I’ll be honest it’s taken me decades to process certain events in my life and the events that led to my pregnancy at 14 rank the highest.

What should have been a joyous moment for me later in life was a time of anxiety, anger, fear and loneliness.

Anxiety that I didn’t know what to do or what will happen next for me or my family.

Anger that I had no choice and was trapped in it with the person I despised most in the world.

Fear of being a mother and talking to my mother how this all happened.

Loneliness because I was just that alone in the experience and the knowledge.

I kept silent though until my mother needed answers from a doctor as to why I wasn’t getting a cycle anymore so she took me to my pediatrician. There I was in the children’s playroom with kid blocks, puzzles and Curious George books very near vomiting from nerves and maybe some morning sickness.

I will never forget the moment my mom was explaining to my Pediatrician my symptoms as I sat on the examination table. He listened, looked at me and asked me to lay back on the table. The moment I laid back my nearly 4th month belly sat up like Mt. Everest and the rooms air thinned with confirmation from all three of our faces. He asked me to give him a urine sample and left the room.

When I got back in the room, my mom told me the doctor believed I was pregnant.

Unable to hold any of my emotions I cried uncontrollably and after she repeatedly asked who I mumbled his name. Your cousin?! She asked in disbelief. Then she asked me something I never thought she would or could think. Are you in love with your cousin? I remember feeling sick and upset at the thought and protested no between my tears. She then asked me did I want to have the baby and couldn’t say no faster or louder. We went home and I balled in a corner in my dark room trying to hide from it all as she talked with his parents in the front of the house.

My mom woke me early the next morning before the sun was up to drive somewhere with her, my uncle and sister. They didn’t tell me where and I didn’t ask because I really didn’t want to talk. We arrived at a weird doctor’s office after hours of driving. I had never been to this doctor before. I had actually only been to my pediatrician and dentist up to this point in my life. I went to the back alone, unlike the pediatrician. They asked me to undress unlike the pediatrician and put my legs up in these cold metal braces. A women pressed and poked around in my vagina and I was so confused about what was happening or going to happen. She squirted warm jelly on my stomach, rubbed her wand across me and said I was 17 weeks and the baby was a boy. She then told me they would have to give me a shot with a long needle that may hurt some but would not take long. The needle seemed as long as my torso but I could be exaggerating that memory from how much it hurt. After the shot where she dug around in my stomach, she handed me some papers to take out with me.

My family took me out to dinner and back to a hotel room. We were still not speaking and no one was explaining anything either. Before I went to bed my mom gave me some medicine to take and I remember being so exhausted I just went to bed. I woke up around 4 or 5 in the morning in the worst pain I had ever experienced in my life. I begged my mom to give me something to make go away but she said we had to wait until we went to the doctor at 8. I cried in pain until we left, she and my sister tried to comfort me by holding me and rubbing my back but as time rolled the pain got worst. After making it to the doctor, I had to sit in a waiting room with at least 6-7 other patients for hours but non of them seemed to be in the pain I was in. I remember crying, shaking from pain and looking around at people reading magazines calm or them staring back at me with concern. They finally called me back and put me in a chair with more cold metal braces and gave me medicine to sleep. When I woke, my family was there telling me it was time to go home. Already dressed with a large pad for the heavy bleeding I had, I assumed it was done and the baby was gone. On the quiet long ride home my sister rubbed my back as I laid on her lap, asked me if I was ok and told me a secret she had, she was pregnant.

What people don’t talk about enough is the mental, emotional and sexual chaos sexual abuse creates once experienced at a young age. I don’t remember my vagina before that experience. It was no different than my ears, elbows or my toes, but after that experience it was a driver of the revolving and exchanging roles of protector, predator and prey for years of my life. Sometimes I was one of each but more often the prey.

At 5 years old I experienced a feeling not meant for me. Paralleling Adam, Eve and the shameful nakedness they could feel and see when it was not meant for them to. Innocence high jacked and not one person tried to explain to me what I lost and now gained. Figuring it out myself meant embarking on what I now believe is where predators originate. How I explored to find understanding and if I triumphed is what makes the difference in which role I (and many others who experience this) would remain.

That very cousin that stood between me and my first predator became my second. Warren was 3 years older than me and soon began to routinely touch and rub his penis on me inappropriately. I saw him 5-6 days a week from the age of 5-10 years old because our mothers were close and they were my ride to school. I remember not knowing what to make of it. Trying to figure out was it a norm or just something that was happening to me. I concretely knew it meant trouble for everyone if I told. He was two different people, the model loving and protective cousin when others were around and the wolfish predator circling for more opportunity to get me alone when out of sight.

He made opportunities out of childhood games like Hide & Seek and Tag. I was his prey and everyone’s protector. In turn for sometime I wondered if this was the case for others. When I would interact with other friends and cousin’s I would reenact what he was doing to me. I would see their discomfort and shift to the role I hated playing and felt shame for causing them the same pain and conflict I was suffering. I didn’t like it or want to do that to them so I stopped and I wanted him to stop doing it to me.

Finally when I was 10 I mustered enough courage to tell him to stop and that it was wrong. I told him I don’t like it and didn’t want him to do it anymore. It worked! He stopped until I was 13 and he was 16 then he started again. This time more relentless. He was playing football in high school and would walk past my house everyday on the way home. He would almost chase me from room to room trying to corner me. I could tell it was like a game to him and he wouldn’t stop until I gave in. So I would, pined down or against some wall or object he would finally trap me and coarsely grind his heavy sweaty body on me. Crushing and smothering me sometimes to a point I couldn’t move or breath. Grabbing and biting my nipples so hard that they would hurt for days. Thrusting until he came in his pants. I would freeze every time he caught me. I’m not sure if it was just fear of him hurting me more or the fact that I just wanted him to hurry up and finish so I could pretend it never happened like he did once done.

This went on for a year. I would often be successful at hiding in my locked house when I knew he would be on his way home but then he got clever and bold enough to come when my mom was home. She would let him in unaware of his intent. One day she left us there to run an errand. I remember thinking I would just let him and that I knew his belt and pants would hurt me because I had on a skirt. I thought it would be like other times but it wasn’t. This time when he pinned me he unbuckled, this time I said no and tried to fight like I hadn’t before, this time he took my virginity.

When he finished, he didn’t try to stick around and play his cousin role as if nothing happened like he would normally do. He got up, buckled, stepped over me and left. I laid there in shock with my flowered panties soaked in semen until I heard the front door close. I went in the bathroom fully clothed and sat in the shower for what felt like forever until I heard my mom come home. I stepped out the bathroom back in to my protector role. It surely would kill her and my family was all I could think for the months that followed.

I kept it a secret until it out grew my body. Being a 14 year old virgin and only having a menstrual cycle for 2 years, I knew nothing about the female body until my body began to teach me. I had only been to a pediatrician up until this point and we had one medical book in the house in which I read every page that mentioned menstrual cycles and what could cause them to stop. In the 3rd month of my cycle not coming I did what I couldn’t bare. I called my rapist for help because I didn’t know what to do and I was all alone in what I was sure was pregnancy. His response was “tell your mom your boyfriend did it” and hung up the phone. This was certainly an issue for a virgin however.

Im out of town for business and was feeling a bit down this evening so I decided to go to a restaurant across from my hotel. I never go out and eat alone, I always thought it would make me feel awkward or lonely but it didn’t. It was kind of empowering that I didn’t feel insecure about eating alone. I listened to a live jazz band, had a drink and talked to a guy. I wasn’t attracted to him but he was funny and had some really good insight about dating for guys.

He said women judge very quickly, often have a lot rules and standards. I had to laugh and agree because I’ve been that once upon a long time ago. He had a very southern accent with lots of slang and cursing but I didn’t mind it one bit because underneath it he had some really good messages about being true to yourself when dating. He said ”If you want someone lighter go find that motherfucker…or if you want someone taller go find that motherfucker and if you need someone with more money good luck because I can only be me and I won’t spend my energy trying to fit someone else’s fantasy of who they want me to be. I can only be me”. I was in awe of the depth of his message and thankful for the opportunity to chat with him.

He made me laugh and look at my pessimism about dating differently. We can too often get caught up in the work of being better and creating a better life that we forget that there are some enjoyable by chance out of routine messages out there waiting for us. If we stay in our routines, customs and I nevers, we will miss a lot of valuable moments, messages and people that progress us.

Getting a overachieving mind to slow down or take a break is exhausting. I’ve been telling my mind to stop, don’t think that, forget that, forgive that and your over reacting all day. I’m so tired. I know this is something it takes to practice to master but I’m so agitated by the process.

I’m semi-dating now and it’s about as fun as a semi hard penis. I mean as soon as you get a little excited about someone you meet, it goes limp and you’re uninterested or they are. Part of my issue is not the over population of single women, shallow dating apps nor under zealous single guys but my mental state right now. I’m fresh out of a divorce, mom of two and I’m use to navigating life the way I want. Now I have to consider so many things.

Is he a killer rapist? Is he intelligent or just arrogant? Is there anything he could teach me or anything he could learn from me? Does he have kids? Does he like kids? Soooooo many more questions but first the hurdle of remaining interested in what a person has to say or has going on.

So far practice has taught me a few things…Don’t tell a guy everything on the first call or messaging interaction. Ladies we think that being upfront, direct and honest will win us points but uummm…nope. It gives them all the reasons to doubt connection success upfront or at least think your a nut, get scared and run. Lower your expectations, this won’t be like your first love or even your second. Chemistry is a long game so pace and space. If the flame dies quick, reassess what happened on your end, know what your bad habits are, make adjustments and practice until you get it right with the right one.

One behavior I have had to adjust is I too quickly want to connect. I want to bare all and have a guy love that about me. Realty…um all that nakedness is intimidating and dudes need connection four play. Some guys don’t really want a connection or committed yet and baring all screams come love me, commit, or I should just fuck her and ghost.

I had a guy friend tell to be careful with the love I try to give so freely. He said some guys see it and will take advantage of you or immediately hide from it because they don’t know what to do with it. It briefly made my annoyance with dating seem justified because that’s what I was hypothesizing from my interactions. I also thought to myself damn, why won’t they just say that? But that would be too easy right. Meanwhile, I have ex’s waiting for me to say I will settle again. I’m not because I am more than confident there is a man who is going to love all of THIS. Until then… practice makes me perfectly irritated.

So today, I created this blog, made several post. I wrote about something very personal I’ve never talked about and posted some poetry I spilled some emotions in a while ago but somehow after that I felt sad and irritated. I recently read (listened) to a book about mental demons that we need to start paying attention to so we can hunt and get rid of them. So I thought to myself what is the issue here? What is the mental script that’s attacking me saying?

I constantly use the word feedback for people to help me refine what I need to work on professionally and personally. I’ve always viewed this as a positive thing to do but I realized today I use it as a crutch as well emotionally. When I didn’t have someone to give me feedback on what I had done, I spiraled emotionally. Why am I seeking approval for something I’m doing for me? For something that’s a personal goal? Where did this shitty behavior come from?

I spent a lot of time alone growing up and was happy with that until I went out in the world to events and noticed I wasn’t on the same level socially as everyone else that had already learned all the social cues and conforming behavior to fit in. This prompted me to seek out what people considered norms, greats and what was accepting to them. When I get “feedback” that confirms I’ve done something that they find attracting I felt like a genius for figuring out their formula. It was a game I would play when I went in social gatherings knowing what they needed for social acceptance was trivial and in my mind elementary but hey I needed to navigate through life with people. I couldn’t very well be successful in my cocoon of solitude. This was fun when I was younger but I always felt that it didn’t change how I felt about myself until I caught myself today putting my self down mentally for not getting confirmation I was making good moves.

Ha! Fucking ridiculous that I let it get this far but even more genius for the raised awareness no matter how long it took, it’s still early for everything I will tackle without this this self sabotage. So if you’re reading this, I’m proud that after years of saying I would, having procrastination and fear I am happy and excited that I’m giving the world what I wanted to. No approval or feedback needed!!

I fell well deep in love with letters.

being alphabetically introduced in preschool, the way we would sing the “Bs”…the “Cs” the “LMNOPs” always appealed to me.

So I developed a longing to explore what they meant to me…and others.

They weren’t like COLORS. Simple and beautiful, sometimes they were like machine guns in elementary schools…..they hurt others.

More complicated then Numbers when you add them and they multiply but you can never subtract your words.

They became more in combination. linked letters… together became four. Four letters and I SWEAR its the best four letter word. Word.

Then everyday sounds I made, made new sounds that had meaning, value… depth. This became my greatest wealth.

My favorite read “Webster” – Thesaurus.

I promise, I love and I’m sorry being the heaviest language I slang when I want you to understand and I punctuate for clear pronunciation.

My mother doesn’t understand my addiction. like any drug I do it for the pleasure however temporary it gives me longevity.

for this moment, in these words I climax with word index that capture minds, hearts and guts like photo libraries. dancing with antonyms on bumpy syllables.

I love making language physical like “getting physical ” Then you say to yourself, is she talking about sex?” No, it’s just my language.

As seductive as literature can be it gives me pleasure to deliver the perfect language to solve a dilemma.

Genius with my words.

A wonderland of rhyming playground, hiding while you seek relative similes.

We learn to hold our words and send them flying with emotion. Start a revolution make a commotion with your words.

I can see how arousing it is to you. The idea of me loving you so boundlessly. Where’d you get this sort of fantasy? I know you indulge in your visions of me giving myself to you. All of me. The fantasy won’t be complete without all of me right? All my caution, all my fears, all my truths all the things I hold precious and dear. I have to confess, I have a fantasy. Well really two. See I love the mystery in you. The untouchable love you promise to women and the wild that you send them on. I fantasize seeing the inside of it. To know where and how you train them to it. Would you be upset with me if I never told what I will never tell you. I watch and listen to you and push your bluffs when I’m almost convinced of your love. It’s my pinch of realty when your love serenades my other fantasy of being adored the way you say. Our days have been filled with sweet words and evaporating gestures. Fantasies built up on visual media. I give you room to dance around what would absolutely make you a liar and back away from corners you dare not get caught in. You disappear and reappear with more sweet love to drown out any disdain for action or lack of. Man do I indulge in your squirm. Sometimes I’m the prowess cat chasing your bait then I’m the mouse when you let me get to close to exposing all your fun mirrors. You like when I giggle past bad moods. It’s a reward of a job well done to get another day of I love yous and dimpled smiles. Bask in it my love. Don’t be discouraged when you find that your fantasy is just as shallow as mine. What do you really want to do with me in the end? Devour me? I haven’t figured this out yet. Either you get to the center and really find love or you eat me alive. Are your walls still up because you think of me the same. Do you want to see my most fragile parts so that you know yours are safe?

moral or more oral

I love talking to you

Mind over heart

Your not afraid to discuss it all

It lets down wall after wall after scar

More and more naked these days

Pet peeves, panties and misunderstood ways

I’m vulnerable and it’s scary

I trust and let you lead me

I never do but with you

I’m afraid again

Of being a fool

by the intoxicating lure of perfect love

My heart makes me such a fool sometimes.

fuck its so damn seductive though.

I want to bathe in it

Im bubbling over in this bubble

And just want to stay in it

Sink and float on a ocean of it

I’ve rewritten these lines a lot

I’m scared of our love stories plot

Twisted lust filled dreams with guilt.

Forbidden, it quenches

Dangerous, reckless

But selfishly helpless to the pull of it

I want to be full of it

And could never be full from it

Afraid I might drown while drinking from it

But I’m so excited to welcome it all

Despite it all.

You say you love everything about me.

I want to hear it all.

Start with the little things and work your way to the things you don’t want to live without at all

Still falling and praying there is a net

An abominable idea, perfect love

One day you think you’ve seen it and it’s not as true the next.

You ever think back to your first memories and replay them in your head? What are some of your first memories……? Where are you? What season is it…..? Is it peaceful? For me there are three memories that come to mind when I think of first memories.

One is me playing with hot wheels on the linoleum floor of my grandmothers two level apartment in the projects with my older cousin James. I can still see how the light would come in to all the bedrooms upstairs. There wasn’t a lot of furniture so that meant lots of room to play. The floor was perfect for racing hot wheels! Gliding them through our self-made obstacle course of shoes, green army men and random toys. We would also daredevil many experimental rides down the stairs when we grew tired of trying to race the cars unsuccessfully off the top step only to watch the tumble down and land somewhere near the middle stair. I still love little metal cars and tracks to this day. I often get on the floor with my son and play for hours with his.

Another memory is the last very time I fell asleep on my father’s chest before he was gone for 10 years. I used to bury my face my dads shirts because he smelled so good. If I had to name the smell it would be “warm home comfort”. I loved the way my father smelled, so I would find every opportunity to just lay on his chest. At four and five years old he would still pat and rubbed me to sleep on his chest. He would let me lay there and would pat and rub me until I drifted. My father was so loving and definitely the good cop. He would buy me things every time we went places and would take me nearly everywhere he went. He was my favorite person then and to be honest I don’t remember my mother or sister much before he left. It was as if he was my main character and they were extras in the background. I don’t remember the exact day he left but I remember the void and learning what “miss” “disappointment” and “sadness” feels like. I didn’t know it then because I was…. as they tell children, “too young to understand”, this event was one that set my life on a path of perseverance.

My last first memory is playing cards with my first sexual abuser. I was in our living room while my mother was gardening around the side rear of the house outside. The front door was open where I could see part of my mother’s garden through glass screen door across the room from me. I had a deck of cards, practicing my shuffle. My mom and sister had played bid wiz the night before and because I was only 5, I was only allowed to watch and write the bid numbers on the paper as they played. I wanted to so much I decided I would pretend and practice so I could better at it. It was summer. My mom had dressed me in my favorite jean skirt, actually it was both my mom and I’s favorite . She loved dressing me in skirts and shorts because everyone said I had the prettiest thick bow legs but my very favorite thing to wear was my jean skirt with my ruffle socks and tennis shoes. People said I was cute a lot in these things so they became favorites.

A man I didn’t know tapped lightly on the door and came in. He was tall and thin. He smiled at me and said he was my mother’s friends cousin, Randall. He asked me to let her know he was there. I said she went to the backyard and would be right back. He sat to wait for her.

He was very nice, asked me about my age, school and if I knew how to play cards. I answered his questions with enthusiasm because I knew all the answers. “I am 5 years old, I’m in kindergarten and I know how to play all the cards” I said with a big smile. My mom came in soon after that and Randall left. Later that night my mom had a get together with family and friends. My friend Bria, from school came over and was staying the night. The music was playing loud from the den towards the middle of the house. The grownups were in the living room at the front of the house and all the kids were in my bedroom in the back of the house playing.

I remember leaving my room to go to the restroom and saw Randall in the hall. He asked me if I remembered him and told me to give him a hug. I did and Bria came out my room to find me. He picked me up, took her hand and took us in the den where the lights were off but you could still see our faces from the lights of the stereo that was playing. He sat me on one knee a ran his large slender rough fingers up my leg slow under my jean skirt and rubbed my vagina. I looked at Bria frozen, standing there in fear. He reach out his hand to her for her to come to him and she ran out, the distraction of her running gave me the opportunity to run too. We both ran in my room, closed the door and told my older cousin a man was following us.

The man soon entered the room but my cousin, Warren, stood between us and him like a protector. My mom soon showed and asked the man irritably what he was doing in there while escorting him back to the front of the house. I knew what happened was wrong but I still chose not to tell my mother. This decision not to tell is the first time I thought something bad would happen if I told. In my mind I was saving my mother from something that might upset her. Bria on the other hand told her mother which forced me to say what happened to my mother. The next day after telling her everything, my mom invited the man over. While they were on the porch I listened at the window right off the porch in the living room.

I could hear her, threaten to never report the man to the police. She walked up on him really close and said in a deep low tone….she would kill him and never be a suspect if he ever came anywhere near me, her or our house again. I, in later years, realized that him avoiding our house and me was probably a small challenge for the man because he lived down the street with his daughter who was 1 year older than me but I never saw him again.

I probably would have suffered worst trauma from this event if it were not for Bria and Warren.

I still love little metal cars and tracks to this day. I often get on the floor with my son and play for hours with his. I also have never and I do mean never had a day that I haven’t replayed sexual abuse events I’ve experienced in my head. Over the years I’ve gotten use to the memories playing in the back ground like when the a/c kicks on in your house. Theres a click and I slow low huummm…..You don’t hear it every time it comes on…..but it does and the temperature of the house is kept.

The privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are.

-Carl Gustav Jung

At young ages we learn and are taught to shield and protect ourselves by only disclosing what is acceptable or requested. We learn to mute thoughts that may shock, offend, hurt or cause others to react unfavorably towards us. As we grow older we take this behavior as our identities and find it difficult to see what makes us feel alone, excluded or unhappy. The reality is there is only a rare few of us that are brave enough to embrace the fact that we aren’t who we betray ourselves to be to our colleagues, friends and loved ones. It’s an extremely scary feeling to consider that the person you’ve created for others to love and adore is not completely real. Parts that you truly enjoy being is real but the parts that you bend and twist to conform for acceptance, approval and praise aren’t. Those are the parts that attack your thoughts to give you fear, doubt, shame and anxiety so that they can continue to exist. They are shells built around the true you that is vulnerable, confident, free willed, naively loving and worry free. I am cracking the shells I have built over the years and peeling away self sabotaging behaviors I’ve allowed to bully, shame and lock away the joyful, healthy, happy and loving me. You are welcome to come laugh, cry, empathize or get inspired with me as I tear this bullshit down.