It happened…
when I was nine. I was a skinny girl who was too tall for her age. I spent my days playing in the trees and the dirt, roaming freely in our neighborhood. I was a very shy and quiet child. The year before it happened, I became friends with a sweet and bubbly red-haired girl. She lived in an upstairs apartment on the other side of the neighborhood and I spent many days at her house. I was always invited to participate in their family activities.
It was…
a hot summer afternoon when he lured me to the wooded riverbank. He was her downstairs neighbor. He always seemed to be around but we never really spoke. On the day that it happened he told me that my friend was at the riverbank fishing with her family. He said that she asked him to come get me because she wanted to fish with her best friend. I believed him and I went with him. When we got there they weren’t there but he said that they were coming and gave me his fishing pole to start fishing. I felt uneasy, but we were never allowed to challenge authority. He sat with his back against a tree watching me and I stood out by the water. When I caught a fish, he told me to bring it to him. So, I did. Then he told me to sit, so I did. Once I was seated, he turned and forced me down to the ground beneath the weight of his body. He stuck his slimy tongue in my mouth and forcibly groped me. I turned my head and screamed. The scream was met with a slap. I kept screaming and he kept slapping me. After a few rounds, I stopped and shrank under the weight of him. “Please, just let me go home. Please” I whimpered over and over. He ignored me, until at last, he lifted his chest off of me, still pinning me with his bottom half. He asked if I was going to tell “them” that he gave me a friendly kiss for catching a fish. I earnestly promised him that I wouldn’t. He stared at me a minute as if trying to decide if he believed me and then rolled off of me. I scurried up and ran to my bike. I navigated the wooded trail through my burning tears, trying not to throw up.
It made me feel…
like a stupid, stupid girl. I was so ashamed that I believed him. I harbored the blame for allotting him the opportunity to abuse me. As time passed, I became anxious about everything. I hated being touched. Hugs made me feel claustrophobic. I became suspicious of every adult male. I am still suspicious of anyone who takes too much interest in my children, even family. Recently, I found out, through the sex offender registry, that he did it again, almost ten years after me. According to the description, his victim was a middle-school aged child. I’m not sure I have fully sorted through the emotions that flooded me at the news. I felt rage toward him, I felt broken for his victim, and somewhat vindicated that he got charged and called out for who he is. Most of all, I feel motivated to no longer hide behind my story, in fear of how the blemish of my past will influence how others see me.
I told…
my mom, as soon as I got home. I didn’t intend to, and if she hadn’t have asked I would not have, at least not right away. But I was still crying when I got home and his hand prints were still on my face. So, when met with her questioning eyes, I told her everything, and she called the police. The officer came into our apartment. He asked me a few questions as he stood over me. My whole body shook as I recounted what happened. Then he left and said that he was going to go talk to him. In the end, he was only told to stay away from me.
I survived…
it took ten years for me to acknowledge what he did to me. I avoided thinking about it. I felt like it was my fault for believing him and for going with him, blindly. I heard someone share their abuse story as an introduction to a support group they were starting. I decided to go, and listen. But, then I shared and all of the anger I held in for ten years came rushing out. I found healing in telling that group my story because the taboo of it was lifted among other victims. All of us knew what it was like, in our way. There were far too many of us.
I dream…
that every child is empowered to tell. That every child has a support system in which they know they will be comforted, believed and protected. That children are taught bodily autonomy from an early age, as a protective factor. That children who are abused are counseled, and that they know from the start that it wasn’t their fault. What an awful burden to carry.
I want…
survivors to know that this is not who you are. This is something that happened to you. The effects of my perpetrator’s abuse permeated a lot of my life, in deeper ways than I could have ever dreamed. Getting quality counseling and good support are essential to your well-being. I want caretakers of children to know that having honest open communication with your children may make the difference in whether they tell. Talk to them, use the resources for educating them about body safety, and then be diligent about it.
This blog post is copyrighted and cannot be republished without the expressed written consent of the author and The Mama Bear Effect.
