I told Mum her husband had abused me – she said sorry and stayed with him

I could only have been seven when it first happened. 

Now in my 40s, I vividly remember being hurried along to leave the house. My brother and half-sister were already standing on the driveway, and my stepdad was waiting for me.

I was always a little clumsy and far from practical. The basics of tying shoelaces would just take me much longer than anyone else. This time, however, I clearly took too long.

My arm was grabbed and put behind my back. My stepdad then hit me on the back of the legs and backside, over and over again. All I was told was that I was being disrespectful for taking so long.

My half-sister said nothing; my brother and I only talked about it years later. 

As was always the case when my stepdad beat me, my mum was out. Like much abuse, it was a secret from other adults.

It took me until my late thirties to finally speak out. The thing is, the abuse had never really stopped – it just changed, and I couldn’t live with it any longer. 

My mum and biological dad divorced while I was still a baby. At this time, I had a brother who was a couple of years older. My next memories are of my stepdad on the scene and the arrival of my half-sister, who is a bit younger than me.

My stepdad had always been Dad. He was all I knew but he was never ‘dad’ in the real sense of the word. 

There was no affection, no encouragement and no congratulations. No matter what the achievement, it was never good enough, and he always knew someone who had done it better. 

My stepdad then hit me on the back of the legs and backside, over and over again

Trust me when I say that this chips away at a person and destroys all confidence. 

It’s only looking back that I realise that my mum was a victim, too, though I’m pleased to say that she can now see this herself. 

The abuse was never physical when it came to her. Instead, it was undermining, belittling, and slowly destroying her confidence. 

My brother was also a victim. I’ve learned through therapy that we were targeted as we were seen as a threat. We are both intelligent, high achievers and good at sports. That was too much competition for my stepdad to deal with, so he brought us down.

I have memories of him hitting us both with massive force, using belts and slippers. It never took much to invite a beating. In fact, it always felt like he just wanted an excuse. 

At the time, I knew what was happening was wrong, but I had no idea what to say or do.

Strangely, something that perhaps had the most profound impact was seeing him beat the dog. If it dared to do its business in a part of the garden that he didn’t agree with, it was beaten, too. The weapon of choice? A broom.

I left home at 19. I’d started my career and managed to buy my first house so that it was ready for when I came to the end of my professional training.

While escaping felt good, I never truly got away. It was now more about snide comments to bring me down. My house wasn’t good enough; he knew people in the industry I worked in, and I was doing my job wrong; my choice of car was stupid. There was always something. 

I remember passing my professional exams and being sat in the family home. Somehow a discussion had come up in my area of expertise. 

I commented, and my stepdad shot me down saying that I knew nothing. I spent a while trying to explain the reality, but he was so sure he was right! I even got to the stage of offering to go and get the course book to prove I was right. He refused to look.

I spent a while trying to explain the law, but he was so sure he was right! I even got to the stage of offering to go and get the law book to prove I was right. He refused to look.

A good few years later, I bought a shop. My stepdad was now in his mid-sixties and retired. He came into the shop to help, and I thought this was him being a real dad for the first time.

The reality? He’d always wanted his own shop, he just never had the nerve to do it. So he tried to take over. He’d humiliate me in front of my customers and try to control my stock orders.

One day, he made a comment about something I’d ordered. He was sitting behind the counter while I was at the doorway. I don’t know why that day was different, but I just snapped.

I shouted: ‘Just shut the f**k up!’ as I raced towards him with a raised fist. By the time I reached him, somehow reason had caught up with me. I punched the counter and left the shop. I couldn’t believe his reaction: he just sat there, motionless, without saying a word. 

That day changed everything. It gave me the confidence to say something. I did this first through a text message to my mum, explaining what had happened in the shop and how close I’d come to punching my stepdad, how he got under my skin. 

More importantly, I disclosed that he’d beaten me as a child for the very first time. I wasn’t sure the words would come if I tried to hold a conversation in person.

In an instant, she turned up. She held me, we both sobbed, and she apologised. It hurt her that this had been happening for so long, and she hadn’t noticed.

Next, I phoned my brother. We spoke for hours, recalling incidents of the past. We’d both experienced far more than the other had known. It has affected every part of our lives, right down to our relationships.

It was my half-sister that proved to be the issue. My stepdad was her biological father and she felt that I’d turned on him and made things up.

Did I expect repercussions after accusing my stepdad? Of course, I did. Did I expect it to blow my family apart? Not at all – but that’s exactly what happened. 

The family is now in a place where people can never be under the same roof. 

I haven’t spoken to my stepdad or half-sister for five years now, and this means that I also lost a relationship with her children. I’d been close to them, so losing them is hard to deal with.

I am close to my mum, and in some ways I even feel sorry for her, but it hurts that she has stayed with my stepdad – she has her reasons, whatever they are, but it hurts all the same. 

Despite all of this, I’m still glad that I spoke out. I’ve been able to acknowledge what was happening and I’ve received therapy that has meant I’m in a much better place. It has been a hard journey and I’ve had to revisit some nightmares, but the reality is that therapy has worked.

I wish I had spoken out sooner. I wish that as a child I’d had the confidence. 

If anyone reading this is going through any form of abuse, I hope that you too can find your voice. Staying silent only punishes you.

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