As I sit here in silence,
I think about my sexual assault—
more than one,
woven into my life.
I suffered without expression.
I’m not sure where I learned
to stuff my feelings,
but looking back,
I see how I buried them deep.
Now,
I have decided
to release some of the pain.
I think back to the 80s,
to my time of innocence,
when nothing mattered more
than playing outside
from sunup to sundown
with neighborhood friends and family.
Every summer,
I visited my grandma.
That meant the world to me.
Grandma worked long hours,
so I spent time with my Auntie—
and loved every minute of it.
She had two sons.
I often played with the youngest—
fighting, laughing,
the way kids do.
But one night at my Aunt’s,
as I lay in bed,
everything changed.
My older cousin,
the one I admired,
the one I trusted,
hurt me
in the deepest way possible.
At first it was little things—
hugs that lasted too long,
feelings pressed against me
that should not have been there.
Then one night,
I woke to my underwear
being pulled down,
his hands on me.
I froze.
I stayed still as a statue.
Eyes shut tight.
Afraid.
Confused.
Terrified.
The morning came.
I said nothing.
Not to my Aunt.
Not to anyone.
I thought I was protecting her,
when in truth,
I was abandoning myself.
I was never taught
it was safe to speak up.
I carried that silence.
I carried that pain.
Years later,
there was the rape.
Another night.
Another wound.
Another silence.
I remember it like yesterday.
Alcohol blurred the edges,
but the fear,
the shame,
the self-blame—
those stayed sharp.
I thought it was my fault.
I thought my recklessness
had invited it.
But the truth is,
he made a choice.
He became violence.
And I became his victim.
Dragged into the night,
thinking I was being taken home,
but instead—
raped once,
then again,
at a carwash near my house.
And in that darkness—
God showed up.
Cops arrived,
guns drawn.
They asked me,
“Are you okay?”
I lied—
“Yes.”
And they left.
And I went home,
still carrying the weight,
still hiding the wound.
That was how I survived.
Packing it all away.
Pretending it didn’t happen.
But God—
He never left me.
Even when I walked away,
He was there.
Even when I thought I was alone,
He carried me.
Now He is teaching me
to unpack it all.
To heal.
To speak.
To trust.
To live.