When I was younger, my father’s visits had seemed a normal part of growing up. But around the time I reached my teenage years, I began to realise that I was caught in a cycle of abuse and self-blame, which made me feel unable to speak out and try to stop it. I was convinced that I could never tell my secret, because then everyone would think I was disgusting and my mum would abandon me and return to India.
My father used to tell me (and himself) that he wasn’t harming me, that my suffering was all in my head, and that he had a fatherly right to my body, as without him, I wouldn’t be alive at all.