Today's post came to my inbox yesterday and began with, "every time I try and write my story, the words don't come....so I do the mama thing." And what came out of the next few sentences was some of the most profound and poetic images I've seen in awhile.
Ever since I became a real grown up girl I would tell someone
"I was molested"
to see how they would react.
I always got the same reaction:
Oh, well you are perfectly put together
have no issues - see?
People can grow up and get away from being a victim.
Silence just doesn't come
from the times you were told
(at age six)
that God will hate you
- or -
your parents will hate you
But when people don't stop to listen.
when you realize you are ruined
by the church's definitions
And when your boyfriend rapes you
(then you accept that it is as good as it will get)
And when he hurts you
(you realize you deserve it)
because it really is as good as it gets
But then you walk away from him and everyone thinks you are perfectly fine.
But when your husband has an affair
and you walk away
- you didn't do enough to save it -
Nobody really wants to hear the truth to listen.
So I hide my stories
because those who didn't listen proved to you that you shouldn't share.
And you don't want to hurt your parents who had no idea
(it wasn't their fault)
(they can do nothing to change it now)
And because you don't want one more label.
I take it back.
I have written my story.
- on church bulletins
- on scraps of paper
- all over I have written my story
and thrown it away.