u/Sub_Berry9086

I’m 36 and I have chronic shame over incest trauma.

I hope it's okay to share this here, and if not, please leme know. I approach with genuine care and curiosity, but I also want to be respectful and avoid retraumatizing anyone.

I've had a very complicated and painful past. When I was between 13 and 17, I was groomed by my mother's sister, who was also my godmother. It was secretive and deeply confusing. During that time, I was referred to as a little boyfriend and I believed every bit of it. She was a godparent to me but I kind of loved her?

In college, I found myself voluntarily reaching out to her whenever I had conflicts with my girlfriend. Looking back, I realize it was a bad decision maybe an attempt to find comfort or understanding in something familiar. I never really got over it, and those experiences have left a lasting impact. Sadly, she passed away due to COVID in Italy in 2022 without any closure.

Now I struggle with having incest fantasies, sometimes trying to rationalize them philosophically questioning how wrong it really is for a daughter to love her father, or a brother to love his sister, or a mother to nurture her son emotionally. I don’t have children, but I carry a surreal, fearful desire that if I have a daughter someday, I might want to have a very raw and loving relationship with her. It’s rooted in trauma, but I recognize how harmful and complex these feelings are.

I don’t know if I have specific questions, but I do carry a deep sadness and an intense desire for intimacy within kinship that normal friendships and bonds rarely satisfy. I come from a small family where family ties are very strong, and I’ve been building my own life recently.

I’ve kept it to myself most of my life and if others have dealt with same and found ways to cope and heal I’d love to hear from you and just literally need help.

From the outside, I'm doing well. I have a successful career. I'm dependable. High-functioning.
Inside, I still feel like the frightened child who was groomed and abused.

Tonight, I caught my reflection in the mirror. My face looks older than I imagined 36 would. My jaw is tight. My shoulders ache from a lifetime of bracing. My body doesn't know how to soften.

More than anything, I realized how desperately I miss simple human touch. Not sex. Not passion.
Just someone pulling me into a long, quiet hug... feeling another heartbeat against my chest... someone gently rubbing my back until my body finally believes it's safe enough to let go.
I don't think I've ever known what that kind of safety feels like.

CPTSD taught me to earn love instead of receive it. To hide the broken parts. To become successful instead of connected. Every relationship became another performance, another attempt to be enough.

And now it's my 36th birthday, and I'm sitting here alone wondering if trauma quietly shaped every choice I made without me even realizing it.
For those who've lived with this longer than I have—did you ever find your way back to people? Did your body ever learn what it feels like to finally come home in someone else's presence?

From the outside, I'm doing well. I have a successful career. I'm dependable. High-functioning.
Inside, I still feel like the frightened child who was groomed and abused.

Tonight, I caught my reflection in the mirror. My face looks older than I imagined 36 would. My jaw is tight. My shoulders ache from a lifetime of bracing. My body doesn't know how to soften.

More than anything, I realized how desperately I miss simple human touch. Not sex. Not passion.
Just someone pulling me into a long, quiet hug... feeling another heartbeat against my chest... someone gently rubbing my back until my body finally believes it's safe enough to let go.
I don't think I've ever known what that kind of safety feels like.

CPTSD taught me to earn love instead of receive it. To hide the broken parts. To become successful instead of connected. Every relationship became another performance, another attempt to be enough.

And now it's my 36th birthday, and I'm sitting here alone wondering if trauma quietly shaped every choice I made without me even realizing it.
For those who've lived with this longer than I have—did you ever find your way back to people? Did your body ever learn what it feels like to finally come home in someone else's presence?