SNAP: Stories for Living

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Story #12 – My Hero, Myself

My story has its beginnings as a precious little 3yr.old girl. I had curly hair and freckles. Neighbors called me "Shirley Temple". I also smiled like Shirley. So Happy.

That all changed when I turned 6yrs. old. My grandfather had been molesting me for two yrs. He was someone who owned the family business. I trusted him, but was confused.

I became afraid of him and wanted to tell my mom.

I gently approached her when no one was in the kitchen. Pop-Pop is touching me in places he shouldn't be.

Her response was "don’t ever talk like that again". Not the answer I was hoping for. So I never did.

But I did reach out to others without talking. I was a smart little spunky girl and wouldn’t give up.

I became defiant, angry and negative any way I could. Maybe someone would ask me what was wrong.

That would be my opportunity to tell them by my negative behavior.

I thought for sure the nuns would ask why I was so angry, and then I could tell them. Detention worked for the sisters. They sent me week after week for my behavior.

After barely graduating from 8th grade I moved on to Catholic high school. I began to drink during school hours and doing drugs. It was like I was holding a big sign saying "HELP". 12th grade came and I barely graduated due to bad grades and behavior. But not once did anyone question my anger, depression and aggression.

I went onto college for 3 semesters and flunked out due to drinking. I still would not give up that someone would help me break this prison I was in. I had to get out of this prison in my head. Constant triggers, flashbacks and drugs to deaden the demons and pain in my head. I was so riddled with shame. I felt like it was all my fault.

After all, the people who loved me and were supposed to protect me didn't.

My teen years were lived like anything goes. I could do whatever I wanted to. No one would know.

I got married at 24. That’s when my hero appeared. It began with the birth of my beautiful baby girl.

I looked at the miracle in her crib. I began to cry. This little baby is so helpless and innocent. I will do protect and guard her.

The hero appeared. It was me. I looked into my soul and felt my heart beat. At the age of 24 I finally saw and felt the true hero. This beautiful miracle sleeping so peacefully was my beginning of healing.

To overcome shame, hurt, lack of trust, just to name a few was due to my constant battle. My daughter has grown to a beautiful and confident woman. My son also is a kind, caring and protective man. He is graduating from the Police Academy. I include this bit of history of my children, because I put my heart and soul into breaking the vicious and incestual abuse that is very deeply rooted for generations.

If we can give our children a voice from the beginning of their young lives, I believe there is hope.

With God’s Grace I will survive.

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