The Cost of Coming Forward (And Why I’m Glad I Did It Anyway)

Nubia DuVall Wilson

Survivors of incest abuse or sibling sexual trauma/abuse are often asked some version of the same question: Why didn’t you say something sooner? As if it’s that simple and disclosure automatically = being believed, supported and comforted—but it does not.

For Black women, it’s rarely that simple. We’re not just weighing whether to tell our truth to our family and inner circles, we’re also evaluating everything that truth could cost. And if your brain repressed your memories like mine did, you may not recall that abuse until there’s a “triggering event” that reveals them.

What we Black women are often contemplating is at stake if we divulge our incest abuse:

• Protecting the family name because “our business is none of their business.”

• Protecting Black men from systems that already target them — even when those men have hurt us.

• Avoiding stereotypes about Black families that a racist society is all too happy to amplify.

• Generational messaging that says what happens at home stays at home.

• The expectation to be strong, unconditionally forgive, move on, and not make it a whole thing.

We are often the last ones given permission to fall apart — or to reveal the truth about our pain (emotional and physical). The more I share my story, the more Black women send me DMs saying: me too — usually followed by but I could never say it publicly, so thank you for speaking out. Healing is hard, it’s worse in isolation, and community changes everything.

Speaking of community…on June 23 I attended Sibling Sexual Abuse & Trauma: Breaking the Silence, the first conference of its kind in America. SSTA Survivors, caregivers, advocates, clinicians and researchers from around the world gathered to discuss one of the most under-discussed yet prevalent categories of child sexual abuse. Fast forward, and I am still reflecting on our big successful day! I want to define that success from my perspective, because it will look different to each person who attended—and that’s okay. For me, as an organizer, sponsor and survivor, these are my two big takeaways:

Being visible: I realized a few years ago that being seen and heard without judgment were two of the strongest love languages of mine. When two SSTA survivors look at one another, the energy exchanged feels like: “I know what you’ve been through and I SEE you,” without any words being spoken. That energy exchange helps our long healing journey after experiencing so much pain during childhood.

IRL Interactions: Social media, email and Zooms are great, but they are nothing compared to receiving a loving hug from a survivor or supporter in person. I felt at peace during the conference (in-between the heart palpitations ensuring all was running smoothly behind the scenes, ha ha!). The insightful breakout sessions, camaraderie felt among the attendees, and instant connections were a gift that I will never forget.

Nubia DuVall Wilson is a published poet, author, entrepreneur and anti-incest activist. Her PR company, Cielo Consulting, was a sponsor of the SSTA: Breaking the Silence conference, with Nubia serving as event planner. This was only one of many ways she works to break through the silence around the high prevalence of child sexual abuse in America and the long-term effects—especially among Black women who are often the most silent. Follow her substack on @Unsilienced  Learn more at nubiaduvall.com, follow on IG and TikTok