I never knew who I was because I never got the chance to become.

When your first understanding of love is entangled with betrayal…

When your sense of safety is violated by someone who should’ve protected you…

When the body that houses your soul is treated like a thing to be used, You don’t grow up.

You survive.

And surviving requires shape-shifting.

It requires shrinking.

It demands silence.

So, you become a fragmented version of yourself— someone who doesn’t know where she ends and others begin.

The Shattered Mirror of Identity

Incestuous sexual abuse doesn’t just harm the body; it erodes the foundation of who you are. Because when the abuse is committed by someone you’re taught to love, obey, or trust—it creates a split.

You begin to believe that you must be the problem. That you are the reason it happened. And over time, the shame of what was done to you becomes the identity you wear.

I lived as a shell for years. A girl full of performance, perfection, and pleasing.
On the outside, I seemed successful. Put-together.

But inside, I was lost. Hollow. Trying to find myself in people, in achievements, in pain disguised as passion.

Because no one ever told me the truth:

That my core sense of self was never nurtured—it was manipulated.

The Lies We Inherit

Children learn who they are by being mirrored back to themselves. By being seen, loved, and protected.

But what happens when the mirror is cracked? What happens when the reflection we get is distorted by a predator’s desire and a family’s silence?

We internalize lies like:

• “My body is dangerous.”
• “I exist to please others.”
• “Love always comes with pain.”
• “My voice doesn’t matter.”
• “If I tell the truth, I’ll destroy everything.”

These beliefs become the scaffolding of our identity. And we don’t even realize it.

We confuse guilt with morality.

We confuse trauma with truth.

We confuse pain with purpose.

And we start to build a life on these faulty bricks.

The “Good Girl” Isn’t Real

I spent years trying to be good. To be sweet. Kind. Accommodating. Because somewhere inside me, I thought that if I was good enough, the pain would stop. But here’s the truth I had to face:

The “good girl” was a survival strategy— a mask I wore to feel safe in a world that had already betrayed me.

She wasn’t real.

She was born in the fire of incest. She was molded by manipulation and shame. And keeping her alive meant keeping me hidden.

When I finally let her go— when I grieved her— I made space to meet the woman I was always meant to become.

Reclaiming Your Identity

Healing from incestuous sexual abuse is not just about recovering memories. It’s about rebuilding identity.

It’s about learning to ask:

• Who am I without the shame?
• What do I want when no one is watching?
• What parts of me have I abandoned to be loved?
• What does safety feel like—in my body, my choices, my relationships?

You get to redefine your story. You get to take back the pen. Even if your hands shake. Even if your voice trembles. You get to become real.

Not the “you” that trauma forced you to be— but the you that was always underneath, waiting. Watching. Hoping.

You Are Not Broken

If you’ve read this far, know this:

You are not crazy.

You are not overreacting.

You are not too much.

You are a survivor of the most profound betrayal imaginable.

And it changed you.

But it didn’t destroy you.

Your sense of self may feel tattered, but it is not gone. It is buried beneath the wreckage, waiting to be re-membered.

Piece by piece. Choice by choice. Truth by truth.

You are allowed to return to yourself. You are allowed to exist outside the pain.

You are allowed to be whole.