Found on r/AskReddit.

Okay, so my real parents are my mom and her twin brother. No, I’m not Joffrey. I found out last summer when I was 15. It was night time and I came down a staircase to get a glass of water. My mom was laying on the sofa, she had been drinking earlier. She doesn’t usually get drunk, she likes to drink wine, but never really enough to get drunk, but this time she was really drunk. I passed her on the way to the kitchen and she just spoke up and said that she was glad I wasn’t her husband’s child. I asked her wtf was she talking about when she told me that her brother was the father of me and my siblings. She stated it was the reason why we were so perfect. I haven’t confronted my mom or her brother about it. My mom either pretends she never told me, or she was too drunk to remember. I’m 100% sure it was consensual incest, not rape. My mom talks to her brother a lot, and she always visits him. My dad is always away, so sometimes my mom will bring us to her brother’s house and we’ll sleep over. Me and my siblings even have our own rooms at his house.

My dad basically raped my mom to have me. My mother never wanted a kid her entire life, and kind of hated children in general. My dad knew this when he married her, but I think secretly it was always his plan to somehow find a way to have a kid. He tried to get her drunk quite a few times so she would forget about a condom and whatnot, but it never worked. One day, he came home from a night of hard partying with his friends, and basically had his way with my mom. She resisted and tried to fight him off when she figured out what his intent was, but was overcome. My dad told me all of this when we went fishing last year. He thought I would be happy with the story and think of him as some sort of hero. I don’t.

When I was 7 years old, I found out that the man I call my father is in fact not related to me. Since then I’ve been putting together the pieces and now what I’ve got is that my mom was raped by her high school boyfriend at a Valentine’s party when she was 15. She had me as a result. He fought for custody so he wouldn’t have to pay child support and she counter sued for full custody. He didn’t have to pay child support, he just had to leave me alone. That wrapped when I was about 5. Before that, the guy’s mom used to take me shopping all the time out of guilt. I haven’t seen her since. My step dad is pretty fucking awesome though, so I got that going for me.

My grandmother is a product of rape. The people she thought were her parents were actually her grandparents, and her sister Sophie was actually her mother. Her bio-mother, Sophie, was raped by a male friend when she was 17, and fell pregnant. Since it was 1929, abortion was not an option, so they made the decision for her to be raised as a sister, instead of granddaughter. She was not told until her bio-mother died at 35 from cancer. She was extremely upset at being brought into the world the way she was, and that she was never allowed to know Sophie as her mother. My grandma never told anyone but her husband and my mom and her sister did not find out until my mom was 25 when my grandfather accidentally told her. I am technically not supposed to know, but my hearing is far more astute than my mom realized when she has phone conversations at full volume a room away.

I am the product of rape incest. My father/grandfather raped and impregnated my mom when she was 13. We came from an extremely religious family at the time, so abortion was never an option. From my understanding of things, this had been going on between him and my mother for a lot of years. He went to jail, where he is still is. I have thought about going to see him a lot over the years, just out of morbid curiousity, but I have never done it. There was never really any secret about it. My mom and her mother raised me. They scaled the information about the situation to age appropriate levels, but they never hid anything. It was weird, and I got some counseling about it when I hit my teen years, but to be honest, I feel like it never really strongly affected me.

When I was in my early 20s, my biological mother contacted me. I always knew I was adopted, but it was never a big deal to me because I always knew. My adoptive mother was never any less of a mother to me, in any kind of way. Anyways…my biological mother contacted me in my early twenties. I had children already and had A LOT on my plate at the time. I wasn’t trying to deal with her at the time because I had only recently overcome my childish fears and behaviors, and was becoming a man quickly because I needed to because I had children already at an early age.

I did talk to her a few times, and she acted funny when I asked about my father. She said she hadn’t seen him since back when I was born. I pried about it and she just said, “Well maybe someday I will tell you.” So she tried to act like we were long lost relatives…but I kinda felt like..hey you abandoned me…YOU made that choice. I felt that I should have been the one looking for HER, if that is what I wished. I dunno, it’s complicated to explain these feelings…but i had no hate in my heart at all. I was, at the time, patching up everything with my Mom from my teenage years when I was douche ‘party guy’ in High School, and did some shitty things. Like I said….I had enough on my plate, and I cared about my children and their future. That was my focus. So I didn’t really stay in contact with her. The last letter she sent me…she let me know that I was the product of her being raped at the age of 17. At the time I was like “Wow,” but it didn’t really hit me for about 10 more years (when the US recession hit my area hard) and I lost my job and became depressed. I was all drunk and crying and pathetic and told my wife “I’m just a fucking rape baby.” I have come a long way since then and things are WAY better now. But my children are in high school and one is graduated…and now I am starting to think about contacting my biological Mom.

I am the product of a rape. My mother told me when I was five, but thankfully used language that wasn’t violent or distressing. She told me she loved me very much but that this was the reason I “didn’t have a daddy like the other kids”. She was 18, drugged at a party and ushered into a private room by several other girls when she started to feel weird. She passed out on the bed fully clothed. She had been invited to the party by a guy she knew. She awoke to that man raping her. She blacked out again and woke up the next morning naked and badly bruised. This was in the 80s. She reported the incident to the police, including the man’s name and where he lived with his family (he was 16 or 17). Nothing happened. I’m glad my mother told me so early. We have our own issues and are now estranged, but I’ve always been thankful that she explained it to me in a clear and gentle way. I have self worth issues that I sometimes think could be connected to being the child of a rape. I’ve never hidden this fact from people who ask, and sometimes volunteer it to those that make disparaging comments about ‘rape babies’. Awful people in my past have used the circumstances of my existence as a way to hurt and belittle me. The most common response I receive when I share my birth story is “I’m so sorry”.

My mother’s cousin raped her at age 18. My mother wanted to have an abortion, but my very Catholic grandmother would not allow it. I should also note that no one knew of the situation yet. They just assumed my mother was impregnated by her current boyfriend. My grandparents and aunt were eventually told when I was a few years old. My grandmother told me how she thought it was strange how I looked so much like my father. They used to joke about it. Anyways, I didn’t find out until I was about 12, I believe. I remember like it was yesterday that my mom and I were in another fight. It was very common for us. She was abusive towards me most of my life and I never understood why. So, as a kid, I would always scream I wanted to know my real dad. I would cry and imagine what he was like. I envisioned him as some guy that could whisk me away and care for me. I would be happy. My life would change for the better. My mom was cooking dinner and came into the room crying. She sat me on the bed and told me she was raped by her first cousin and got pregnant with me. I was completely stunned. I didn’t know what to say. She grabbed and hugged me. I continued being speechless. My life did change after that, but not for the better. I became self-abusive in more ways than one. I was shown pictures of my father and I could see the strong resemblance. I found myself disgusting. Part of me still does. I look like a monster. I’m that man’s daughter. No wonder my mom didn’t love me. No wonder she didn’t want me as a child. I convinced myself I was a no good piece of shit. I accidentally met my father when I was in high school. My great grandmom lived across from my high school and I would walk there to wait for my mom to pick me up. It just so happens my dad was there. We both just stared at one another, but he had a smirk on his face. He knew exactly who I was. Of course, my poor granny had no idea of the situation. That was kept a secret from her. She goes on to introduce us. I ran into the house and hid. He finally leaves as my mom is driving down the street. It took me forever to tell them what happened, but I eventually did. My mom freaked out, but nothing more came of it at that time. Fast forward to 2009. My great grandmom passed away. Naturally, my dad would be at his grandmom’s funeral. He decided he wanted to get to know me. I gave him my email and figured I would talk to him when I felt like it. Well, he became pushy and always made me feel guilty for not answering him right away or wanting to talk on the phone. I decided to end all communication. My dad passed away in the summer of 2012 in his 50s. He was an alcoholic and as was I for a few years now. I was unknowingly following his footsteps in more ways than one. We were both intelligent people who quit HS, drank away our sorrows, and loved the Beatles. I still have trouble with all of this. I’ve never felt completed. I always felt cheated. Hopefully one day I am able to realize I was only the product, not the predator.

OKAY so my parents are technically my adopted parents. Trouble with conceiving their own kids, they went through an adoption agency and adopted my brother and then 9 years later, me (my brother and I are not blood related). With both adoptions, they went to a family therapist to make sure they were doing everything right and were told to tell me once a year, every year until I was 8, that I was adopted and one day it will “stick” and I’ll remember it. So basically I grew up knowing I was adopted but didn’t care too much because my parents were my parents. I’m 22 now so about 4 years ago I asked if they knew more about my biological parents. My mom gave me all the paperwork from the adoption agency and a “diary” that was kept while I was in foster care for ~3 months. Basically, my birth mother was in the army, was home and at a party. Some guy she met followed her home and raped her. She was back overseas when she found out she was pregnant with me; she was 21 and not really able to have a kid so she made the decision that I’ll always be grateful for. It honestly hasn’t affected me that negatively. Yeah it sucks to think about – I wasn’t necessarily “made” out of love & pretty much all my physical features come from my biological father (just based on the description my biological mother gave in the paper work about the rape). I hope to some day meet my biological mother, but know that I probably won’t meet my father (nor would I want to) just because of the fact that he was some random dude that followed her home. It’s also heavily influenced my opinions on abortion. At the end of the day, I love my parents – they’re all I’ve known and are the best in the world and gave me everything I could ever ask for. I also do have this love for my birth mother though – a woman I’ve never known. She was in a terribly shitty situation, but made a strong decision that my life literally depended on & I love her for it :)

My dad was born from a rape. He found out when I was 8-years-old. The day he found out was when I lost my dad. It fucked him up so bad. He had picked up drinking and gambling. On average he would drink about a 12 pack a day. It was fucked up because he was such a good man before he found out. Up to this day we still don’t know who would have told him this but I feel like if I ever found out , I wouldn’t be able to forgive that person. My father used up our savings and basically used all of our money on beer and horse racing. On day when my mother confronted him and told him to leave us alone forever he replied to her “I will leave you and I will never bother you again and I swear I will pay you back all the money I’ve used and stolen from you.” Two months later, he passed. Shortly after my mother received thousands of dollars in social security money. Still fucking miss him.

I’m late to the thread but I am a product of rape. My mother met my father who was a crack and heroin addict and had my older sister with him, they got married and he started beating her and my sister regularly. The abuse went on for years until he was brazenly bringing women home to fuck in front of her and my mom had enough and left, she had no where to go and was sleeping couch to couch with my sister. He looked everywhere for her, found her somehow and raped her. I was conceived. When I was born he tried to say I was the neighbors child and my mom was sleeping around even though I am the spitting image of his mother. Anyway, he tried to choke me to death as an infant, my mom stabbed him with a hot dog poker, not sure of the name but it’s the utensil you use to turn over hot dogs on a grill. He went to jail and got out a few years later and my step father shot him when he resumed stalking my mother.

I found out I was a product of rape from my little sister using it as a way to make fun of me in an argument, my mom confirmed it nonchalantly when I asked if it was true. My family is all types of fucked up. Funny story, he sent me a friends request on Facebook a few days ago, trying to get in contact with me 28 years later. It’s sad. I do not want a relationship with a guy who has raped and beat most of the women he has in his life.

A few years ago I met a girl at a mutual friend’s house who ended up telling me how her grandfather was also her father (so this girl’s mother was raped by her own father). She told me this because I had given her a bracelet that I was wearing (I make jewelry and like to hand it out), I have very tiny wrists, and she was so excited that it fit her. She was excited about that because on one hand she was missing a thumb and her hand was just kinda strange looking and small, so most bracelets would slide off. We ended up taking some hits out of a gas mask/bong (my first time ever doing so) and she told me about her father/grandfather as an explanation for her hand. She also told me about how her brother raped her, even on the day her mother died. I think its safe to say incest was common in her family. You wouldn’t have really noticed anything different about her unless you knew, but she was quite small and just a tad strange looking (plus, ya know, deformed hand). Honestly it was pretty surreal being so stoned and having this girl who was mostly a stranger tell me this so calmly. This was in the ghetto, and she was with her boyfriend and their baby. She was very sweet, a real spunky firecracker type girl. I’ve never seen her since but I think of her often, I hope her life turned out alright. So yeah, not my story but its one that always stuck with me.

I was the product of incest. My birth mother came from a very backwards community in Poland that was very messed up with drugs, military, and well… incest. My birth dad is my birth mothers uncle. My birth mom went to America with my birth dad and their family to see New York and left me there. They dropped me off at an orphanage and didn’t fill out papers. They just left me there. I’m 19 now. 2 years ago, one of my relatives came from Poland to America and actively sought me out and found me through my current parents and the orphanage. Apparently when my mom left me in America, it was a big deal to the family. There are stories of me being a big American rich guy. They have stories about how I live in big land, own a washing machine, and they talk about straight teeth or something. My relative didn’t speak perfect English and he was slightly skewed in the head. They had all these stories of me, and I was only 17. I was a foster kid for most of my life, didn’t live on big land, and I don’t own my own washing machine. My current parents do, but I don’t. I did get lucky, and have fairly straight teeth, so at least I lived up to that hype. The only thing they gave the orphanage was my name, which was written on a piece of paper, and my weight in grams. They wanted to give me an American name, so they named me after a state in the united states. My name is Vermont.

I am the product of rape. I found out when I was 16 when my Mom told me. I’ve never known my biological dad, I was raised by my Mom and a series of step dads. I knew I was an out of wedlock kid, I knew my dad didn’t know about me, but I thought I was a product of a love match. When I was 16, my Mom, who has always treated me as the greatest thing to ever happen to her, went away to this self-help cult thing called Landmark. While away, she wrote me a letter and read it to me over the phone. It told me how when she was in boot camp at the fresh age of 18, she was dating a great guy. It was the late 80s, sex was still kind of free and open. Her CO got blackout drunk one night when she and others were out with him. He raped her. The next day, he didn’t remember anything and since he was married with a baby, my Mom said nothing. She found out she was pregnant a little while later, right after her boyfriend left the military, leaving her questioning who was my father. She had me, left the military, and hasn’t looked back except that once. She has said she would try to help me find either of the guys if I wanted a DNA test to see who I belonged to, but short of a private investigator or contacting the military, I doubt I could find them 25 years later. Needless to say, finding this out was devastating. My Mom is my best friend and to know that I might be the product of something as traumatizing as that has haunted me for a while. My family doesn’t know. I’ve only shared it with a few long term boyfriends and close friends, she’s shared it with her best friend and previous husbands.

I used to be interested in finding them, if only for potential half-siblings. It’s led to weird situations for me, such as worrying I might accidentally date a sibling, so I always make sure I ask about parents as quickly as possible, find out if they were ever in the military. It might be a 1 in a million chance, but it’s a chance I’m not willing to take. Now, though, I have no interest in going through the effort of locating them. My Mom is happy, I’m loved by a wonderful grandfather so I’m not lacking for male influence, and our relationship is stronger because of it. To parents with children who were products of rape, please wait until they are mature enough to handle knowing something like that. I don’t know if I was ready at 16, but hearing it any earlier might have had much worse consequences for me.

My grandfather was the product of rape, My family are from the Fujian province, and my grandfather was the result of the Japanese invasion into china. his mother died in childbirth and he was an orphan, worked as a farmer, an alcoholic and died of lung cancer. My father doesn’t talk much about his father, but I hear stories from the rest of the family, but my father got a scholarship to study in Canada and moved over there to get an education. got his Bachelors in Engineering and Masters in Economics from the University of Alberta.

When I was about 14 or 15, I found out my birth mother had been raped repeatedly by her stepfather. One of those times had resulted in me. I have always known I was adopted, but I had been told that my birth father was my birth mother’s boyfriend. It was when my anger issues towards him became too much that my mother told me the truth. I still have some anger issues about it, but they are directed at the correct person now. And the kicker was, SHE was the one that got kicked out of the house. Somehow she managed to travel nearly 100 miles to the nearest big city and was taken in by a home for unwed mothers. They helped her through her pregnancy and then helped her find people to adopt me. She was still a kid herself (celebrated her 16th birthday a month or two after I was born) and couldn’t take care of me on her own. Her mother had told her that the only way she could come home was without me. Apparently, one of her aunts wanted to take me in and raise me as her own, but by the time they found out, the paperwork had already gone through and I was legally in a new family. It was a closed adoption, but my mom sent letters to my birth mother through the agency, to let her know I was doing well. Eventually, they started corresponding on their own, and I got to talk to her and my half-siblings on the phone once in a while. That’s how my mom found out about what had happened. My birth father either left my grandmother, or she kicked him out, but not until years later, and last I heard, he was living somewhere in Southern Mexico. I’ve never had the opportunity to confront him, but I would imagine there would be violence involved. Some very therapeutic violence.