The Hidden Pain: How My Aunt Used My Brother for Witchcraft After Our Parents Passed
Losing my parents at a young age was devastating. When they passed, my brother and I were left in the care of our aunt, someone who was supposed to be a source of comfort and security. I thought she would be the one to help us rebuild our lives. But instead, what I didn’t know at the time was that her actions would leave deep scars that would take years to understand.
After our parents died, my aunt became our guardian. At first, everything seemed okay. She acted as if she was doing what any good family member would do—looking after us and taking responsibility. But as time passed, things began to feel strange. I noticed how she would isolate my younger brother, always calling him into another room for long periods. It felt off, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
Eventually, I began to see small signs of something darker at play. My brother’s health started to decline. He became more withdrawn and distant, almost as if he were under some kind of spell. I couldn’t understand it at the time, but there was a noticeable change in his spirit. He wasn’t the same joyful kid he once was.
As I grew older, I started to piece things together. I realized that my aunt wasn’t just looking after my brother; she was using him in ways that were harmful, manipulating his energy for her own purposes. I didn’t fully understand what witchcraft was back then, but I began to learn more about how people can use others for their own spiritual or personal gain. My aunt had a hidden agenda, one that involved my brother in ways I could never have imagined.
I’m not sure when I first connected the dots, but I know it was a slow and painful realization. Looking back, I can see how my brother was being manipulated, used in a way that no child should ever be. She didn’t just care for him as a guardian—she took something from him, something deep and unseen.
I had to find a time when we were alone and ask him uncomfortable questions. At first I thought maybe she was sleeping with him. That was my first suspicion. I could not believe the things I heard. He was very hesitant at first but I wasn't about to give up on him.
My little brother told me how my aunt goes with him to people's houses while they were sleeping and she would make him enter into small spaces that she couldn't fit to plant weird things in people's houses. They also apparently would bury things on people's gates. He said they did all this while not dressed.
He was starting to act like someone who was mentally unwell. He would sometimes talk to himself or just start looking scared for no reason. My aunt would take him away and I thought it was because she cared only to find out now that it was to threaten him if he ever spoke up.
It’s hard to explain what it felt like, watching my brother go through that. I felt powerless. He was my little brother, and I couldn’t protect him from this hidden force. I kept questioning why she would do this, why she would harm him in this way. But sometimes, the answers don’t come right away, and the truth takes years to emerge.
Now, as an adult, I understand that healing from experiences like this isn’t linear. It’s messy, painful, and it takes time. I’ve worked hard to help my brother heal, though the scars still linger. The trust that was broken between us and our aunt can never be fully repaired, but I’ve learned how to help my brother reclaim his life. Together, we’re finding ways to move forward, even though the shadows of the past sometimes come creeping back.
I’m sharing this today not to cast judgment, but as a way to heal. My brother and I both went through things that no one should have to endure, but telling our story is part of finding peace. If you’ve been through something similar, I want you to know that you’re not alone. Healing takes time, and it’s okay to take it one step at a time.
For anyone reading this, I urge you to trust your instincts. If something feels wrong, don’t ignore it. Protect yourself and those you love, even when it’s hard to understand why. There’s power in breaking silence, and sometimes, sharing our pain is the first step toward reclaiming our strength.
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