I find it frustrating that out of all the small moments that we create, all the memories made within our lifetimes, there is that one, one single moment that defines oneself. It might not define every aspect about us, but it plays into the biggest portion of our personality, our way of coping.
Thirty-eight years ago was my defining moment. I grew up outside a rural Indiana town, three older sisters, a mom and dad who are still married after 50 years, we took family vacations, I had friends. I was loved, I was normal. I was molested.
I still remember the day as clear as watching a movie. I remember the feeling of being scared, angry, and not in control; feeling this way in a place where I had been a hundred times before, and a place where I would be a million times more. My best friend’s dad obviously had a problem.
He only did this one time, but it has effected me for a lifetime. I never told anyone until I was in my early twenties. First was my therapist, then I wrote a letter to my friend. The one thing that bothered me about the situation when I was younger was the fact I always went back. I stayed many more nights in that house and nothing ever happened. I thought I was crazy. My therapist enlightened me I kept going back to gain control back of the situation.
Thirty-eight years later and I still feel like I am trying to gain control over the situation. It effects my attitude and emotions during intimacy with my husband, my relationship with my friends, my children, my grandchildren,. . .it effects everything. My one moment in time playing like a broken record defining every aspect of my life.