Would you call this childhood trauma? (Toxic family)

Hello! (I’m sorry if this isn’t the right group, but it feels with relationships, I I thought I’d try)

I have always had a hard time labeling myself a victim of childhood trauma, but I’m not sure what else I would call it. It comes and goes in waves, and I’ve recently made some new friends in which I have grown very close too. One night they were all sharing some childhood traumatic events that led them to have issues with anxiety, stress, mommy issues, daddy issues, etc.

I didn’t share my traumatic event because I don’t know how to put it into words what really happened, and I don’t want to “one-up” any of their issues, if you know what I mean. I have always buried things down deep, but I’m thinking it effects me to this day still.

When I was 9 years old I was molested by my grandfather.

He was actually my step-grandpa, but had been my “grandpa” since before I was even born, so he didn’t feel like a “step.” I didn’t tell anyone it happened for 2 years——until it happened again to my cousin while I was in the same bed.

I feel guilt over not saying anything sooner. I feel guilt that it happened to my little cousin to this day, even though this was 20 years ago.

When it happened to me, he had tried to go farther than just touching, but I resisted. I always think about “what might have happened” if I didn’t sort of put up a fight. The first male body part I ever touched, was his.

My stress over this issue doesn’t end there. He ended up going to prison, still is a registered sex offender, and it broke my grandmothers heart. She divorced him, but continued seeing him in secret for years and years. I loved this man, and it hurt that he had to go away.

We were supportive when we found out my grandmother still saw him, and just wanted her to be happy in her old age. Then, she got dementia. He took everything from her, sold her house, her car, made up vile lies about us....

We found out she was passing away about a year ago and it was too late to say goodbye. About a year after she died I received a small check in the mail of some court money he had owed me from the event years ago. It felt like dirty money.

Ugh. So, that’s it in a nutshell. There is a lot more to the story, but I won’t write a novel. I feel guilty when I claim I’ve had childhood trauma, but I don’t know how else to categorize it. My relationship with my own mom, I feel, was even damaged by it.

I’m not really asking a question, but I just wanted to vent. It feels good to talk about it.