As a writer I find it imperatively important to be honest. I have come into the understanding that we all endure trauma an a treatment for the torture that comes with the shame and anxiety is sharing with like minded others. People that have walked a mile in your shoes and can understand your brokenness. I pray my children will never be able to fully understand the reason my eyes get watery at the beginning of a Stevie Wonder song or why I roll my eyes when I see a mechanic dressed in a grease stained navy blue overall uniform with his name stitched on the front. Some of my posting may be too heavy to disguise or more than you bargained for as a reader. I understand. Feel free to walk away from my truth at your leisure, but before you go know that just because you close your eyes, bow your head or turn and walk away it does nothing to the reality.
I love to listen to piano solo's as I write . Writing's are also a piece of music to my ears. Sometimes I am so overwhelmed by the piece I begin to cry. Have you ever cried out loud to a song? Did it make you think of that special someone, or not so special someone? I feel my heart beat slow down, grow two sizes to big for my chest cavity and weight 5 pounds. It's funny how music can do that to you. Remind you of a time when...I am reminded of a time when I was 9 years old. Just thinking about being nine makes me cry. I would forever be changed, my life would be completely different in every single way. I would be a knowing little girl. To know better is to do better , however if you know something before your scheduled to it can prove catastrophic. Speed you up even, especially as a child.
I was much like I am today. A peoples person, warm, funny, loving, talented in several ways and a dreamer. Back then I didn't think much about boys or how my body appealed to them. I knew my Auntie was a beautician and I went to her shop every Saturday to get my hair done. A press and curl. It was the most stressful forty-five minutes. Holding my ears down to avoid third degree burns and sitting as still as a statue, just to get burned anyway by the steam and cause an uproar in the entire salon. Funny now when I think about it. I would jump out of that chair with the cape on screaming and crying holding the side of my head shouting "YOU BURNED MEEEEEE!!!!" My aunt would reply, "Oh child that wasn't nothing but the steam from the hot comb. Come sit your behind back in this chair so I can finish your hair." It was what little girls were supposed to do.
I had a close group of friends, play cousins and classmates. We would sing songs, pretend to be the girls in the groups practice the latest dance moves , have sleep overs where no one slept. I loved to run in the open fields, roll down the hill until I was all itchy and covered in grass stains. Compete to see who could swing the highest. Celebrate our first pubic hair and the interesting lumps developing under our chest. Mine had a very relaxed approach. I thought they'd never show up. We would play board games and have girl talk.We would discuss our plans for our futures. How we were doing in our classes and who was cute.
During one of our girl talks I had a topic of conversation none of us should ever have had to discuss. You see my school had implemented a "Family Life" program, this program was designed to educate us on our developing bodies, menstruation, the male anatomy, sex and pregnancy. During this class some of the images were all too familiar to me and I was not as surprised as the other little girls. I was surprised to find out that my mother's mechanic boyfriend placing his erect penis and hands in between my thighs was very wrong unlike what he'd told me and I should only be doing these things with someone I loved as an adult. The program was very clear and described molestation, and incest quite clearly. I sunk a little lower into my seat. My eyes had been opened. I was ashamed. The facilitator instructed us to notify an adult if we or someone we know has been molested or raped. She also cautioned us that the pedophiles are usually the ones we trust and not lurking in the shadow's of back alley's at night. My friends hugged me and cried with me. They promised not to tell and wondered when I was going to tell. I didn't know when.I was afraid my mother would be so mad at me and what I was doing while she was at work. He told me she would be furious and not believe me. I hated what he was doing to me and he was starting to hurt me physically, he was becoming ever the more aroused by my submission and now trying to penetrate my 9 year old 65 pound body.
I would wait for mommy to be in a good mood. Wow, I remember thinking this thought like it was yesterday. I had no idea that her good mood would come so soon.
I called her into my room, it was late in the evening and close to bedtime. I sat on my top bunk and looked down at my mother's beautiful smiling face and unsuspecting eyes. I thought maybe tomorrow would be better. My mother noticing my hesitation gently held my hand. "Yes baby?" I began to quiver. "Mommy I have something to tell you" I continued. "Tony has been touching on me.""What do you mean touching on you?""Touching on me...down there and the other day there was this snot thing on the bed when he got off of me."I said. My mother took me off of the top bunk picked me up and squeezed me tightly we began to sob. She looked me in the face and asked me ever so sincerely from her heart with her face soaked with tears as one dripped from her chin, "Why didn't you tell me?" I shrugged my shoulders and said"I thought you'd be mad at me.
ohhh nooo baby" in a sing song tone. "I'm so happy you told me."She rocked me, I was her baby.
The next morning before school a white, chubby, balding male detective was in my apartment asking me questions. This was the beginning of my resiliency.
Share your struggles with the people you know the young women you come in contact with. Take them by the hand and say you are not your past you are stronger for it and you can decide to be the best you! Make who you are shine like the sun. Take a deep breath and connect with you on the inside. Make her greater. Educate yourself, walk for the March of Dimes, Donate to the Susan G. Kowen Foundation. Love on yourself by caring for yourself.
I love you, Keep reading
God Bless You.