Before my records came, it was time to tell Ralph, my husband, something about me that he had never known. Which for him, I am sure was hard to imagine that there was anything about me that he didn’t know. After all, we met in first grade.
It was a porch conversation. I can’t even begin to relay how one feels when you are going to tell someone your biggest secret… one that may turn your world upside down. But I can tell you this: I was lucky. I was nervous and scared, but at the same time confident. Confident that my story was real and confident that I was sharing it with someone who would still love me, believe me, and would not judge me.
So here it goes: “I was molested by my dad.” I was molested by my dad. I’ve never said that out loud before. It sounded kind of weird, almost surreal coming out of my mouth, but I said it. Then came the backpedaling. “Well, it wasn’t that bad.” “It was just small stuff.” “I’m uncomfortable around him, but it’s okay.” “But I think I’m missing something.” “I called for copies of my medical records from when I was in the hospital for that week when I was sixteen. Do you remember?” Then I gave Ralph a chance to speak. “Are you sure? Are you okay? Do whatever you need to do.” My response: “Okay.”
“Okay.” That was it. End of the conversation. I just laid what I thought was a bombshell, but that was it… “Okay”. I don’t think we ever talked about it again until eighteen years later. October 25th, 2009, a day that would change the course of my life forever.
“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. 7 And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” – Phil 4:6-7