Sexually Abused Again And Again

First it was my own, trusted dad, then my church elder By Angie Rodgers, 36, from Ayrshire

- Lianne La Borde

As Dad rang the doorbell, I stared at the ground.

Please don’t know me, I prayed silently. It was 1991 and

I was 10. My family were Jehovah’s Witnesses.

Each weekend, my dad Ian, then 30, would take me door-to-door, trying to recruit new members, convert them to ‘the truth’.

Mortified, I kept my head down, dreading a kid from school answering the door.

I was already being bullied.

‘Bible basher,’ kids called me.

I wasn’t allowed friends outside the religion, or to participate in school activities.

We didn’t celebrate birthdays or Christmas. It was a lonely, miserable childhood.

Evenings were packed with book study, family worship or meetings at our local Kingdom Hall – Jehovah’s Witnesses’ houses of worship.

Then, one night, when I was 11, life got so much worse.

I woke up, and Dad was on top of me, touching me. His hands were up my nightie, groping my private places.

What’s happening? I panicked.

In shock, I froze, too terrified to speak.

After, Dad left without a word.

My head swam with questions.

Was this normal?

It didn’t feel right.

But Dad was a devout man – and, as strict as he was, I trusted him.

So I didn’t say a word, even when it happened again.

Then, one day, I had gastric flu, was throwing up. Dad looked after me while Mum went to the Kingdom Hall. Scooping me up off the couch, Dad carried me upstairs.

I thought he’d tuck me into bed, but instead he took me to his bedroom and molested me as my fever raged.

I was sobbing, so frightened.

Please come home and save me, Mum, I prayed. But she never did.

‘If you tell anyone, I’ll rip you apart,’ Dad snarled after. 

I was terrified of him.