Content Warning: Child abuse, child sexual assault
This is going to be one of those posts that I don’t want to write. Many of us have had our #MeToo moment since the hashtag went viral in 2017. I had opened up to close friends and family about some of the details of my childhood, but kept the secret from everyone else. After seeing the real change that can come from the excision of the tumorous parts of the psyche I decided to participate in the What were you wearing? Exhibit put on by the Springfield chapter of the Me Too movement.
I remember exactly what I was wearing. My shirt was scratchy red polyester with a white scalloped collar. The pants were brown corduroy with snaps down the inseam that pulled open too easy.
My first memory is my father’s hand over my mouth pulling my jaw open. During the assault I stared across my tiny trailer bedroom at the crib my brother had died in a few months before. That night I ate my mother’s sleeping pills, and the doctor that pumped my stomach didn’t even ask me why.
I don’t know if that was the first assault, but it wasn’t the last. It took having my daughters before I could find the strength to go to the police. My father spent a whopping 15 years in prison for the vile things he had done to me and the other victim that came forward.
So this is my #MeToo story. It’s not unique, but it’s mine.
Here is the link if you want to get involved with the Springfield chapter of Me Too, or want to attend any of their upcoming events.