Open Letter to the Prestigious Dr. Júlio Machado Vaz

 Dear Dr. Júlio Machado Vaz,

You likely remember me — even if you wish you didn’t.

I was seventeen, and I did not come to you for help. It was my two older sisters — both nurses working at the clinic with you — who pressured you to “see me.” They couldn't control me. I was rebellious, questioning, and awakening. They feared I might be sexually active. Rather than understand me, they wanted me silenced, examined, and corrected.

And you agreed to take on that role.

Not as a healer, but as a predator.

You used your professional position — your trust within the medical community, your prestige in the public eye — to exploit a vulnerable girl brought to you by her own family, under the guise of treatment. That was not therapy. That was abuse.

For years, I carried that shame in silence, like so many others who’ve been violated by “respectable” men hiding behind titles and reputations. But I no longer carry your secret. I’ve spoken. I’ve written. I’ve exposed the truth — not just for myself, but for the many others who have no voice or platform.

You may have tried to intimidate me with silence — even from a distance. Years ago, you clicked “like” on one of my Facebook posts, then quickly unclicked. But not before I took a screenshot. That single gesture spoke volumes. It wasn’t an accident. It was a veiled threat — a way to say “I see you, and I want you to know it.”

But I want you to know something: I’m not afraid of being seen. Not anymore.

What happened in your office was real. And no amount of silence, erasure, or public prestige can undo that. You may still be protected by the media, the institutions, and the cowardice of those who fear your status — but I have nothing left to lose. And I will not stop telling the truth.

I’ve written about what happened in detail here: Abuse on the Couch: A Silenced Transgression. It’s there for the world to see, and it will remain.

This isn’t about revenge. This is about truth — and the right of survivors to name what was done to them without being silenced, erased, or retraumatized by a society that protects predators with polished shoes and polished résumés.

I survived you. I went on to write books, to reclaim my life, and to help others understand how childhood repression feeds the cycle of abuse.

One day, the institutions that protect you will crumble under the weight of their own denial. Until then, I will keep writing. I will keep speaking. And your silence will never be louder than my truth.

— Sylvie IMELDA

Read A Dance to Freedom: Chapter 3 – Repression