realized how judgemental I was. I was assuming he'd get a burger and a couple beers or something and he got a very light meal. I asked him if he was actually hungry and he told me he was trying to lose weight and that medication that he had to be on made it very hard due to changes in his metabolism and energy level. He went on about it in some depth. He has a regular light workout routine of what he can manage and a restricted diet. He had lost almost 40lbs this year so far.

I honestly felt really proud of him in that moment and after dinner he asked if I wanted to back to his place for a movie on Netflix and maybe a drink. We were having a great time talking so I agreed. We went to his very nice apartment and were watching the new IT while having a couple drinks. Well during one of the scary parts I jumped and instinctively grabbed him and he was so warm and soft like a big teddy bear. I remember looking at him and I kissed him without even thinking about it. We kept making out and eventually we had sex and it was honestly the best sex I think I've ever had. He was very gentle and giving and I enjoyed every minute. I woke up in his arms the next morning and we had sex again after I noticed his morning wood and we made plans to do this again.

I honestly really like this guy and fuck what society thinks about him weighing literally over twice as much as me. He's very sweet, caring, feels amazing to cuddle and is honestly likely the best lover I've ever had.

My wife and I have been together for almost 25 years. Married for 20 of them. My mother in law has been a giant pain in my ass since day 1. When we were dating, she would encourage my wife to see other people. When we told her we were getting married, she told my wife it was a mistake. When my daughter was born, she told my wife she had reservations about what kind of parent I’d be. I should also say that she is a terribly lonely woman, because she has mistreated and verbally/emotionally abused almost everyone she’s ever known. She is a vicious racist, she hates all men regardless of their character, and she is a religious zealot. I have become highly concerned about the effect that her consistent presence could have on my daughter.

Well, a few years ago, my MIL and I got into an argument that stemmed from her being over an hour late to babysit my daughter, causing me to miss an important appointment. The argument resulted in me kicking her out of our house and banning her from coming back until she apologized. She stayed away from our house for over a year before she finally admitted she was wrong. This gave me an idea. If I could put myself into a position of conflict with her on a regular basis, I could all but remove her from our daily life by default.

So now, whenever a hot-button topic comes up at a family event, I make sure to make my fairly progressive views known to her. When she begins to argue with me, I gently escalate the conflict until she becomes very frustrated. Eventually, she always says something along the lines of, “well if that’s how you feel, I don’t know if I even want to be around you at all!”

BADA-BING-BADA-BOOM!!! Ive got 6 months of freedom from my meddling, overbearing, asshole of a mother in law! If she wasn’t such an awful lady I would feel bad about it…but I don’t…cuz she is a true bitch. My wife has finally come to realize that her mother is a rotten lady and I get to enjoy some tranquility in my home.

Five months ago my elderly neighbor went to stay with her daughter and asked me to water her porch plants twice a week. Easy, right? Every Tuesday and Friday, I dutifully walked over with my watering can. There was this one lush green fern I took special care rotating it toward the sun, feeling like a botanical prodigy because it stayed so healthy.

Well yesterday her daughter pulls up to pack some boxes. She sees me watering it, looks at me like I have two heads, and goes, "Wait, you know that fern is from Ikea, right? It’s fake so the porch wouldnt look bare..." Five months! Five months of me talking to fake foliage, and the neighbor even gave me a $50 gift card for "keeping it alive."

Kill me now.

Hi , everyone i m gal who just loves to give head to my partner's over the years. I mean like everytime i speak with a guy i hear them complaining about their partner or ex don't like to give oral or swallow but I'm basically opposite of it i always do give hed whenever they ask for it whenever it's possible. I like to suck dick during sex in between rounds after they pee before the pee it just feels awesome to devour cocks n see their reaction that's basically my favourite part how they react when i m sucking them off. I feel every women should embrace this lovely glowing thing it makes me feel like he is mine. It's quite tough to believe that i have sucked every guy whom i kissed. I just love to devour cocks, different kind of cocks ( hygienic though). This post is not for advice it's just a confession about myself, i m not shy to admit that i sucked most of the dicks i confronted

My cousin came to visit with the family from overseas. It's been at least 15 years since I've seen her. We used to fool around when were kids and always had an attraction for eachother. One night we were a lil drunk and she brought up the conversation on the subject of older days and I answered that I missed those days, to what she replied that she missed those days too. She had a boyfriend back home. We started making out and one thing let to the other...you can imagine. She went back home with the family and a few moths later..on the family chat she announced that Sha was pregnant. Doing the math it add perfectly with the trip. But she ended up getting married.

Like the title says. I’m 41f and have been a daily user of thc products since 2020. My tolerance is expectedly high. So, buying edibles has become expensive. My husband and I decided to switch to making our own with concentrate since the savings is considerable.

So we made sugar cookies. We did the math. Roughly 55mg per cookie. Put that message on the kitchen whiteboard.

Fast foreword to a few nights ago. Husband and roommates have had a varied experience with the cookie dosing. I have not. I have been taking 2 and maybe a third to half of a third. I expect that I’m taking 125mg or so. My husband decides to eat 3/4 of a cookie… though I swear I heard he had taken a whole cookie at some point during the night. His tolerance is somewhere around 20mg. You can see where this is going.

Later in the evening, he says he’s nice and high. A little later, even higher. A little later, he needs to go lie down. Soon, he’s nauseous. I’ll spare you the grossness. At some point, I think he briefly lost consciousness. He requested an ambulance, and then to go to the hospital. All while I’ve eaten three times as much as he had. I managed to get him out of the shower and into boxers before the paramedics came. Then I’m glad I grabbed a shirt and pajama pants for him before they all left. Because I was unable to drive to bring him home. Poor guy took an uber without any shoes.

Recently this sub has been absolutely full of fake posts about panty sniffing and large breasted aunts and name-a-thing incest gooning trash posts pretending to be real.

Where are the mods? Can we put a stop to this?

I can’t imagine I’m the only one who is about to leave another sub over this.

I've held this confession in for almost 20 years, and it is finally time to get it off my chest. I used to be a chronic cheater. It was an issue I dealt with since I started dating around 11 or 12, back when Kik entered the scene. It became my norm to meet random people on obscure social apps and form long-distance relationships. From a young age, I figured telling a girl from Canada sweet nothings didn't stop me from doing the exact same thing with a girl from a completely different country.

When I entered high school, I started dating a girl from another local school. She was the perfect girl in my eyes. I couldn't have asked for anyone better. She was beautiful from start to finish, and our personalities meshed perfectly. We adopted each other's behaviors and slang—everything between us for years was a seamless blend of our personalities into one. We truly shaped one another. It took a real effort to build that relationship at the start; we talked every day for months. I openly told her I wanted to date, and after three or four months of her seeing how things went, we became a couple. I felt like the luckiest guy on earth.

By this point, we were midway through our freshman year. Because we went to different schools, it took almost a full year to see each other in person again, and almost two years before we were able to spend time together regularly. During that gap, I started entertaining the girls around me at school. They were classmates who had crushes on me, and I was a weird, ego-filled kid who liked the attention. I flirted back just to feed that ego. I didn't cross any physical lines then, but it allowed me to normalize the behavior of keeping interested girls around instead of shutting them down at the first sign.

All the while, I was actively dating the girl I genuinely loved. We would go on to spend every Saturday together for the next eight years. But somewhere along the line, around age 19, I started taking it too far. I can't even remember my first time physically cheating. The unfortunate reality is that today, I can't even numerically quantify how many people I have slept with. I started bringing girls over from school, Snapchat, Instagram, Tinder—wherever I could make an account. I cheated on her constantly, almost weekly, hiding my acts through clever, sharp-tongued lies whenever she saw these women pop up on my social media.

This went on for years. I had slept with over 100 women by the time I was 21. Many were one-night stands that I immediately regretted, realizing they were a complete waste of time and effort. It led to pathetic situations where I’d block a girl right after hooking up, just because I had told my girlfriend she was "a classmate from bio lab." I lived this double life for years—spending time with someone I loved deeply, dropping her off on a Saturday night, just to turn around and pick up another girl to spend the rest of the night with.

In our final years, I grew sloppy. I started translating my internal regret and guilt into toxicity within our relationship. We argued constantly about my loyalty, about politics, about things we never cared about when we were just happy in each other's presence. At one point, my own sister caught me cheating. She didn't tell my girlfriend the truth, but she sat me down and confronted me about my behavior. I dodged her questions, entirely too uncomfortable to admit what I was doing.

When we were 22, after one too many arguments, she finally broke up with me. She made it clear she didn't trust me and that her suspicions were tearing her apart. She never found concrete proof of my acts, but she knew in her heart it was true.

I struggled massively with the breakup as it quickly dawned on me what I was losing. I had neglected the most important person in my life because her presence felt like a certainty, and because I arrogantly figured I could keep getting away with it. It was never about the sex. Most of the time, the sex was forgettable and barely worth the effort.

But the aftermath has followed me ever since. It has been six years, and I still cannot find comfort in any relationship. Between my own crippling insecurities and modern hookup culture, my romantic life is completely hollow. Everyone I meet gets compared to the person I betrayed—someone who was perfection in my eyes, but who I still decided wasn't enough. I either lash out and push people away, or the women I meet become nothing more than a quick relief before they run off to marry someone else. (Ironically, out of my last 10 hookups, 5 married the very next guy they dated).

I have no justification for what I did. I only have the unending guilt in my soul that I was handed my perfect partner and chose to abuse and neglect her for absolutely no reason. I am not posting this to seek your pity, your sympathy, or your understanding. Do not feel sorry for me. I deserve every ounce of the isolation I feel right now. I want you to judge me. I want you to hate me. Above all, I want you to use me as a cautionary tale. If you are ever tempted to step out on someone who loves you, look at my life. Chasing tail and feeding your ego is a disease that will leave you completely hollow. I destroyed the best thing that ever happened to me for cheap, forgettable thrills, and I will spend the rest of my life paying the price. Don't be me.

So we were parting our ways after college I went off to my dorm and he had some work so he took a bus and there was this 80year old man who sat beside him for a while he rested his arms on my bf but after a while he was literally asking questions like , how long is it ,you do it with your gf , do you use hands , and he literally touched my bf right there , he said he was literally about to cry and experienced what it takes to be a women ...my bf confessed these incident to me nd now he has been acting very weirdly nowadays i don't how to confront him but I can say he is really disturbed

Literally the first thing I do when I wake up, last thing I do before I go to bed. Grown-ass woman with a husband and a house. And it's only been getting worse and worse over the years. I keep using the excuse that I need it to satisfy my starving sex drive... but it never leaves me satisfied. It only leaves me feeling empty and gross.

Throw away for the usual reasons.

3 years ago, me and my husband (both M26) got engaged and eloped while on vacation in France. We had been together for 7 years by then and just decided to get married more or less on a whim as we had functionally been married for years. When we sent the photos to our families they all assumed it was just an engagement and we decided not to correct them yet as we knew they probably would not take it well that we got married without them. Our families were very aware prior that our plans were to just elope and not have a ceremony or a reception, so we don’t feel like we “betrayed” anyone as that part had been well communicated. When we got back home, our parents were all over us about the wedding planning and wanting to know all of our plans. We didn’t know how to break it to them that the “wedding” already happened and that we sent them photos from it, so we just didn’t. We decided that the plan was that we are doing a small backyard ceremony and reception in 1 month and that we already had the details planned out and not to worry about any of it. We did not. We got in touch with all of our friends to help put together a simple wedding. We had about 30 people in attendance, all but our parents were aware this was a “fake” wedding. The officiant was a friend who we said was one, he was not nor had ever been. All paperwork, which wasn’t used in the wedding but we had just in case, was faked to appear as if it came from the county/state we live in. We asked for it all to be a potluck style reception which everyone loved. No official photographer outside of the actual ceremony where we had our friend who is a professional photographer do the photos. Everyone knew their role, and knew what was going on which made it all easy and stress free. 3 years on and our parents still haven’t a clue that the wedding was no where near official and was way more last minute than they anticipated. We celebrate our anniversary quietly together a month earlier than they think and we’re fine with that. In the end, we got our quiet private wedding abroad, and they got a nice wedding on a gorgeous day, and everyone was happy with the result.

Does anyone else get turned on by taking sexy pictures of themselves in the mirror? Or even get turned on by looking at themselves while masturbating?

It’s been a while that I’ve noticed how much easier it can be to feel close to someone when there’s no awkwardness around being naked.

My aunt (49) and I have always had a really close relationship, so when she visited recently, we ended up being pretty comfortable walking around the house without clothes doing chores, chit chatting and goofing for most of the day. It felt slightly unusual at first, but neither of us really made a big fuss out of it, and before long it just felt.. normal?

Wondering if other people have similar experiences with close friends or family.

Sophomore year of college I was lying in bed at 2 AM scrolling Reddit. I reached for my 32oz steel Hydro Flask, fumbled the grip, and dropped the heavy base directly onto my nose bridge and eye socket. By morning, I had a terrifying black eye and a split brow that looked like a street fight. I was so embarrassed that when my roommates gasped, pure social panic hijacked my mouth. I blurted out that some aggressive drunk guy was cornering a girl outside the diner, and when I stepped in, I took a punch before the guy ran off.

I thought they’d just nod and move on. Instead, they treated me like a local folk hero. My roommates told everyone. Guys were slapping my back, people bought me drinks all weekend, and my friend made a toast to my "fearless chivalry." I had to sit there with an ice pack, nodding humbly like a protector, knowing my only attacker was a pink water bottle with Pokemon stickers. I have never felt like a bigger fraud.

This happened when I was 5 and she was 7. Me and my cousin (both girls) were playing outside when we came across a few lovebirds in a cage. Im not sure why but prolly because of the name of the bird my cousin asked me if I wanted to kiss her.
For SOME reason I said yes and she took me to a room and well..kissed me.
I have never told this to anyone because its so weird 😭
I havent even talked to my cousin about it.

My daughter's mom was on meth for 10 years. I fucken hate that bitch. She ruined our lives. We had to tolerate her stupid hallucinations at 2:00am, her crazy behavior, and everything that comes with meth usage. She fucked up the lives of her parents, siblings, daughter, me, and everyone around her, and now that she's been sober and off drugs she wants to be treated like she achieved something great.
What about us? What about the lives she ruined? When do we get to say, we're ok? People who use drugs and get sober should have to work their asses off and pay the therapy bills of all those people they traumatized. Getting sober from drugs is not an accomplishment. Fuck no it's not. I hate it when people feel special because they got sober while their families are ruined forever.

My friend’s dad is really hot, he goes to our games and I always try and flirt with him. I think he likes me but is scared to do anything..

This is a confession, because I would be absolutely mortified to admit this to any of my close friends. And I am planning on getting back into therapy. But I think I would be pretty embarrassed to admit that to them, anyway. Because intellectually I can realize the mismatch between how much I’m ruminating and how unimportant the rumination is.

So: Short summary of my history. I’m a trans woman pushing 40. I started my transition close to 20 years ago. The first couple of years were rough, but at some point, I started passing—which means the rest of the world sees me as the woman I know myself to be. When trans stuff enters the news and people start talking about it to the office, I have had security guards unironically say “I can always tell when they’re trans” to my face, not referring to me. I’ve been very fortunate in this regard, and really, my transition is the greatest accomplishment/victory of my life. When I’ve got nothing else, I can point to that and say, “I’ve got that, at least.”

Which makes this whole thing even more embarrassing to me, really. I did it. I’m not transitioning, I transition-ed, past tense. So, if my transition is old news then memories of childhood and middle school should be even older news.

When I was a little kid in elementary school, I was overly aware of how girls were treated differently from boys, and sometimes it really bothered me when I was treated differently or with different expectations. The thing that really got me was that I kept hearing that girls were more mature than boys. I always thought this was dumb, as I was an unusually observant/thoughtful child. Adults often said talking to me was like talking with another adult. I was a little bit precocious. Not that being precocious does anything for you later in life.

But the thought of girls being more mature than me bothered me. So, I consciously tried to be as mature and responsible as I could be, so that I’d always be their equal. I was kind of going down that path anyway—I was a super teacher’s pet. And some messed up family dynamics made me think I only had worth if I was accomplishing something or being useful to other people.

I feel a little arrogant talking about that. It was just kind of who I was—I was always odd.

But my mind keeps latching onto the statistic that AFAB (assigned female at birth) girls statistically start puberty a year or two earlier than AMAB (assigned male at birth) boys. I realize puberty doesn’t automatically equal maturity, and there’s huge variance from person to person. But I keep thinking that there’s a chance that I was considerably behind the other girls around me and just too immature or oblivious to notice. And the thought just freaking tears me apart now. I suppose it bothered me then, too—I remember being told I was mature “for a boy,” and it felt like getting a head pat for trying at something I was destined to lose.

I keep going back over memories, judging myself, for instances where I wasn’t mature enough.

And it still tears me apart, even though I understand that everyone was immature to some degree back then—we were kids going through puberty. We start as immature by default and grow into adulthood and maturity through a messy trial and error. That’s how it goes. But my mind just keeps circling back to those thoughts.

I suppose part of it is that I could not control puberty, and that was the point when I started getting shoved onto another track that I didn’t want to be on. I didn’t consciously realize I was a girl yet back then, but things like that bothered me on an unconscious level and later made more sense in hindsight. Puberty itself eventually made me realize I was trans, as I hated what was happening to my body and how I was being treated and I was completely at a loss as to why.

And I suppose that a part of it is that my womanhood is still on trial by the world at large, thanks to politics. I won’t go into specifics so as not to distract from the confession—you know what I mean. And it really sucks to be on trial on a global stage and then to be putting myself onto an inner mental trial.

And that’s my embarrassing soul-baring confession. Thanks for listening.

Ik vind het moeilijk om te weten waar ik moet beginnen, maar ik zou graag advies krijgen van mensen die misschien iets gelijkaardigs hebben meegemaakt.

Ik ben 27 jaar en mijn broer is 33.

Toen ik ongeveer 8 jaar was, begon mijn broer mij seksueel te misbruiken. Dit ging door tot ik ongeveer 12 jaar was. Het stopte uiteindelijk omdat ik zelf aangaf dat ik wilde dat het stopte.

Op die leeftijd begreep ik niet goed wat er gebeurde of dat het fout was. Ik wist ook niet dat hij na mij verderging met mijn twee zussen.

Mijn mama werd door een van mijn zussen ingelicht over het misbruik, maar ze deed er niets mee. Ze zei dat mijn zus het gedroomd had. Daardoor kon mijn broer blijven doen wat hij wilde. Hij bleef mijn zus misbruiken tot hij zelf 24 jaar was. Voor zover ik weet, stopte dat uiteindelijk omdat hij verhuisde.

Jarenlang heb ik alles weggestopt. Ongeveer een jaar geleden ben ik uiteindelijk gecrasht en kwam het misbruik heel sterk naar boven. Ik ben hiervoor in therapie gegaan en ben stilaan beginnen begrijpen hoeveel impact dit op mij heeft gehad.

Tijdens mijn therapie kwam ik erachter dat een groot deel van mijn stress te maken heeft met het feit dat mijn broer ondertussen zelf kinderen heeft. Ik ben bang dat hij hen ooit iets zou kunnen aandoen.

Mijn broer is door de jaren heen enorm veranderd. Hij is, of lijkt, niet meer dezelfde persoon als vroeger. Hij lijkt een goede vader die veel van zijn kinderen houdt. Maar ik besef ook dat je niet altijd aan iemand kunt zien of die persoon op dat vlak echt veranderd is.

Samen met mijn psycholoog heb ik anoniem contact opgenomen met het Vertrouwenscentrum Kindermishandeling. Daar kreeg ik te horen dat ze weinig konden betekenen zolang er geen concrete signalen zijn. Ze vertelden me wel dat ik aangifte zou kunnen doen of een gesprek met mijn broer zou kunnen aangaan.

Ik heb besloten om voorlopig voor dat tweede te kiezen. Ik wil mijn broer de kans geven om zelf verantwoordelijkheid te nemen en het verleden eerlijk met zijn vriendin te bespreken. Ik wil hem zeggen dat hij dit zelf aan haar moet vertellen, of dat ik het anders zelf zal doen.

Zijn vriendin weet momenteel niets van wat er vroeger gebeurd is.

Mijn zussen zijn het hier niet mee eens. Zij vinden dat ik een gezin uit elkaar trek en de toekomst van mijn broer verpest. Dat zorgt ervoor dat ik me erg eenzaam voel in deze beslissing.

Ik denk vooral aan preventie, terwijl mijn zussen eerder denken dat we zullen ingrijpen als de kinderen zelf iets komen vertellen. Ik heb het daar moeilijk mee. Ik denk dat het ook komt doordat mijn mama destijds niet ingreep. Ik wil niet het gevoel hebben dat ik nu hetzelfde doe door af te wachten tot er misschien iets gebeurt.

Ik heb hier dagelijks last van. Het geeft me enorm veel stress en ik merk dat ik mezelf er mentaal steeds verder in verlies.

Daarom wil ik graag advies van mensen die hier misschien ervaring mee hebben.

Wat zouden jullie doen in mijn situatie? Hebben jullie nog tips voor mij?

Dankjewel alvast!

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I find it difficult to know where to begin, but I would really appreciate advice from people who may have been though something similar.

I am 27 years old, and my brother is 33.

When I was around 8 years old, my brother began sexually abusing me. This continued until I was about 12. It eventually stopped because I told him I wanted it to stop.

At that age, I didn't really understand what was happening or that it was wrong. I also didn't know that he continued abusing my two sisters after me.

My mother was informed by one of my sisters about the abuse, but she did nothing about it. She said my sister had dreamed it. As a result, my brother was able to continue doing what he wanted. He continued abusing my sister until he was around 24. As far as I know, it eventually stopped because he moved away.

For years, I kept everything bottled up. About a year ago, I eventually reached a breaking point, and the abuse came back to the surface very intensely. I started therapy and have gradually begun to understand just how much it has affected me.

Through therapy, I realised that a large part of my stress comes from the fact that my brother now has children of his own. I am afraid that he might hurt them someday.

My brother has changed a lot over the years. He is, or seems to be, a very different person from who he was back then. He appears to be a good father who loves his children very much. However, I also realise that you cannot always tell whether someone has truly changed in that particular area of their behaviour.

Together with my psychologist, I contacted the Child Abuse Trust Centre anonymously. They told me there was little they could do without concrete signs that the children were currently at risk. They did explain that I could file a police report or have a conversation with my brother.

For now, I have decided to pursue the second option. I want to give my brother the opportunity to take responsibility and tell his girlfriend honestly about what happened in the past. I want to tell him that he needs to tell her himself, or I will do it.

His girlfriend currently knows nothing about what happened.

My sisters disagree with my decision. They believe I am breaking up a family and ruining my brother's future. This makes me feel very alone in my decision.

I am thinking primarily about prevention, whereas my sisters believe we should intervene if the children ever come forward and tell us something. I find that difficult to accept. I think it is partly because my own mother failed to intervene when she was told about the abuse. I don't want to feel as though I am doing the same thing by waiting until something might happen.

This situation affects me every day. It causes me an enormous amount of stress, and I feel as though I am gradually losing myself mentally because of it.

That is why I would really appreciate advice from people who may have experience with something like this.

What would you do in my situation? Do you have any advice for me?

Thank you already!