
When abuse is your first memory, it colors who you are.
I was molested when I was a preschooler, and it has rippled through my life ever since. The “predator” was a 17-year-old kid who lived across the street. And knew my family well.
Abuse happens. It is scary and horrific and life changing, and we victims are all terrified it will happen to our children the way it happened to us.
But we have to be honest about where abuse happens. It is so very very rarely a stranger in a public restroom.
I remember it like it happened this morning, every nasty detail. His name was Jeremy and he lived across the street. He was a teenager. He seemed like a giant at the time. He was big and strong and took advantage of me. This was not just two kids experimenting, which is common. He knew what he was doing. He knew he was wrong.
We’ve been married nine years today. During that time, we’ve done a lot of living. We’ve learned some beautiful and some painful lessons. We’ve each spent a week on a psych ward. We’ve had two babies. We’ve led two youth groups. We’ve nearly divorced at least once. And we have only just begun to learn what truly matters in life.
One thing is for sure, there are several things no one tells you before you walk down that aisle.