It's a scary thing to put yourself out there. To share a part of you that has brought tremendous amounts of shame. I've seen a couple friends be vocal. I'm so proud of them. They are so brave.
My fear of saying, I too have been sexually abused comes from a place of not wanting to draw attention to myself, not wanting to be seen as dramatic, and knowing I've not had it as bad as others.
But something compels me to write ME TOO. Because I recognize that there are likely other woman, like me, who have downplayed the wrong(s) that have been done to them. They minimize their experience. They don't know it's not their fault.
My first encounter of sexual abuse was being molested at age 5.
My second group of encounters were during sleepovers when I was 12 and on my 13th birthday by a friend.
And the last time was when I was 20 on a missions trip for a well known Christian missions organization.
Those encounters left me feeling confused, ashamed, humiliated and lonely. …
It's 3:40 a.m. when my body jolts awake. I thought I heard my phone ringing. It takes me a moment to remember I put in on silent. Is it any wonder though that I jump to when the phone rings? I've only gotten 8 calls yesterday from the Children's Hospital.
I find my thoughts vacillating and desperately trying to pin them down on one end of the spectrum. The side that says, "God is good. He's got this. No matter what happens I will get through this. Samuel belongs to the Lord, not me. He knows the number of breaths we will take. He knows the hairs on our head. I can trust Him even when it's scary."
And then I swing to the other side. That creeping doubt. That dear Jesus please don't let us walk through this again. That I don't know if I could handle another cancer treatment. And thoughts of didn't we just get back to some kind of normal?
Samuel's hearing is worsening. Even with his hearing aid. I keep thinking about learning sign language a…
35 years ago today I became a big sister. My instant built in best friend, Libby Anne "Joy", was born. Her pale skin and rosy cheeks and blue eyes. She called me her "Gi-Gi" when she couldn't say the word "Jennifer".
A couple years later, Mom even gave us our own baby doll Christopher to play with. We could take turns rocking him in our little wooden rockers. So we had a third partner in crime. All boy. Blonde hair buddy with blue eyes.
As kids we had lemonade stands, played hopscotch and scraped up our knees getting our first "summer stamps" as our Mom called them.
In my teen years she stole my clothes and shoes. She would be indignant that I borrowed her sweater when she would be wearing a whole outfit from my closet.
Her dramatic eye roll and loud gasps of surprise.
Her strumming the guitar.
Her voice lifted up in sweet praise.
Her 21st birthday. She was married and pregnant. I gave her a jewelry box.