*Trigger Warning: Sexual molestation, sexual trauma
The following story is not for the faint of heart…
From the ages of approximately 3/4 to 8 years old, I was sexually molested by two adult men who were almost like family. Beginning at around 3/4, I was made to believe that in order to get something, I had to give something in return. What I was supposed to give in return was my body. I remember shouting out, “He’s bugging me!” to his siblings and no one came to my rescue.
Fast forward to around 5 years of age. His older brother forced me to perform fellatio on him. When I did not get it correctly, he verbally chastised me and sent me to look for lotion so he could finish. I remember crying profusely and feeling like a failure early on for something I was not even supposed to know how to do.
At 8 years old, the perpretrators visited my home. One came into the room and allowed me to play games on his phone. But of course, in order to play those games, I had to allow him to touch me. Eventually I became so uncomfortable that I walked out of the room, with his phone, and stood under my mom for protection.
To get away from the pain of it all, I sought refuge in school. But as a Black girl, even that was not a safe haven for me. I can recount numerous times my White female teachers questioned my intelligence and rendered my prescence invisible. To be honest, it was not until I entered graduate school that I started to recognize my brilliance.
Through these experiences, perfection became a means of survival. Now it is the very thing that I am battling to break down. I did not share details of my sexual trauma until the age of 22. I did not feel that I was in a healthy space until the ages of 24 and 25. I say all of this to say, that while you may have judged me for being too strong or too vocal, there was a time when I was too afraid to say anything. Everyone has a story. So don’t judge others until you know their history.
With Love and Pain,