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The day my abuser died...while I was at summer camp

 

The camp counselor tapped me on the shoulder, drawing my attention from the dream catcher that I was busily crafting and said, "Rachel, honey, let's go for a walk."

I hopped up from the table right away! The dream catcher reduced to a pile of popsicle sticks and blue and green yarn, no longer a potential vessel for driving away the nightmares.

I was excited that my camp counselor wanted to spend some time with me. I had been at camp for about a week, and already I was so enamored with this young woman, who really was probably only 19 or 20, but to my young pre-teen self, she was cool, and confident, and so much of what I wished I was but surely had no grasp on at all.

We set out down the winding path, walking out into the field blooming with summertime weeds and flowers. The air was so warm and light. We chatted about the upcoming evening's festivities - the talent show. I was super thrilled about this because my friends and I had choreographed a dance to The Jackson 5's Rockin' Robin. I remember pausing in the field and busting a move right there (a little preview), sure I was the next Janet Jackson

We giggled and kept walking for a bit.

Then, she got very quiet. The air around me began to sizzle. Something was wrong.

I immediately felt insecure and worried that I'd just embarrassed myself, maybe she was laughing at me and not with me, what an idiot, why do I always make people uncomfortable (and other thoughts began rapidly shooting through my brain).

Looking back at that moment now, of course I see the trauma response: shame, self-blame, insecurity, lack of confidence. But at that time, all I wanted to do was melt under the summer sun and become a part of the landscape.

She paused our walk and turned to face me. Every muscle in my body tensed, ready for whatever scolding words would soon land on my sunburnt skin.

Instead, she placed a tender hand on my shoulder, and said, "Rachel. Your grandfather has died. And I wanted to know if you'd like to leave and go home for his funeral?"

My body immediately went all soft and jello-like, relieved that these were the words spoken rather than all of those I'd been anticipating.

Without a beat, I said, "No. I want to stay here."

To her credit, she didn't try to cajole me, or convince me otherwise, she simply hugged me, said that was okay, and we continued our walk.

This memory came to mind recently as I was preparing for the upcoming training I'm doing with Toby Stark on child abuse prevention, response, and awareness.

I began to wonder, "Had my mom told this counselor about what happened? Did she know going in that she was about to deliver the news that someone who had abused me was dead? Did she know that this was the man who had made my home a scary place, made me feel dirty and ashamed and scared so it was likely I would care less if he was dead?"

I'll never know.

But my parent's decision to make it MY decision and that counselor's response in that moment to respect without question my choice was empowering.

As I think about what I want parents, guardians, and caregivers to know when it comes to navigating sexual trauma, this is central -- empowering the child is essential.

Today, I hope wherever that camp counselor is, that she will feel a little ping of energy and remembrance of the little redhead girl who broke out in dance in that field on that hot summer day and with her simple act of hearing me and respecting me, helped me feel a little less helpless.

That said, when I got back home from camp, it was if the door had closed on the abuse - buried in the casket with my grandfather. I certainly wasn't going to bring it up. And I believe my parents just didn't have the wisdom or resources to know how to support me in an ongoing way. So rather than talk about the abuse, our home became a war zone where which I screamed and raged about everything BUT the abuse.

My parents continued to try to get me support and resources once I reached a level of "out of control" that I think, quite honestly, scared them. I know it was scary for me. I so wish they had had a resource like The Empowered Parent to help them understand how to respond. I know it would have made a huge difference, and I am so excited to be connecting on April 16th with parents, caregivers, and guardians who want to empower themselves so they can in turn empower their little ones.

We can change the world, one child at a time!

To hearing our children's' voices,

Rachel

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