Chinese buffets

At some point, you need to stop going back for more

About a year ago, an acquaintance of mine reached out after reading some updates I posted on LinkedIn about the bill I was working to get passed to express their condolences for what happened. They essentially gave me the equivalent of ‘thoughts & prayers,’ but I will save that for another post. However, this person did express outrage at the outcome of the case and applauded Gracie for speaking up and demanding better accountability from our legal system.

But then this person asked how I could live with the shame of what happened. Not gonna lie, it kinda pissed me off. The question, while perhaps not intentionally, positioned that I had some responsibility in what happened to my daughter. Maybe not as directly as asking a survivor what they were wearing or how much they had to drink, but it had a very similar stink.

It’s now about five years after we learned what happened. To say it was life-changing would be an understatement. It impacted everyone in my family in different ways andI would be lying if I didn’t admit that I had some very dark days, filled with overwhelming grief and guilt. Grief for my child who is no more. I grieve for that little girl and what she lost. I grieve for what all of us lost.

And then there is the guilt. How could I allow this to happen? Why didn’t I see this? Why didn’t I ask more questions? Just because he was a cop, I shouldn’t have just blindly trusted him. I dropped the ball at my most important job: protecting her. I failed.

The guilt was a tough one to shake, and the truth is, I still sometimes feel it.

But on my good days, I can say that this was not a failure on my part. I fell for the lies of a predator. This is entirely the responsibility of the person who did this, and therefore, the shame is his to carry. Whether or not he takes responsibility is up to him, and he can reconcile it with his maker. But then there are the other days.

Five years later, I chose not to wear that coat of shame anymore. As long as I wear it, I am allowing myself to assume some responsibility for the crime committed against my daughter, and that just ain’t happening. It has taken time for me to get to this place, and I certainly understand how the voices in one’s head are typically the loudest.

Victims are too quick to take on the shame of what happened to them, and society plays a big part in it. Society will ask stupid questions, such as if alcohol was involved, or what someone was wearing, as if a low-cut blouse is a valid reason to be raped.

Well, it’s not.

I feel terrible about what happened, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Entry into this Club of parenting a survivor comes with a ticket to a never-ending Chinese buffet of things to beat yourself up over. If you have ever stepped foot in one, you know that there comes a point when you realize that a third plate of lo mein is not a good idea, and you need to stop. Well, hopefully, at some point, you come to realize that beating yourself up isn’t serving you or your child, and you need to stop. Until you do, you can’t be the parent you need to be, and your healing cannot fully begin.

Back to the person who so eloquently asked about how I carried the shame. Maybe her motivation for asking was out of genuine concern. Or maybe it was out of discomfort with the topic. Maybe she didn't think this was the sort of thing to talk about in public. That it’s entirely too private, and it should be handled behind closed doors so as not to make others uncomfortable. Well, you know what else is uncomfortable? Standing across from detectives in your kitchen at 2 am as they explain what will happen over the next 24 hours as they begin an investigation. Having to hear about what was done to her by an adult you trusted. You know what else is uncomfortable? Hearing your child tell you that the person who you thought was a friend often reminded her that because she “cried rape by a classmate” once before, no one will believe her now, so she'd better keep her mouth shut. That’s uncomfortable.

I am way past giving a shit about making someone uncomfortable. The dirtbag who hurt my child is the one who should care about that, and I kinda doubt he ever will.

I am hesitant to bring up the topic of forgiving oneself because that also implies that you did something wrong. You didn’t. This is not your shame, and it certainly is not your child’s. You did nothing wrong. But you can’t be the parent and support system you need to be if you keep reminding yourself of things you didn't do or aren’t responsible for. Every day I have to work at it, and it isn’t always easy. But every day, I try, and every day, I continue on my journey of healing. It’s not linear, and it isn’t easy. But it’s a step in the right direction.

Kinda like when you decide to skip that fifth egg roll.