Safe to Cry Here

Moving between a fresh manuscript and this blog post...

I'm desperately trying to tell my story plain here, to speak in my truest voice. And I will. Yet even now, shame approaches, unwelcome, unbidden. It is expected. Embarrassment swells, slow and painful. Senses heighten, warning me to stop the telling. 

"Please stop!" I hear her innocent voice pleading within. "Don't tell them! Please!" 

I know why the telling is challenged. Her story allows other true voices to speak. And so once again, I sweep the little one, this broken, weeping, raggedy girl into my arms. I brush tears away as they fall, hers and mine. I hold her close. And together we tell. 

But first...

This is why her story, my story, was locked in a secret place for so long. Too long. Trembling with fear, my first attempt to tell left me crushed and hopeless. I remember the voice of disbelief. I remember the reprimand. 

"Mommy, how come Grandpa hurts me every night?" I searched for her response, waiting for ... something. I watched her wet a washcloth to wipe the cold cream off of her face. She paused for the briefest moment and then...

Nothing.

Did she hear me? 

So I added to my confession. "He touches me here." I pointed to my chest. "And here." I lowered my tiny hand to further portray my grandfather's offense. I gazed from my small hand into my mother's eyes. Tears welled, I felt them there, full and ready to flood. My posture moved slight to ready for her embrace sure to come. 

How I needed that embrace. I needed her to hold me and tell me everything would be okay. I won't let him touch you ever again, the words I heard in my young, innocent heart. Words sure to come. 

She'll protect me now. I'm safe.

Only she didn't. 

Fury shown in her blue eyes. And the tears in my own vanished as I faced an unfamiliar rage. I backed away, and turned to wipe any remnant of moisture away. Quickly now, before she sees.

"Look at me!" I turned to face a mother I did not expect, one I did not know. An introduction to one I trusted, yet no longer. No more. "You're imagining things! Never, NEVER say anything like that again!" 

I never mentioned it again.

Not for a very long time. 

If only I could have told her then...

yet I'm telling this innocent child within (as I've told her over the past years). You were all kinds of brave to speak true. The bravest little girl I've ever met. So, I hold her once again, comforting the secret pain of the revealing. I brush away tears that never fell. She is safe to cry here. 

You are safe here, little one.