Hello Faithful Reader,
I hope this month's edition of the Black Birdseye View finds you well and in good spirits. I am well. This month, I am sharing an excerpt from chapter one of my autobiography, "Maternaless Instincts." As part of my healing process, I've spilled my memories on page after page in hopes that they will help others. My account of my life is not an isolated one. If I know ten women, seven of them share my story. Most will say that their family protected the reputation of the molester at the cost of their innocence.
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"I could hardly believe my ears. I don't think Stormy realized the magnitude of this new information. It was almost like she had not thought through telling me. Telling me that Stone admitted that Jackal molested her when she was 14 and that Mama knew, set in place a course of actions that dismantled the charade they call "family."
During this conversation, Stormy suddenly had a "repressed memory" come back to her. For decades, I have always wondered what prompted Mama to take me into Pauly's room, slap me across the face, and tell me Jackal was her man. Out of the blue. Now here Stormy was confessing that she was the one who told Mama that Jackal was playing inappropriately with me. I was stunned. None of what she was saying made sense. Decades ago, I confided in Stormy that Jackal was a child molester.
Her exact response had been,
"He didn't do it to me, so why should I think he did it to you?"
I did not speak to Stormy for years behind that statement. I gave Stormy too much credit when I automatically assumed that she would always have my back. Now the truth was finally coming to light. My family consisted of a bunch of liars and at least one pervert. They were all in on it, never mind the fact that their lies caused me to question my sanity. My Mama had me halfway, believing that I imagined being molested by her husband. Come to find out, Jackal not only molested me, but he also molested Stone, his biological daughter. Rather than call the authorities and have the man arrested, Mama told both Stone and me that we had made it up.
Then I got to thinking. Why would Stone allow Jackal and Mama to babysit her two daughters, knowing he had a fetish for little girls. None of it made sense. So, I asked Stormy if Stone had told her children about Jackal. (Her children are all grown.) Stormy said that Stone confided that she would not tell her children about it because they already had enough on their plate. It bothered me that Stone was still trying to keep the secret even though her oldest daughter blocked me on Facebook and acted as if I stole from her and I didn't even know her. I can only assume that I am the evil auntie who lied about her granddad in her mind.
On that day, I officially decided to finish writing this book. I'd had enough of the lies and dysfunction. I always knew I would write this book. Initially, I had planned on writing it after my mother passed away. It dawned on me that if I waited until my mother passed away, people could say I made it up. I need these words to fill the air so that all inquiring minds have a living source to go to if they have questions. I decided to put it all on the line in this book. Initially, I planned to only write about my experience as a child. The more I wrote, the clearer it became that I had to tell my whole story. I needed to make the connection between trauma and decisions that people make based upon trauma. I recognize that we all grow up and become adults and must take responsibility for our actions at some point. I contributed some of my early decisions because my primary concern was to get away from Chocowinity and put it as far out of my mind as possible. In a sense, I was running from it. The thing about running is that a person can be so busy running and looking back, to make sure that what's chasing them is not gaining ground...that they run into all kinds of trouble. I ran into an abusive marriage, a relationship with a child predator, and a string of other useless relationships that did nothing but break my spirit. After I stopped running and realized the pattern, I had to go about the task of putting myself back together. A considerable part of my healing process was clearing my name. My family painted me as some crazy person who lied about Jackal. I knew that I would do everything possible to ensure the truth was in the air. I never considered the consequences of writing a book about family secrets because they did not matter. It didn't matter how my family responded or felt about it. All that mattered to me was that everyone was seen in their truest light. I am getting too old to just leave things to settle. I am done being the bigger person. I am done just letting things slide. I am done putting other people's peace before my own. I am done.
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It is disheartening to discover a culture that protects child predators. Inappropriately touching children is all too common. Even more common is that the adults involved seem to care more about their reputation than the violated child's mental state. Countless children act normal amid eating dinner as a family, playing board games as a family, and watching TV as a family. These same children are supposed to ignore the pretense. They pretend to overlook the fact that no one cared enough to say, "No More!" It is a sad day when you realize that no family member ever had your back. It damages the mental state of the child. It causes the child to have all kinds of trust issues that generally lead to nothing but a flawed decision-making process. It is a wonder that so many violated children turned out so well... After all, we had to repair what the people who were supposed to protect us broke.
I am most proud of myself for taking charge of my life by releasing the past's hold on me. My greatest wish is that others follow suit to break this heartbreaking pattern. This culture of protecting predators must stop. To the women who protect the predators, one day, you may look up, and that child you did not put before that man may very well stand up and finally say, "Enough!" to the predator and you, and you will realize that your day has come.
Until next time,
Always, Robin
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