When Safety Is Just a Mask: What I Learned About Trust and Speaking Up

There was a season in my life when I cared for a child I loved like my own. The couple first met me when she was still pregnant with their son-that’s when they interviewed me. I was his nanny for five years, starting when I was around 17 or 18 years old. I was still young myself-trusting, eager to help, and full of heart. I fed him, read him stories, gave him baths, took him on trips to the park, and pushed him on the swings. I guided him through each part of the day.

I didn’t witness his first steps or first words-but I remember watching him go from crawling to walking, from babbling to speaking full sentences. I remember every milestone like it was etched into my heart. The memories are still there-small shoes by the door, favorite books, bedtime routines, little laughs that filled the room.

He was my whole routine. My joy. My heart.

And I never thought I’d lose him the way I did.

What started as light banter from his father turned into subtle, uncomfortable comments. At first, it was questions about whether I had a boyfriend. Then came the compliments-how lucky my boyfriend must be, how beautiful my smile was. At first, I brushed them off. But over time, the energy shifted.

Sometimes he would even use his own newborn son as a way to deliver compliments, saying things like, “He can’t wait to see your beautiful smiling face tomorrow,” as if it were sweet-when it felt deeply unsettling. It blurred the line between parental affection and something inappropriate, and I felt that shift in my gut.

Even my boyfriend at the time-my first love-was uncomfortable with the things he would say. It wasn’t just in my head. The energy was wrong, and others saw it too.

Then one day while I was house sitting for their family, around five years later-by then I was about twenty-one or twenty-two years old, he sent me a text offering me a drink. I asked if they had any wine.

He replied that there was only whiskey.

When I told him I didn’t like whiskey, he texted back:

“Just put it to the back of your throat and swallow"

It was vulgar. And the way it was worded-like a joke meant to fly under the radar-was loaded with sexual innuendo. It wasn’t just a flirty comment. It was disgusting. It hinted at something I never invited, never encouraged, and never deserved to hear.

I remember texting back and telling him that what he said was inappropriate.

He told me to “relax”- that it was just a joke.

So I asked him, “Would your wife be okay knowing you said that to me?”

His response?

He told me to get out of his house.

But I had already been paid upfront for the week, and I calmly replied,

“I’ll be leaving tomorrow morning."

And when I did-I sent her everything through text. I forwarded her the messages directly so she could read them herself.

And that was it.

They never spoke to me again.

That moment made everything clear.

His words were wrapped in flattery like they were harmless, but I felt they were predatory. I was young, trusting, and full of love for his son-and he knew that. He turned that into something sick, looking at me like I was his fantasy. And when I finally spoke up to his wife about it, I lost all of it.

Maybe just so he could stay comfortable in his illusion of innocence.

But here's the truth:

I didn’t deserve to be made into some secret fantasy as a teenager.

I didn’t deserve to lose something I loved for speaking up.

It wasn’t just about an inappropriate comment.

I was grieving the loss of a child I helped raise.

The loss of a bond that meant the world to me.

The injustice of doing the right thing and being punished for it.

For years, I pushed it away. I didn’t talk about it. I didn’t even let myself think about it.

It hurt too much.

But then-recently-I had a nightmare. A violent, terrifying, symbolic dream that brought all of this flooding back. I woke up shaken. I was shocked that my mind remembered something I thought I had buried for good.

It reminded me that trauma doesn’t need our permission to resurface.

It finds cracks.

It demands healing.

I remember the first time I saw them again-two years after it all ended. I was working at Texas Roadhouse as a server. I was walking the floor when I saw them-all together, like nothing ever happened. And I saw him-the boy I helped raise. He was older now, maybe six or seven. And I knew it was him instantly.

And then I saw the father.

I froze.

I couldn’t move.

I didn’t walk out to my tables-I went straight to the kitchen and told my manager what had happened. She let me stay in her office until they were gone. I never saw them again.

That moment confirmed what my body always knew:

This left a mark.

Because of that experience....I never babysat or worked as a nanny again.

And I vowed that day:

I would never fall for a child that wasn’t mine ever again.

Not because they weren’t worth loving—but because the pain of losing them nearly broke me.

I couldn’t survive being cut off from that kind of bond again…

Not when I did nothing to deserve it.

Not when it was stolen from me to protect a lie.

But I’m not silent anymore.

I now understand that just because someone wears a badge doesn’t mean they’re safe. Just because someone smiles doesn’t mean their intentions are pure. And just because something wasn’t physical, doesn’t mean it didn’t leave a scar.

To anyone who’s ever felt uncomfortable but convinced themselves to brush it off ...trust your gut.

To anyone who’s ever spoken up and lost something precious in the process...I see you.

And to the girl I used to be ...you were never to blame.

You did the right thing.

You still carry love.

And you get to heal on your terms.

---

A Prayer for Healing:

Father God,

You saw what no one else did.

You were there in the moments I couldn’t explain, and in the moments I tried to forget.

Thank You for being my refuge when others turned away.

Thank You for reminding me that truth is never shameful, and that my voice matters.

Heal the places in me that still ache, the wounds I didn’t realize were open.

Comfort the child in me who was blamed for being brave.

Help me forgive, release, and protect my peace.

And if this story helps even one other person feel less alone, let it be for Your glory.

I give the pain to You,

and I reclaim my power.

In Jesus’ name,

Amen.

Kristen, Unfiltered Xo 💋

“The Lord is a refuge for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble.” – Psalm 9:9