I Love Knowing How Far She’s Come
I am currently in custody of my two little sisters. Amy is 17 years old and Liza is eight, while I am a 29-year-old male and we live in Australia.
This is the story of how my family felt they were entitled to both of my sisters’ bodies and I wouldn’t stand for that. The main part of the story takes place about a year ago.
I’d moved out six years ago at the time and moved to another state for work and study. I was honestly really slack with keeping in contact with my family, which is probably why this went on so long.
When I do think back to the time before I moved out, I didn’t treat Amy the best and if I hadn’t moved out and had so little contact with my family, I may have turned out just as entitled as the rest of my family and just as much of a horrible person. I came back to visit for a grandparent’s birthday.
After spending so long away I spent the morning catching up with aunts, uncles, cousins, my parents of course, and Liza. Now, this was actually the first time I’d really realized the oddities of my family.
Perhaps it was the change in environment, but it was the first time I’d noticed how quiet the little girls of my family were.
I guess I’d always just thought of Amy as shy and quiet, but my little cousins were so much the same—polite, shy, quiet, and obedient, though at the time I brushed this off.
After a few hours, I realized that Amy was nowhere to be seen all day. The party was at my parents’ house so this confused me, and I slipped inside to see if she was cooped up in her room like a lot of 16-year-olds would be, talking to friends or doing homework.
What I found is a memory that will haunt me forever. My oldest uncle on my father’s side, laying over my sister who was quite clearly in a lot of pain and struggling not to cry as he pinned her beneath him. I completely lost it as any brother would, shouting at him to get off her and out of her room.
I scared the heck out of both of them but in that moment, I was honestly ready to completely ruin my uncle. Amy was pretty messed up in the head when I tried consoling her.
She was covered in scars, had a rash that I later found out was an allergic reaction, she didn’t speak and looked at me as if she expected me to hurt her too.
Her room was dimly lit, the blinds taped closed to her wall, all the things she’d had when I left were gone, leaving her bedroom feeling cold and empty.
To add insult to injury, she was a month pregnant. When I demanded an explanation from my parents, I wanted to vomit when I heard their answer.
They said that it was my uncle’s right. I stormed off back to Amy’s room, quietly packed her a bag of necessities, and managed to sneak her out of the house and into my car before doing the same with Liza.
Part of me wanted to get all my cousins out too, but my main focus was on Amy right now, who sat trembling in the back of my car. I drove them both to the closest police station to report what was happening.
I’ll skip most the details of the court battle that ensued, but my family did not take kindly to being outed for what they were doing. Apparently, it was a tradition that spanned generations, and “there shouldn’t be anything wrong with tradition.”
Amy and Liza were put into temporary foster care, and Amy was wreck. To her, everyone could and would hurt her, and I got reports every few hours that she was having a panic attack. Three of my uncles went behind bars for a very long time.
I got a fair bit of money out of a range of family members, full custody of both Amy and Liza (no enforced visitation to their parents), and my parents had to pay for any therapy costs, medication, and medical needs for both of them.
My family was torn in two by this, with many of my aunts leaving their husbands with their children after finally having the courage to follow me. Uncles who had married into the family took their wives and cut off ties.
I still keep in contact with these members of my family and I’m grateful for their support and glad that my cousins are safer now.
Even some of the older guys who had been brought up thinking it was okay to treat women that way took themselves into counseling once they realized just how messed up it was.
Now I do believe some part of the ruling protected the younger men of the family provided they seek some form of mental health help, as they grew up thinking that this was all normal.
No one is sure who fathered Amy’s child, but she had her pregnancy terminated as we were told her physical and mental health would not cope with carrying a baby she ultimately would unlikely care for.
She did consent at the time and it was brought up by her psychologist once she was doing better and she confirmed that it was what she wanted.
Liza, for the most part, was okay, but Amy had completely shut down. It took two months before I could even get her to speak.
She trusts me now and we often sit down, and I let her talk and open up about whatever she feels comfortable about.
I did get Amy a service dog a few months ago, tailored towards the emotional support she needs on a regular basis. Lickity Split honestly is the goodest of good doggos.
She knows exactly when she’s needed and is a massive help when it comes to calming Amy’s anxiety, especially in public.
We’ve had more than one encounter with unrelated entitled parents thinking they or their kid deserves her dog more than her.
But anyone who does think that can honestly fight me, no one deserves her dog more than her. On one occasion, one of my aunts tried taking Lickity Split because “their money paid for her.”
I told her if she ever comes near my property again, I would call the authorities as there was a restraining order against her towards both my sisters.
Later she came back and tried to poison Lickity Split with tainted meat, but one of my lovely neighbors caught her and chased her off.
Officers were called, and she is now behind bars too after having to pay a fine and some money to me because at this point, I’m pretty well acquainted in the court system and sued her. My family still tried to get my sisters out of my care, too.
They would report me for everything from animal mistreatment to trafficking. I’ve actually become pretty chummy with the local officers who have to inspect their claims, but they know I’d never do anything to endanger my custody over the girls, they mean the world to me.
But recently, everything came to a terrible head once more. A few weeks ago, my mother contacted me saying she wanted to talk. I was hesitant, but agreed and we met up in the next town over.
My mother explained how she was in the process of divorcing my father and she wanted to have a relationship with me and my sisters, with emphasis on mending her bond with Amy who had not called her mom in years.
She explained how she was pressured into the marriage after she had gotten pregnant with me and never wanted that life for her daughters.
I flat out told her no, as she could have done literally anything to support Amy emotionally while it was happening—done anything to make her feel better or more secure, but instead she was shunned and isolated except for when she was needed to cook, clean, or provide some sort of service to the family.
Amy was well past her breaking point when I took her. People I’ve talked to have convinced me that when Amy is in a better place mentally and Liza is older, I bring it up with them about their mom, and leave the decision in their hands.
This story doesn’t have a slam dunk ending. I have my sisters and they’re in a safe environment where they’ll get to grow up as kids.
Amy is getting the help she needs and is slowly making her way out of the tower she built to protect herself in the only way she could, but she knows there isn’t a rush to come out.
I’ll work with her at the pace she sets. She’s still discovering her own interests but quite likes just reading a book with a form of fruity tea.
She also has a small collection of stuffed animals (mostly build-a-bear) that she adores and takes one with her everywhere—she’s sensitive to texture so the feeling is a comfort for her—and once a week we sit down to try to find older bears she likes.
Honestly, I’ve loved helping Amy discover herself. Watching her find her favorite book genre or her favorite types of music is a great feeling, knowing how far she’s come. Iron-potato-man