The Shame Was Never Mine

Content note: This story discusses childhood sexual abuse, physical abuse, alcoholism, and trauma.

Last November, I decided to share a part of my story publicly on Kelly Young’s podcast, Badassery Life. It was not an easy decision. 

I shared my story of surviving sexual assault and abuse because I had been hearing from so many women about the load they carry. The memories. The silence. The way abuse shaped how they saw themselves, their self-esteem, their confidence, their ability to trust love, safety, and even their own reflection.

I shared because I know what it means to carry a story in the dark. And I shared because someone needs to hear this: the shame belongs to the predator. The blame belongs to the predator. Not the child. Not the victim. Not the survivor.

I shared because there is light. There is hope. There is a way to thrive and feel good about yourself again. And I shared because it is time for families, friends, churches, and communities to stop pushing victims into darkness, secrets, and lies so everyone else can remain comfortable.

That comfort has cost too many people their peace.

I know because I was one of them.

Grooming an Only

I was prime bait for a predator. I was the only Black child in my family. I lived alone with my mother. My biological father was not involved in my life. I was deeply attached to my wonderful mother. I was bullied by kids at school and in my neighborhood. When I wasn’t at church or church camp, I often played alone.

I loved Milky Way bars and Dr Pepper. I was a little girl. And I was incredibly vulnerable.

At first, my stepfather was kind. He brought me my favorite treats. He was attentive. He brought me sparklers on the Fourth of July. He bought me stuffed animals I loved. As a child, I thought it was kindness. As an adult, I understand it for what it was: grooming.

Then the darkness came.

He knew how much I loved my mother. He knew how deeply we believed in God and church. So, he used both against me.

“If you tell your mother, she won’t love you anymore. Neither will Jesus.”

And that was it. That was the lock on the cage.

For six years of my life, I was abused by my stepfather (and another family member, a different story). Whenever I was alone with him, I was terrified of what I would have to do just to be left alone to play as a little girl. (Read my Star Trek story here.)

The Evolution of the Abuse

Over time, as his alcoholism progressed, the abuse and the environment became more violent. Sometimes I came home from school to find him drunk. He would chase me through the house, demanding compliance. If I resisted, he would hit me. He hid pornographic magazines behind couch pillows where I sat or buried them in the Teen Beat magazines I kept in my bedroom. He escalated as I got older, “accidentally” exposing himself in places where I could see him as I got ready for school in the mornings.

It was brutal. And still, I went to school, got good grades, had friends. There were parts of life I loved.

That is something people do not always understand about abuse. Your whole life does not stop. You still laugh sometimes. And dream. You still have favorite songs and favorite candy bars and favorite places to sit in the sun. You still aspire to a future.

But there are rooms inside your life that are full of terror. And you learn to keep the doors shut, only opening them when it’s necessary to survive. 

Even as a teenager, I believed I could lose the love of my mother if I told. I could not afford that. I loved her too much. As life at home became worse and his alcoholism progressed, I also learned I was the least of anyone’s worries.

The sexual abuse stopped when I was 12 because I learned I could fight back and stop it. But then the abuse changed shape. It became physical.

I became the scapegoat in an alcoholic family system. Everything was my fault. Everything that went wrong, missing. Every inconvenience. Every frustration. Every storm needed somewhere to land, and too often, it landed on me.

That meant violence and fear. That meant years of wondering what was waiting around the corner. And underneath all of it was rage. Rage that I was carrying a secret I never should have had to carry.

Gaslighting the Victim

But through it all, I still found moments of joy. I believe, but for the grace of God, I survived. I  believe my faith gave me strength and the insights to survive: even as a young girl, I never believed the abuse was my fault. I do not know how I had the emotional clarity to know that. I do not know where that wisdom came from. But somewhere deep inside me, I knew. I did nothing to invite it. I did nothing to cause it. I was a child. This was not about me.

And that matters because so many survivors are taught the opposite. Victims of sexual, physical, and emotional abuse are too often made to feel responsible for what happened to them. We are told we must’ve have caused it. Invited it. Misunderstood it. Deserved it. We are not believed. We are questioned. We are corrected. We are shamed: 

“Where did you get such language?”

“You must have heard that from kids at school.”

“Are you sure that happened?”

“Why would he do that?”

And then comes the family protection plan. Not protection for the victim. Protection for the image. The reputation. The comfort of everyone else.

“If you tell, it will hurt the family.”

“We can’t tell him his father was a sexual predator. It will damage their relationship.”

“Think about what people will say.”

“Think about how this will look.”

“Don’t destroy the family.”

But let me be clear: the victim did not destroy the family. The predator did. The silence and secrecy protected the predator. The lies protected the predator.

And when survivors find their voice to speak up and out, too often they are blamed for the fallout. They are blamed for the division, the discomfort and the changed relationships. The grief other people feel when the truth walks into the room and refuses to sit quietly in the corner.

If a survivor acts out under the weight of trauma, people call them difficult. Angry. Troubled. Out of control. Not to be trusted. But too many people ignore the signs: the addictions to food, alcohol, drugs, and rage. They do not recognize or acknowledge the victim’s withdrawal, or perhaps their perfectionism, the people-pleasing, the inability to rest, the fear of being abandoned, the desperate need to be believed. 

“What is their problem? So spoiled, so needy! They need to ______.”

All the while, that victim who is struggling in their personal life to belong is carrying abuse, secrets, emotional scars, and the burden of being told, directly or indirectly, to keep everyone else safe from the truth. This is too much for a child. It is too much for anyone.

Just Pray About It and Other Misplaced Advice

And still, we are often told that we should just “pray about it,” or that it will pass, or that we should “live our life and move on.” We even hear, “God doesn’t give us more than we can bear,” or “There’s a reason you went through this. Trust God. He has a plan for you.” Other times, we hear from another family survivor about THEIR story, how they endured, and why we need to ignore the pain and move on.

This often results in providing no shoulder, no sympathy, and sometimes not even belief. Just words. Sometimes well-meaning words, but words that fall short and often minimize the pain.

All the while, through the secrets and the burden of the abuse, the emotional scars continue to haunt us, shape our view of ourselves, and compromise our self-esteem. We feel alone and abandoned, feeling as though we are not worth the investment of love, respect, and time. This is not true.

Believing Survivors

It is important that victims of abuse hear this: you are believed. And you matter. You were never deserving of abuse. You were never less. You did nothing to invite the abuse, and it is not your fault. That you were asked to endure the shame and the secrets is, and was, wrong. The predator is enabled by the gaslighting of others. The shame belongs to the predator and those who protect them. It does not belong to you.

Perhaps there is a special resilience about us. Maybe there is a plan. But this is not where the conversation should begin.  

If praying helps you and brings you peace, then continue to pray. Therapy can help you as well. Seek it out. Do not allow the narrative of “but you’ll hurt ________” to impact your healing journey.

And do not fall prey to those who dismiss your story and your pain. Sometimes you may have to distance yourself to live your best life and have the life you deserve.

There is Light

Even in the darkest times, I always saw light. I found joy – in schoolwork, in writing and dreaming. And I believed, throughout all of this, that none of it was my fault and I would be MORE but carry LESS. When I shared my story last year, I decided I would no longer carry this weight in silence. Instead, I wanted to see if my story and journey could inspire others who feel the same, who endure the pain and sorrow, to come into the light.

I am sharing this because I am tired of survivors being asked to hide so others can remain comfortable. I am sharing this because secrets do not heal families. Truth does. I am sharing this because somewhere, someone may still believe the shame is theirs.

The shame is not yours. If you were threatened into silence, or if someone used love, family, faith, fear, or power to control you, the shame belongs to them.  And if no one told you then, let me say it now: you deserved protection. You deserved belief, tenderness and yes, safety. 

I cannot change what happened to me. I cannot go back and rescue little Linda from those rooms, those threats, those mornings, those magazines, those fists, that fear. But I can tell the truth now. I can refuse to carry shame that was never mine. I can stand in the light …and THRIVE. 

And to survivors: you can, too. You are not broken beyond repair. You are not what happened to you, the secret they asked you to keep. You are the one who survived. And damnit, there is still light for you.

Medusa as the Symbol of Survival

Many people may not be aware, but Medusa has been adopted as a symbol of overcoming assault or gender-based violence. In the traditional Greek myth, Medusa was victimized and then punished for her suffering. Reclaiming her image means rewriting the narrative from victim to survivor.

• My Jacket: I created the jacket in the photos to represent my reclamation of being a survivor: of walking through the darkness to the light, and of amplifying my voice. I created the jacket in my pictures to be open about my story, in hopes that others who have walked this path feel seen, heard, and believed. I wear it with pride.

• My Barbie: I am a Barbie collector. See my Barbie collector story here. I decided to design a Barbie depicting my version of Medusa. Another outlet for my story.  I believe healing includes coming out of the secret dark places, sharing the truth, in whatever ways we feel safe and powerful.

I hope my story helps someone realize their power, their voice, and that truly, they matter.