My sister was the main child in my family that was covertly sexually abused by both my parents. I am sure they both did that to each of their children, at some time in their childhoods and lives. But she was their primary victim.
She was the conduit between the two of them. She was the marriage partner to both of them, though I don’t know if she was sexually abused by either of them, but I believe that she was, especially by the female parent. They used her to parent all their children younger than her. They both made her into their best friend. They monopolized her time, her attention, her allegiance, her love.
Her allegiances are still with them, though they are both long dead. She told me that I had no right to tell her that our mother was a mother daughter sexual abuser. She said she never wanted to have to think about that, because it interfered with her image of what kind of mother and friend she had been. It should. I wanted it to.
She had to understand that her image was put there in her mind, mostly by her wishes, and was a pack of lies, but she still loved it so much. I wanted her to see them for what they were and me, for once in my life, I wanted her to look at me, see me, see my pain, and care about me, just once. She thinks much too highly of a fall down drunk and a sexual offender.
This is why she felt some kind of need to emotionally and verbally abuse me and to actively scapegoat me and to encourage others in our family of origin to do so as well. She’s mean and she’s cruel and she enjoys it, so much like our parents did. She went on to covertly sexually abuse. I don’t think she sees that. I don’t think that she wants to.
They both stole our sibling away from all of us. She told another relative, who later told me, that she knows that they stole her childhood. They stole a lot more than that.