Paddy is my cousin—18 months older than me. Between the ages of six and eleven, he sexually abused me. It was a case of child-on-child sexual abuse—a reality many people refuse to acknowledge.
As a child, I desperately longed for intimacy. For a friend. For a brother. My real brother, Pascal, was always distant. Our relationship was cold, unapproachable.
Paddy, on the other hand, mostly ignored me—or acted as if I didn’t exist. And that’s exactly what made it so exciting when he suddenly showed interest in me one evening. It was at my grandpa’s 60th birthday. Paddy came up to me and asked if I wanted to explore the area with him. I was overjoyed—he finally saw me. I was finally getting some attention.
But instead of a harmless adventure, he led me into a cornfield. That’s where the first assault took place. Afterwards, we returned to the party, and Paddy acted as if nothing had happened. I was confused. I knew it was wrong. Forbidden. And yet, I stayed silent.
A Recurring Pattern
The abuse went on for years. It was always Paddy who initiated it. He brought pornographic magazines that his father, Hugo, carelessly left lying around. I didn’t really understand what was happening, but I felt it wasn’t right. And still, I said nothing.
Maybe it was because I thought nobody would notice anyway. Or worse: that nobody would care.
Our siblings, parents, aunts, and uncles must have suspected something. They must have seen behaviors that stood out. But they did what they always did: they downplayed it.
“Oh, they’re just being kids.”
For a long time, I told myself the same thing. But it was never “just playing.” Paddy knew exactly what he was doing.
Today, Paddy Is Back in My Life
Last year, I found out by chance that Paddy was also receiving IV (Swiss disability insurance). His sister, Lea, had only a few months left to live at the time—a terminal brain tumor. That’s when Paddy probably realized he would soon be alone.
Despite his IV benefits and supplementary payments, he is now dependent on social welfare. Since I know the system, I immediately recognized that his benefits were calculated based on a hypothetical income—an administrative construct that disadvantages many people on disability.
I advised him to do what I did: find a job in the secondary labor market. That way, his actual income would count, not some fictional calculation. I suggested he try at the cooperative where I already worked.
Today, he’s in assembly. Different department, same company. Whether I wanted to or not, our paths cross regularly. And what’s more: I helped him stabilize his life.
Does He Deserve This?
Did he deserve my support? My kindness? My proximity?
This question triggers a deep internal conflict in me. We’ve never talked about what happened back then. It’s as if it never existed. But inside me, it exists every single day.
Sometimes I imagine casually bringing it up—over coffee and a joint, like we used to: “Oh, by the way… why exactly did you abuse me as a child?” A part of me wants to know. I want to understand how he remembers it. How he justifies it. Why it happened.
But even today, I feel a strange inhibition when I’m around him.
When Children Abuse Children
Sexual abuse among children is a taboo subject. It is rarely researched or discussed. Yet, studies show that power imbalances, emotional neglect, and early access to sexual content often play a role. Children who experience unstable or chaotically unloving conditions are more likely to cross boundaries, especially if they grow up in environments where sexuality is not appropriately framed for their age.
The long-term consequences for survivors are massive, especially if the perpetrator was a family member. Shame. Guilt. Torn feelings. Many survivors carry these feelings with them for a lifetime. Untreated trauma often shapes self-image, the ability to form relationships, and mental health in an irreversible way.
Seeing a perpetrator later in life—or confronting them—can be healing. On the other hand, it can reopen wounds that never properly healed.
Maybe Paddy has distorted his memory. Maybe he sees himself as a victim of his circumstances.
The question is: Would a confrontation bring me peace? Or are some truths simply unbearable?