Somewhere along the line, people decided it was easier to question a survivor than to confront the horror of abuse itself. I’ve seen it too many times. A brave soul finally steps forward after years of silence—and instead of support, they get interrogated. Not by police. Not by a defense attorney. But by their own family. Their community. Even strangers on the internet.
That’s the tragedy I want to talk about.
Because as a lawyer who’s stood beside many survivors in Arkansas, I can tell you that the abuse isn’t always the last betrayal they face.
Sometimes, the harshest blow comes from the people who should’ve believed them.
Let’s start with the lies that get repeated so often they start to sound like truth.
Myth #1: If it really happened, they would’ve told someone right away.
This is the one that haunts people the most. Survivors tell me all the time, “No one would believe me because I waited too long.” But trauma doesn’t follow a timeline. Kids don’t always have the words, let alone the safety, to speak up. And even as adults, shame and fear don’t dissolve overnight.
Myth #2: False accusations are common.
This belief gets weaponized to silence victims. But here’s the truth: false accusations are rare—especially when it comes to child sexual abuse. Research consistently shows that most disclosures are credible. What’s more common is that survivors don’t speak at all. The risk isn’t people lying. It’s people staying silent forever.
Myth #3: Abuse only happens in bad families.
If only it were that simple. Abuse doesn’t check your zip code or wait to see if your home is picture-perfect. Some of the most horrific cases I’ve seen came from homes that looked loving on the outside. Churches. Classrooms. Places meant to be safe.
Myth #4: You can tell if someone’s been abused.
People want abuse to leave a visible scar—something you can point to. But trauma hides well. Survivors learn to function, smile, succeed. That doesn’t mean nothing happened. It just means they adapted.
Myth #5: If it happened, they’d remember everything.
The brain doesn’t work like a courtroom transcript. Trauma can distort memory, split it, bury it. It’s not uncommon for survivors to remember details later, or in pieces. That doesn’t make them unreliable—it makes them human.
These myths don’t just hurt feelings. They hurt cases. They keep juries skeptical. They keep survivors out of courtrooms. They stop healing before it even starts.
If you’ve ever wondered why someone would wait years—sometimes decades—to say something, I want you to imagine a child trying to accuse a trusted adult of something no one wants to hear.
Now imagine doing it in a small town. At church. Or against someone your whole family respects.
Survivors don’t delay because they’re confused about what happened. They delay because they’re calculating what coming forward will cost them.
Will my family turn against me?
Will I lose my job?
Will people call me a liar?
The fear isn’t in their heads. It’s real. I’ve represented people who were shunned, disowned, or harassed just for telling the truth. Sometimes, it’s not until they see someone else speak up—or until a law changes—that they feel safe enough to say, “Me too.”
In Arkansas, we’ve seen that shift begin. The Justice for Vulnerable Victims of Sexual Abuse Act has opened a new window for survivors to seek justice, even for abuse that happened years ago.
But the law can only open the door. Society has to stop slamming it shut.
Victim-blaming doesn’t always sound like, “It was your fault.”
Sometimes it sounds like:
That’s all it takes to make a survivor feel like they’re on trial.
I’ve seen survivors walk into my office ready to talk, then shut down the moment they sense doubt. When someone starts poking holes in their story—not because it doesn’t make sense, but because it makes them uncomfortable—it plants shame like a weed. That shame grows. It chokes healing. It delays therapy. It kills cases before they start.
And the worst part? It sends a message to other survivors watching: “Don’t bother. No one will believe you either.”
This is how myths ripple out beyond the first victim. One false belief can silence dozens. A single doubting comment from a teacher, pastor, or family member can do the same.
Let me tell you what happens when people believe myths more than survivors.
I’ve seen cases get tossed because a survivor didn’t report “soon enough.” I’ve watched families splinter because someone dared to say the uncle who brings the best gifts isn’t who he seems. I’ve read letters from survivors who almost didn’t come forward—not because they weren’t ready, but because they didn’t think anyone would care.
And then I’ve watched those same survivors finally speak up—and find strength they didn’t know they had. Not because it was easy. But because someone believed them.
That’s why we have to keep talking about this. That’s why this matters.
Start by questioning what you think you “know” about abuse. Most of us grew up hearing all the wrong things. That doesn’t make you bad—it just makes it your job to learn better now.
If someone confides in you, believe them. Don’t interrogate. Don’t try to be a detective. Just listen.
And if you’re a survivor who’s been holding it in for years: you are not alone. You are not broken. And you still have options.
My firm helps survivors every day. Some cases involve schools. Others involve religious institutions. All involve someone who finally said, “Enough.”
The hardest part isn’t talking to a lawyer. It’s breaking the silence.
And once you do that—we’ll be right there with you.