I know that when I was ten years old, I received my first kiss, complete with tongue action, from my cousin. I was the chosen one. I was special, petted and flattered. I was afraid to say no, afraid he wouldn't love me anymore if I didn't let him have his way. What followed was five years of sexual molestation. I was introduced to the dubious pleasures of sexual intimacy. I was afraid, all the time. I looked for ways to avoid him. I raged silently in my head at my mother for not knowing, though I never once said anything. She should have known anyways. Couldn't she just look at my face and feel my fear?
Just before my 15th birthday I found my voice, my courage, my power and I said no. NO! Remembering, brings back that same fear and nausea. That moment, when my voice burst out of me, when I said out loud, the word that I had been screaming in my head for so long, when I pushed him off my body and ran... that moment remains etched in my mind and my physical body. NO! NO! NO! That moment I chose to give up his love and approval so I could live with myself, so I could reclaim my power. No more was I going to be a silent victim.
One year later I went on a road trip with my aunt and a number of cousins. When we hit the mid-west I was given the option to visit my brother on a farm where he was working. These wonderful people brought me into their home. Little did I know, the same uncle that had raped my mother, was leaving me as a birthday present for a 70 year old man. He groped me, he kissed me and I was horrified. But I was not a silent victim. I used my voice. I said NO! I pushed him away. I called my mother on the other side of the country, in tears.
What followed was even worse. My brother spent the night protecting me. The next day my aunt picked me up and took me back to her family where I heard over and over that it was my own fault. If I wasn't so pretty, if I didn't wear short shorts, if I didn't leave my beautiful curls hanging down, that old man wouldn't have been tempted. And really, it was just a kiss and a grope, he really didn't do anything wrong. I was sent to an emergency foster care family and then took my first plane ride across the country back to my parents.For months I wrapped myself in jeans and big flannel shirts. I braided my hair every day. I became silent and withdrawn.
Six months later I stood in front of a judge and the whole little town. My RCMP officer was named Heather. She spent all day with me, encouraging me, lending me her strength. I couldn't have done it without her. But I did it. I testified and he was found guilty. The thing that stood out for me the most, was when I went to the bathroom in the courthouse, a girl followed me in. She said that in the beginning she couldn't understand why I would do this but she got it now. She told me that he had done this to many girls in their little town, but no one would speak against him. And then she walked away.
Getting a guilty verdict was so powerful for me. It allowed me to speak again, to live again. I stopped wearing men's flannel shirts, I let my hair down. I started to contemplate the idea that this wasn't my fault.
By no means did my life get easier. I've always struggled with self-esteem, with finding my voice and speaking up for what is right. I was lucky in that my cousin never raped me and never hurt me. I was lucky that a 70 year old man didn't force himself on me when I said no. I was lucky that I had the support of my parents and so many friends. And I am lucky that I have a heart big enough to forgive.
These early events shaped so much of my life. My first husband was actually physically and verbally abusive. The raging fights where he took away the phone and my clothes and wouldn't let me out of the bedroom, the days when he locked me out of the apartment and told me that I would never see my babies again, the fists through the wall and finally the day when he grabbed my arm and wouldn't let go, though I told him he was hurting me. I found my line when he crossed it. No man will put his hands on me in anger and hurt me. I took my babies and left.
My second husband was emotionally abusive. I spent years in a controlling relationship, with my self-esteem being eroded a bit at a time until I was so swallowed up in fear I couldn't do anything, couldn't even make a phone call. It took me years to find the strength and the courage to get out and still I struggled with finding my voice.
One of the most compelling reasons for ending abusive relationships was because I didn't want my sons to grow up thinking that was okay. My boys have watched me been abused for years. Figuring out how to break the cycle is hard. In my home we talk about it. We talk about what is okay and what isn't. We talk about what it looks like. We talk about respect.
I took two of the boys for a college tour and on campus they were holding a demonstration, all about sexual violence and how no means no and how you have to get consent before sex. My sons signed a contract that states they will not perpetuate violence against women and then they pinned on a white ribbon.
Just after that there was a domestic violence rally in the city. I took my boys and we listened to the statistics and the stories. We marched through the city with our candles. No More Silence - No More Violence we all proclaimed.
The statistics are scary. In the county were I live one in three women are victims of domestic or sexual violence. I am one of them. There are thousands of acts of violence against women every day in this country alone. At what point do we stand for the victims, give them the power? This is the hardest thing to talk about. It comes with so much shame and guilt. I know that even now, 30 years after my cousin first kissed me, I have guilt. I was a very small child and I was afraid to say no. It was my fault.
I am not a victim anymore. I am a survivor. Not only did I survive the traumas of my childhood and my marriages, but I have healed my heart so there is no anger towards those who harmed me out of their own fears. Now I talk to my sons about sexual violence. I talk to my daughter about using her voice. I speak for my own needs. There will be no more silence in this house. I will not contribute through my silence to this epidemic that rages through our nation and our world. Someone said to me that if women stepped into their power, men would no longer treat them like that. I feel that we need to bring the subject into the light and teach people everywhere that physical, verbal and emotional violence is wrong. Teach it in our schools so children can recognize what it looks like. Talk about it in our homes. Support the victims, let them know that it is not their fault. Support the abusers so they can find healthy ways to get their needs met. And above all, tell the stories, bring it out of the closet and into the light of day. This happens, every day. Walk down the street, go to the mall, look around at a concert or a ball game... one in three of those women have experienced an unspeakable horror that has forever changed them. These horrors may have shaped us but they don't define us.
I am one in three. I know that I am not alone.
