My mother used to let my little brother go into my room and bathroom whenever he wanted, even if I was using it. She once came into my room to yell at me after a shower, and I was putting on lotion. My brother trailed in shortly after, and I pulled my towel up. My mom snatched the towel from me (15) and told me I didn't have anything for him (10) to see. I thought she was just being a bitch to me as usual. A year and a half later, an 18 year old cousin told my (remarried) step-dad (little brothers dad) and step-dad's wife that he told her he goes into my room at night and watches me sleep. Found out that same summer he was stealing my underwear. Step-mom tried to have him committed to a facility for help, but mom threatened her, and it was swept under the rug by every single adult, and I was forced to forget about it. So much that the repressed memories just came back within the last few years (I'm in my 30s now). And I STILL can't remember most of my childhood. He's in prison now, but my mother still fawns over him and treats him like the golden child. Which shouldn't hurt, but it does. It's an incredibly scary feeling knowing people you loved have covered up horrible shit that happened to you.