“Every year you grow, you will find me bigger.”-Aslan, Chronicles of Narnia. C.S. Lewis
Hello fellow humans and possibly pets/inanimate objects that are being forced to listen to this because their human is on quarantine reading out loud,
Well, I told myself I would only mention quarantine once. So, we’re done with that. Welcome to my first official blog posting. I hope you feel welcome here. (I didn’t mean for that to come out with such a Pelle-Midsommar vibe) I figured I should start from the beginning or overall story of my life. I will be posting this in parts because it’s long. I will break down certain things in the following posts. This is just a general story. It isn’t always pleasant to become this exposed in a way that really makes you reflect on your life, so here it goes.
I was always a wild and sweet kid. I was painfully quiet around people I didn’t know and I was often afraid of adults. The wild side that I had was more of an adventurous spirit with little fear of trying new things. I was always brandishing skinned knees from falling off my bike and a freckled nose from being in a pool all summer long. My fingers were usually stained with markers or paint while I furiously created something. My shyness and anxious spirit found a way to express my thoughts on paper. I had a good childhood.
This was until my teacher solidified my fear of adults. I was in third grade and my teacher found some sort of twisted pleasure in embarrassing small children. Often, students related her to be more of a Ms. Trunchbull from Matilda. My usually quiet nature became more anxious and unhappy. My parents made the decision to put me in a new private Christian school.
My first year at the school was definitely a new adventure. I began to grow into more of a communicative child. I had teachers that loved to teach and loved their students. Some days were better than others. That first year was a good one.
My parents enrolled me in summer camp. This camp was a constant in my life from there on out. I loved it there and still do. The most important event that happened there was my acceptance of Christ. My camp counselor introduced me to a simple story of Romans 8 and I accepted Christ in the middle of the Appalachian foothills next to a bonfire.
Unfortunately, I was approaching middle school by this point. Fortunately, I had Jesus. My story goes a little backwards. Most people accept Christ after they go through some sort of tragedy. Faith is a relationship. It changes. Faith’s journey never looks the same for everyone.
I had never put much thought into boys and I wasn’t interested in them by the time I reached 6th grade. They were loud and usually had some sort of body odor. One day, my best friend, Bailey, and I were sitting at the top of the double slide watching her sisters while all of our parents were in faculty-staff meetings at school. Some of the other faculty-staff kids were around too. One boy running around, named Tyler, would always pull my hair or tease me whenever he could. I avoided him. As Bailey and I were talking, Tyler put his uniform belt around my neck and pulled. I gasped and started elbowing him. Bailey ran to get help. While we were alone, he started to rub himself. I noticed this and began to panic more. I broke free and somehow managed to knee him in the rib cage as I stood up. That was the only part that the teacher saw. My explanation was null because “no matter what others do, you can control your behavior.”. This is true in some situations. But, I was physically fighting to get away from him after he hurt me. I didn’t know then that it had a name: sexual assault. But, nevertheless, it continued with similar incidents because he got away with it. Tyler would flick my uniform kilt from behind. He grabbed my bra strap and snapped it in class. He even managed to choke me one more time. Each and every incident was shrugged off by the adults. Teachers said “boys will be boys”. My parents were tired of fighting and told me to avoid him. His parents seemed proud that their son “had a crush” on a girl. (Annnnd this is how sexual offenders are made. More on that later.)
I firmly agreed that I would be in control of my body. This control came at a cost though. The cost was an anxious, depressed, twelve year old with a seriously bad habit of self harming. I felt unworthy and afraid. I had a latin teacher who actually despised “women” as he told us in class. He threw staplers and other inanimate objects when we mixed up our endings. I couldn’t trust adults and I couldn’t trust my classmates. How could I trust God? I struggled with where my faith fit into all of this. I trusted no one but myself.
This is where I will end part one. I will post part two soon and continue the story. As I mentioned above, this is just the overview of the story. I will have more posts following the completed story that get into it a bit more. I hope you return to part two!