When you’re living with abusers it’s impossible to see them full time as dangerous, abusive and hellish individuals because you’re a social creature, and you have numerous memories of these people managing to be peaceful sometimes, to be nice sometimes, to give you little crumbs of affection. And since they make sure you’re mostly isolated, whenever you need to share something with a human human, or express a feeling or just yell or speak or interact - they’re the only people you have at your disposal.
People living in your house are always the first people you go to, even if they didn’t always react well in the past, you can’t stop hoping that this one time, they will. Maybe they’ll take this news alright, maybe they’ll endure hearing what you have to say without swinging back an insult, maybe you can, for this one time, go and look forward to telling something to someone and get a human reaction.
We don’t hope for more than a human reaction, because we’ve been living on these little crumbs of humanity they throw at us, and it’s all we can ever get. We’re starving for humanity. We can’t give up on the idea that we can’t ever consistently get it from them - because getting it somewhere else seems impossible, or has been made impossible by them. We have to somehow live with abusers around, even if we’re scared or anxious or terrified, we have to push it down in order to make it thru. Human desire to connect, socialize and share doesn’t go away under the conditions of abuse. It doesn’t go away until all interaction becomes life threatening, and even then, the urge for it hurts as we ignore it.