There’s another layer to this that really opened my eyes.

The same family member who was quick to be involved—quick to talk, assume, and insert herself into a vulnerable moment—has been noticeably absent when it comes to anything positive in my life. We didn’t even have that kind of relationship to begin with. Yet somehow, when there was fear, confusion, and something to speculate about, she was all in.

But when it comes to my growth, my healing, my accomplishments—like my book—silence.

That contrast says a lot.

It made me realize something uncomfortable but important: some people are more energized by your struggles than your success. They show up for drama, for gossip, for moments where they can judge or feel superior—but disappear when it’s time to support, uplift, or celebrate you.

And that silence on good things? It reveals the heart.

What hurt even deeper, though, was how those judgments didn’t just stay external—they started to affect how I saw myself.

Being accused.
Being mislabeled.
Having assumptions placed on me that weren’t true.

Over time, that kind of treatment can get internalized.

There was a point where I started to believe it. I started to see myself through the lens they projected onto me—as if I was promiscuous, as if I had done something wrong, as if their narrative was my truth.

That’s one of the most damaging parts of secondary abuse: it doesn’t just hurt you in the moment—it can reshape your identity if you’re not careful.

This is how harm multiplies:
First the trauma happens.
Then the blame.
Then the misinformation.
Then the identity distortion.

And suddenly, you’re not just healing from what happened—you’re also trying to unlearn who people told you that you were.

But here’s the truth I had to come back to:

Other people’s assumptions are not my identity.
Their projections are not my truth.
Their silence in my growth does not define my worth.

And just because someone is family does not mean they are emotionally safe or supportive.

Healing, for me, has also meant separating who I actually am from who people tried to label me as during one of the lowest moments of my life.

It’s also meant recognizing patterns:
Who shows up only when things go wrong.
Who stays quiet when things go right.
Who speaks to uplift—and who speaks to tear down.

Those patterns don’t lie.

If you’ve experienced something similar, understand this: internalizing harmful labels doesn’t mean they were ever true—it just means you were human in a painful situation.

Unlearning those labels is part of taking your power back.

And sometimes, part of healing is accepting that not everyone who shares your blood is meant to share access to your life, your story, or your growth.

Pay attention to who claps for you—and who only shows up when you’re hurting.

That will tell you everything you need to know.