I will not be silent

I need you to trust me for a moment. This is not a political post, but it might sound like one at first. And it’s rather long. Please, just keep reading. Sadly, once you figure out what I’m actually saying, you’re going to wish it were simply one more diatribe about politicians. You might want to sit down. This is not going to be easy.

Today I marched in Seattle. It was something I had to do. I wanted to make it clear that I am watching the actions of the new administration and I will not be afraid to stand and speak up for those whose voices are not always easy to hear.

For my entire life, I’ve wondered what I would have done had I lived through times of past turbulence. Would I have spoken up or would I have remained silent?

What if I found myself in an abusive relationship or if someone hurt my child in an unimaginable way? Would I tearfully accept his apologies and wait around to see if he would do it again? Or, would I get the hell out?

Even when you think you know how you would react, even when it seems obvious what you must do, until you are tested, you don’t really know.

Now I know.

I don’t sit around and wait. I act. Immediately.

Last May, my son was molested by someone we knew. It happened once. He told me about it within hours. Minutes later, we went to the police. We have not seen or spoken to the perpetrator again. Next month, we will testify in court.

Immediately after it happened, my son began telling people about the crime without hesitation. Somehow, with the infinite wisdom of a child, he knew it was the path to healing. I told my closest friends and family, but I didn’t yet grasp that the only way to regain power over the unimaginable was to speak freely.

This is not our fault.

This is not our shame.

We will not remain silent.

Someone I care about deeply asked me to tell as few people as possible. At the time, it angered me. It saddened me. I knew she was making the request because she was ashamed of his actions. She didn’t want anyone to know he had done this terrible thing. Honestly, despite the evidence against him, I’m not sure that she believes he did molest my son. If she is reading this post, I want her to know that I feel her pain, but I will not remain silent. He is not the victim. He is the one who caused this chaos, this horror, in the first place. He did this. And while I am certainly a victim of his betrayal, my son is the real victim here. But, neither of us will bear the burden of his shame. I hope that she understands that she doesn’t have to either.

This is not our fault. This is not our shame. We will not remain silent.

I don’t know why he did this, but I do know it doesn’t matter. Not even a little. It’s done. He did it. And it’s so overwhelming and enormous that we will never be able to forget it. At this point, eight months in, I can push it aside for a mere hour or two. And that’s only if I am thoroughly distracted. I hope that, in time, it will lessen in impact and intensity. That I will someday manage to go an entire day without it slipping its skeletal fingers around my throat and stealing away my breath. That my son will be able to forgo the nightmares and intrusive thoughts that slither around unchecked, poisoning his brain when he’s least expecting them.

Until then, this man is the monster hiding under my bed. And he is definitely the monster hiding under my son’s. With his actions he taught us that there is no such thing as a safe place. That even in our own home, the very place we should feel the most secure and protected, we are at risk. He taught us that, even in our own group of loved ones, there are people who should not be trusted.

It is with great sadness that I share this with you. It happened. It happened to my son. It happened to me. Please trust me when I tell you that, no matter how much you want to believe it cannot happen to you, we are living proof that you are wrong.

In the months following the molestation, I have shared our story with 20–25 friends and family members. One-third of them have a personal link to sexual abuse. One third. Some were abused as children, some have a child who was abused, and the rest have a close friend or family member who has been molested. All, but one, were children. Every single one of them knew their abuser well. Neighbors, priests, relatives, friends.

This is not our fault. This is not our shame. We will not remain silent.

We cannot stand by, silent and inactive while there are other children who need us to protect them from the monsters under their beds.

I will stand. I will speak. I will act.

I will not hide in the dark, cowering behind a barred door or shaking in fear every time I hear someone approaching my fortress of walls. Instead, I will rise up and stand in the brilliance of the mid-day sun while I howl the truth to the heavens. I will not give up. I will repeat these words as many times as I must until I am heard. Until the entire world is listening.

This is not our fault. This is not our shame. We will not remain silent.

I will not be silenced.