The Story of how I was sexually abused as a child and my start into recovery - Breaking the silence and the stigma around male childhood sexual abuse

Trigger Warning: This post discusses sensitive topics, including childhood sexual abuse, trauma, and healing. It may be distressing for some readers. Please proceed with caution and take care of yours

35 Years of Shadow and Silence

It was early 2019 and we were sitting in a bar with close friends after work, enjoying ourselves. It was one of our routine yet memorable nights. We would meet several times a week and always had the best time. Drinks were flowing, laughter filled the air, and we shared everything we had done during the week just as we always did.

One of our friends, a partner at a legal firm specializing in class action lawsuits, was telling us that New York State had recently passed a law changing the statute of limitations for childhood sexual abuse. This law raised the age limit for victims from 23 to 55 years. He also mentioned that the firm had been inundated with lawsuits. This meant that anyone who had experienced any form of abuse during their childhood now had until the age of 55 to sue their abuser instead of just until 23. That evening we learned about stories of people that were sexually abused in their childhood by people they trusted—those who were supposed to care for and protect them. As he recounted these stories, I felt an uncomfortable sensation rising in my stomach; my heart rate quickened and blood pumped through every vein in my body. What was happening to me? Suddenly, I was no longer in that bar — my mind wandered back to my childhood as I was transported to 1988.

The Abuse

I was 12 years old and had just joined the local Boy Scouts in Germany, which is where I was born and where I grew up. My best friend Michael invited me to join him there because he was having so much fun with the group, participating in various interesting activities. Michael was the friend I did everything with. We spent every second of every day together whenever we could—playing basketball, riding our skateboards, making music, walking the neighbor's dog in the park. It was clear to me that if he was in the Boy Scouts, I would join too. In the beginning it was fantastic. We learned how to navigate through the woods, start fires, build tents, and engage in all kinds of nature-related activities. The best part was the sense of community within the group—a circle of like-minded people where I felt connected, seen and at ease. The older group leaders became role models while group members turned into friends. I loved it there so much that I didn’t think anything strange when Klaus, the president of the entire organization, began inviting me to his apartment—a duplex in the same building where we met weekly with the group. He asked me to arrive early for our weekly meetings or stay later after they ended. He told me I was special and that he enjoyed spending time with me. He let me play with all his pets: rabbits, hamsters, and birds. It felt great and I felt so honored to be allowed to spend this much time with him (I later discovered I wasn’t the only one).

One warm spring day after playing basketball with Michael in the afternoon, we planned to go to Boy Scouts but Michael didn’t come that day. After our group meeting, Klaus asked me to come over to his house again. While we were playing with his rabbits next to an elevated cage where I would feed them salad, something unexpected happened. I felt Klaus coming closer from behind — I could feel his breath on my neck. I didn’t think anything strange until I felt his hands on my waist and his arms slowly wrapping around me. Confusion washed over me as I turned around and felt his itchy lips against mine, along with the scratchiness of his beard and the disgusting smell of cold cigarette smoke he exhaled into my mouth. I froze. I felt numb as the light that had always shone brightly within me during my childhood began to fade away in that shocking moment. Darkness enveloped me. Time stood still. (Even today, I can still recall his beard's texture and the stench of cigarettes when flashbacks of that moment resurface). I will refrain from detailing what happened next—everything he did to me and what he asked me to do over the following two years.

Frozen and Numb

From that moment on my emotional development froze. My soul became numb and the light within me vanished. He continued inviting me to spend time with him and I did. I went to his house every week an hour before our meetings or stayed afterward. We went on camping trips together with the group where his inappropriate games continued when no one was watching. He took me for rides in the conductor's cabin on the local tram line where he worked as conductor and an instructor; every time we reached a spot where no one could see us he continued there as well. Years later, I often wondered what my parents thought about my spending so much time at Boy Scouts. I think no one could imagine their child being sexually abused by someone they trusted so deeply.

I knew all along that this was wrong but remained frozen — unable to find a way out. The light that could have guided me remained shrouded in shadow and offered no direction on where to go or what to do. Still trapped in that moment as a 12-year-old boy who couldn’t tell anyone—I surrendered completely to my abuser in order to avoid being confronted by my parents or anyone else about what “I had been doing”.

It took years for me to muster the courage to leave that group. When I finally did leave I buried everything that had happened deep within myself, overshadowed by pain alongside the light that should have guided me through childhood and into my teenage years—a place now inaccessible to me. It seemed better this way. I believed I could never tell anyone what had occurred. The shame felt too strong, guilt weighed heavily, my emotional development froze. Throughout my life since then, I've felt like that same 12-year-old boy whenever confronted with difficult situations or when meeting people whom I perceived as superior. In those moments, I'd completely surrender authority while another side of me lashed out in anger when pushed into a corner or provoked. I became more aggressive and often also violent, engaging in physical fights with other boys. There was no longer a middle ground. Emotionally mature reactions became rare.

After that night at a bar in Long Island, everything I'd experienced during those two years in that apartment with Klaus began boiling up again. Memories I'd thought buried, rushed back into consciousness, vivid, like they had been waiting all these years for an opportunity to creep back into my mind — demons ready to destroy from within. Helpless, depleted, and angry, I wondered how could something buried for so long, something I'd believed I'd left behind, feel so real and raw all at once? How could it still grip me this tightly?

The Weight of Silence

For years, I never spoke about what truly happened. Occasionally I'd attempt to share glimpses with friends or my wife, just enough to acknowledge there had been abuse, but never delving deeper. The guilt and shame were overwhelming. Most people don’t know how to react upon hearing such revelations and frankly, I don’t blame them for it.

Breaking the Silence and the Path to Healing

Over thirty-five years later, I'm finally starting to heal. I gained the courage to step out of the shadows and share my story. I find it liberating and it helps me with the healing process. I finally also found the courage to seek professional help and started working with a therapist which is one of the best things I’ve ever done for myself. I began working through various therapeutic techniques with the help of friends and my family — a topic I'll explore further in future posts.

My story isn’t solely about myself. It's about breaking the silence, confronting shame, and challenging stigma surrounding male sexual abuse.I want to shine a light for other survivors who haven’t yet found courage enough to step out from shadows—to tell their stories and initiate healing processes themselves.

There is no place in this world for any form of abuse—sexual, physical or mental—and if sharing this story encourages even one person to step out from shadows into light—and begin healing—it’s more than I could ever hope for.