This is a hard post to write. But it needs to be done.
It’s hard because it’s something I’ve only talked about maybe twice. The second time only being a few days ago on another blog where the issue was brought up.
It’s hard because it’s something I’ve only talked about maybe twice. The second time only being a few days ago on another blog where the issue was brought up.
I am an Almost.
Self-portrait, Summer 2003 |
This is my story.
Growing up, there weren’t many children in our neighborhood, so I often found myself playing with an effeminate boy a few years younger than I, P. P had two brothers, one was a couple years older than me, L, and the eldest was probably in junior high if not high school, R. I would always hang out with P, because he had the coolest toys, and since he was pretty much ten times girlier than I, I could count on some great girl play. Every now and again L would join us, because some games are no fun with only two people, and one of our favorites was Hide-and-Seek.
Now, I was probably seven years old when we played H&S one day, and I was determined to win. I ran upstairs and climbed into the top bunk of the bunk beds and lay down as flat as I could. I knew no one would ever find me, because I was awesome.
I was wrong.
R showed up, and saw me on the top bunk. I quickly tried to shush him and told him to go away before he gave away my hiding place. I remember him laughing and climbing up onto the bunk with me while I protested.
He said he would hide with me, help me hide, because no one would see me with him in the way. I thought maybe this was a good idea.
I was wrong.
He began to press me up against the wall, to the point that I could barely move. Then he told me that we were a bit uncomfortable and that we would be seen, unless I pulled down my pants.
I have to stop for a moment, because writing this makes me go a little weak; makes me want to vomit a little bit.
I started protesting again, because I was a kid, I was seven, and cooties were a very real thing to me. But he insisted, and he began grabbing at my pants and trying to pull them down, in the name of Hide-and-Seek.
I was trapped, I couldn’t move, and I certainly wasn’t strong enough to combat a teenager. But just then, L showed up and found us, and I took off.
I was almost molested that day.
Me, as a little girl. |
And you know what? I never told anyone. I didn’t tell my parents, friends, relatives. No one.
Scarier still is the fact that I didn’t even realize what almost happened to me until I was in my twenties, and I was randomly thinking back to my early childhood and that day popped into my head.
Scarier still is the fact that I didn’t even realize what almost happened to me until I was in my twenties, and I was randomly thinking back to my early childhood and that day popped into my head.
When it did, I threw up. I couldn’t believe it. For so long I had forgotten about it, probably because I didn’t know what had almost happened.
Did I know about the difference between good touch/bad touch at that age? I have no idea, I don’t remember. And it could very easily be the reason why I never told anyone, because I didn’t know it was something that should have been said.
The therapist inside me thinks I unconsciously knew all along, and allowed the incident to shape my dysfunction with relationships and my distrust in others, especially men.
My husband doesn’t even know about this, and I still probably won’t tell him. I probably won’t tell my parents, either, because at this point, there is no reason in harming their memories of my childhood. I don’t want them thinking about what they could have done to protect me, because there wasn’t anything anyone could have done to prevent it from happening in the first place.
But now I look at my girls and I’m scared. Scared that it could happen to them. Scared that they could become an Almost, or something far worse.
How do you even begin to teach a child the difference between what’s appropriate interaction and what’s very very bad? How do I ensure that they are comfortable enough to talk with me about these things so that I know they’ll come to me if something happens? It makes me sick to think that I have to ruin a bit of their innocence just to protect them from being completely shattered by a sick and twisted human being.
My memory shattered me, and I was just an Almost.
So let’s protect the kids, so we can find a way to keep them from being victimized, because statistically, you are far more likely to be attacked by someone you already know, just as I once was.
digdeepdesign says
Wow. What an amazing story. You are so strong. Thank you for sharing with all of us. I hope we can all grow from your words.
Digger ~xoxo~
http://digdeeperdesign.blogspot.com
Karly Gomez says
Thank you. I’m just hoping it gets people thinking and talking much sooner than we maybe would have considered previously.
Erin says
What a powerful story! I love how transparent you are and willing to share the trials of your life with all of us. It’s beautiful. Your girls are beautiful..sorry for mixing that up earlier today!
Karly Gomez says
Thanks hun, I appreciate the comment, and no worries on the mix up, it was a fun night!
Lish says
Oh my goodness…I can’t even imagine what you’ve been going through…to think of anyone that had to deal with that their whole life scares the crap out of me. To think of my own children having to go through that makes me want to puke, and how do you talk to them about that? That there are creepy people out there that will try and take andvantage of them…scares the shit out of me! Good for you for talking about it!
Karly Gomez says
Thank you Lish =)
It’s definitely scary, so the sooner we start talking about it, the better prepared our kids will be and the less scared we will be, because we’ll know they’re capable to handling a tough situation.
But, maybe, I am going to sign my kids up for kick-boxing too.
Kgecik says
I was about 10 or 11 when a 14 year old boy and I were playing in my brother’s room alone while all of our parents were visiting downstairs. He trapped me and told me the only way he’d let me go was if I kissed him “down there.” I knew instantly what was going on, squirmed away and left the room. I told my mom that night what he said. I doubt anything was said to him about it, but I felt good because I had stood up for myself and told my mom. The most awkward part was seeing this same guy a few years later..in high school. He was a Senior. I was a Freshman. I always wondered if he remembered that incident. Because I know I never forgot…
Karly Gomez says
Oh wow! I’m glad you were able to get away! I hope he remembers it, he better remember it, dammit. Every person who does something like that should have to remember it, but I know that’s wishful thinking.
Trista Jackson says
big steps sharing such a personal story….. I think the only thing I can say as far as your girls are concerned is never think it’s too early to start the conversation. Maybe, try to incorporate the issue into bathtime, discuss it as you teach them about personal hygiene and personal space. Good luck, I hope you never have to go through an experience like that again, whether it is against you or any of your family.
big hugs and strength to process these tormenting memories.
Karly Gomez says
Thank you Trista, I appreciate it. I definitely plan on starting the talk during bathtime. I think it will help a lot now that Afton is potty-trained, because she knows what that area really is down there. It’s just too bad that we live in a time where we have to have these talks. But hopefully it will make us all stronger individuals.