Meetu sat in her room, knees drawn to her chest, staring at the darkened window. The shadows on the walls seemed to close in on her, pressing in as the evening grew colder. The sounds from downstairs—the laughter of her parents and their guests—felt distant, as if they were happening in another world. Meetu longed to be a part of that world, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she didn’t belong there. The truth was, Meetu had never felt truly safe in her own home.
Her father often dismissed her feelings, calling her ‘too sensitive’ whenever she tried to speak up. Her mother, always distracted with household chores and trying to please her husband, rarely noticed Meetu’s isolation. When Meetu did try to talk about her fear—about the uncomfortable touch or strange stares from a family friend—her mother brushed it off. “Don’t make things awkward,” her mother would say. “He’s just being affectionate; he cares for you.” The word “affectionate” echoed in Meetu’s mind, even as the knots in her stomach tightened. She felt like she couldn’t speak up without risking rejection or disbelief. Without family support, Meetu’s isolation deepened, and over time, Meetu began to believe she was the problem, not the one who was being hurt. She stopped even trying to share her fears and discomfort with her parents, as she knew they would dismiss her.
As Meetu entered her teenage years, the silence grew louder, and the sense of unease grew stronger. The lack of validation from her parents left Meetu vulnerable. She avoided interacting with her peers outside the academic requirements. She didn’t have the right words to express what she was scared of or why she would flinch every time someone brushed past her.
It wasn’t until much later—after years of struggling with depression, anxiety, and self-harm—that Meetu found someone who listened, a compassionate teacher who noticed her distress. The years of unspoken pain had taken root, making it harder for Meetu to believe that being free from fear and threat was a possibility. Her teacher connected her with a therapist with a trauma-informed care approach.
The long-term impact of her parents’ ignorance was evident in Meetu’s internal struggle. She had never felt safe enough to speak up; she never had a space where she felt heard, and that silence left her vulnerable to further harm.
Pankaj was a shy, quiet boy, always trying to stay out of the way. At school, he was the kid who kept his head down, never drawing attention to himself. But at home, he was constantly walking on eggshells. His father’s anger was unpredictable—sometimes it was a sharp word or a door slammed in frustration; sometimes it was a look that made Pankaj shrink or the sound of a plate crashing on the floor. His mother always looked scared and tensed; though she was loving towards Pankaj, she seemed to be oblivious to what her son was going through. She would often say, “Your father’s just stressed from work. He works so hard; after all, he is doing it all for us. You need to be more understanding.”
When Pankaj was 10, a neighbor began to show an unusual interest in him. The man was always offering him small gifts, telling him how “special” he was. Pankaj felt uncomfortable but didn’t know why. Whenever he tried to tell his mother, she dismissed his concerns, thinking he was just overreacting. “He’s an adult, Pankaj. He wouldn’t hurt you,” she would say, brushing off the warning signs. Pankaj wasn’t sure what was right or wrong, but he started to believe that no one would take his feelings seriously.
The lack of a safe space at home—where Pankaj could express fear without being labeled dramatic—left him vulnerable. His cries for help were ignored, and the home environment prevented him from turning to his parents for support. When the sexual abuse began, Pankaj’s feelings of guilt and confusion deepened. He was scared to tell anyone, and the abuse continued till their family moved to another city.
Pankaj never spoke out about the abuse until much later in life, after years of struggling with low self-esteem, guilt, and depression. He found the courage to speak about his childhood abuse when he felt safe with a friend who encouraged him to seek professional mental health support.
Lives of Meetu and Pankaj illustrate a painful reality that many children face—when parents fail to provide a safe space, the risk of abuse is higher, and the trauma a child experiences deepens. The absence of parental support, whether through ignorance, emotional neglect, or a failure to recognize the signs of distress, can have long-lasting consequences. Children need and deserve an environment free from threat, fear, and violence where they are free to express what they are feeling, where they are not being judged, where they are accepted, and an environment that encourages their creative expressions.
Children are extremely sensitive to their environments, and when they feel unsupported or unsafe at home, they are more vulnerable to external threats, including emotional, physical, or sexual abuse. In the course of my doctoral research, I found that the factors contributing to the nondisclosure of sexual abuse are complex and varied. Some of the reasons given for not disclosing the sexual abuse included lack of courage, fear of bringing dishonor to the family, threat of further harm by the abuser, blaming themselves, and fear because the abuse happened by a religious leader or a close family member.
Supportive families are vital in creating an environment where children feel seen, heard, and protected. A parent who listens without judgment, who validates their child’s feelings, and who takes steps to ensure their safety can make all the difference in a child’s ability to heal and thrive. When parents are emotionally available and actively involved in their child’s life, the risk of trauma is minimized, and children are more likely to confide in their parents. Children will speak out and seek help when they know that their concerns will be taken seriously.
We must note that it’s not just the family that plays a crucial role. Schools need to have a robust child protection policy (CPP) and measures in place. Regular training of the teaching and non-teaching support staff is important to revisit the CPP and address the concerns.
Children spend a significant amount of time in school, and educators are often the first ones to notice changes in children’s behavior and offer the required support. Schools that have well-trained staff, clear reporting procedures, and a culture of care and inclusion can help identify abuse early and prevent further harm. School counsellors
who recognize the signs of distress—whether through a child’s behavior, appearance, or subtle cues—can intervene in ways that make a significant difference and refer the child for external mental health support if needed.
Policies that promote child safety, inclusive practices, mental health support, and access to resources are crucial in building a society that prioritizes the needs of children. The collective support of families, schools, and communities is vital in breaking the cycle of abuse. A child-centered approach—one that involves awareness, education, and intervention—is important towards the prevention of abuse.
Prevention of child sexual abuse is possible when we all come together.
Be the safe space for a child, for every child that comes in contact with you. On World Children’s Day, let's remember that children need to be safe every day. Every day is Children’s Day, and we must work towards the goal of keeping all children safe.
Dr. Divya Vaishnava
Social Work Practitioner
Director, BUD Foundation
Bachche- Unki Duniya
Disclaimer: The above is a contributor post, the views expressed are those of the contributor and do not represent the stand and views of Outlook Editorial.
