My Grandfather Has Always Made Me Uncomfortable & Everyone Knew

They just pretended they didn't

I’ve been holding this for over a decade.

My grandfather made me uncomfortable my entire childhood. In subtle ways, sometimes loud, in ways that didn’t always have language. But I knew. My body always knew.

No one ever asked. No one ever noticed. Or maybe they did — and didn’t want to believe it.

Recently, I finally told my grandma. I said it gently, over the phone. I said he made me uncomfortable. That he tried to touch me where he shouldn’t have.

Her response?

“I need to get his perspective before I can make a judgment.”

No pause. No follow-up. Just that.

And in that moment, she blew me off. She picked his comfort over my pain. Neutrality over clarity. A man’s version of the story over the girl who had been living with it in silence.

I didn’t expect her to burn the house down. But I also didn’t expect to feel invisible. Again.

This is what happens when you finally speak, and no one listens. This is why I don’t believe in neutrality. Why I can’t unsee harm dressed up as “balance.” Why I build what I build — because someone has to say it out loud.

I told the truth. And I’m telling it again. This time, I won’t be quiet after.