(warning: explicit content)
At the age of seven I was consecutively molested for two straight years. It finally ended the same year my dad left in ‘05. How sad, gruesome and infuriating, right?
A 17 year old young man, from church, would watch my little brother and I every Wednesday. I remember it starting with inappropriate touches on my butt as I climbed my way into his parent’s truck for our nightly trip to Awana. That soon lead to me constantly having to sit in his lap with a blanket over my legs, to him watching us at my own house and him abusing me in my own bed. Least I not forget his parent’s flower shop where he took me often because it was an easy place to not be seen. Between the tight grips on my small thighs, to the brute force of his man hands going down my pants, I still cringe at the thought of him being a free man. For two years I had no understanding of what was happening to me. I was seven years old. How could I? I was threatened, choked and told to never say anything. And if I did, he said he would kill me.
It wasn’t until someone else spoke up. He had been doing the same vulgar things to another human being… and thank God. Not in the sense that I’m relieved it was happening to her too but I am. She saved me. She was able to speak up for both of us. I lost my voice, smile, charisma, and childlikeness. I was numb, cold, and couldn’t stand the touch of anyone but my own mother. When it came time to talk to a detective, I was taken to a room, with a male detective who had me vividly describe and reenact everything that had happened to me. Imagine being abused for two years. Not knowing what was even goin on. Then gaining language and knowledge that it’s more than “not okay”, it’s ILLEGAL. And in order for them to “have a case” they require me to rehash, relive and put on a graphic show for them and whomever else was behind the one sided wall. Turns out, his age gave him a lifetime of favors. He was too young to do hard time. Who knew?
I still get triggered. I still look over my shoulders and am on high alert in certain situations. I have a hard time trusting men. I have a hard time having short jewelry around my neck. I have a hard time still to this day, with many things because of what was done to me.
Not only did I feel completely rejected by my dad who was supposed to love me no matter what, but then this happened to me and I felt even more worthless, lifeless and unlovable.
I share this with you not for you to loath someone’s character or help me to justify my past. I share this because there is power in redemption.
I have been redeemed from this. This is traumatic, but it is so real. One in three women are sexually abused, and so are one in every five males. I encourage you… just share your story. I pray you can share your story with someone who can provide healthy guidance for you. It is crucial to release the feelings that come with abuse. There’s freedom waiting for you. Take it.
At this point, I’m sure some of my readers are angry and wondering. Or maybe you’ve been through your own personal trauma and are angry with God. A common question I get is, “if God is so good, why does He allow such bad things to happen to good people?”. I don’t love what happened to me. I don’t think it was “good”. I don’t believe God “let” this happen to me. I do however believe that all things do work for His good! Did God just “allow” His only Son to die for us? Yes, if we are being literal, He did allow it. But He also couldn’t bare to watch it. He turned His face to the sin His Son became and yet He knew this is how it had to happen. His Son had a purpose to save the world! My story may not have been what I wanted but it does hold a purpose! There is so much of God’s goodness, grace and love shown through my story. Better yet, my story isn’t over yet. Neither is yours.
Be bold. Be brave. Share your story. You are loved. It is not your fault. You matter. You are worth it. You have already been REDEEMED!
~written in love by your local gypsy
