It’s difficult to imagine myself as you once knew me—three years old, bright-eyed and playful. But I sing lullabies and cry for that little girl, too. I protect and take care of her, and I do so fearlessly, just like you did. I know you had hoped that child wouldn’t share your fate and grow up with the same pain, but forces beyond you had other plans.
Then a real monster ended up inside our home. I didn’t know how to put what happened to me into words. I was only three when my 17-year-old babysitter sexually assaulted me. You were unable to tell me everything I wanted to know. But I don’t blame you for trying to forget. It felt good to speak frankly about what happened. The conversation meant we could move forward—it was cathartic. Instead of living with a painful secret, we could now live in truth. I want you to know that no matter how much guilt you’ve carried with you, Mama, it’s not your fault.
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Source: macleans - 🏆 19. / 71 Read more »