I asked Timmy, what example did our parents set for Shem or for us? Where would Shem have learned what example to set?

Our father had a horrible gambling problem, and he cheated on our mom and had a whole other family with his mistress, who used to be our babysitter. He was not a very good or even present father. Our mother was hard working, but she is also emotionally and verbally abusive, as well as manipulative.

We talked back and forth about our parents and what it was like growing up, with Timmy still feeling like Shem should still set the better example by being the older brother and a father.

A couple of days later, Timmy texted me and asked me if I was more lenient towards Shem than our dad because Shem and I were siblings. I told him I will tell you why I feel differently towards dad than I did Shem, but that he might want to get a drink before we start talking.

He called me later that evening, with drink in hand, and I told him…I told him everything.

I told him how dad tried to have sex with me when I was seventeen and that I told mom what happened. I explained to mom that I didn’t feel safe there anymore. My mom then asked me to stay and for me to not make any rash decisions. She promised me that she would not leave me alone with dad.

The very next day, I woke up and my mom was gone.

She left me alone in the house with my dad.

My Great Aunt wanted to go to the Korean store and wanted me mom to go with her. My mom could have said no, or she could have brought me along with her…but instead she left.

She left me at home…alone.

So, then I left.

After leaving, I talked to my sister Tanya about what happened. She told me how our dad sexually abused her and our other sisters most of their lives.

And that is when my world came crashing down all around me.

Now it made sense, it all made sense.

Now it made sense as to why I kept wetting the bed into my teens, why I was deathly afraid of the dark and why I have a problem sleeping at night but can fall asleep at the drop of hat during the day.

However, I never really talked about this to people. How could I? It’s so shameful. Who wants people to know that their own father sexually abused them and that their mother chose the father over her only daughter.

I tried my best to forget about it. I travelled the world and worked as a correctional officer, as a waitress and even served as a Marine. I bounced around from career to career, country to country and relationship to relationship.

I yearned for loving relationships with family, friends and romantic partners, but I always kept everyone at a “safe” distance and isolated myself. When things got too real, I would run away.

Whenever a partner cheated on me or treated me like crap I would say, yeah, that sounds about right. I mean, how could anyone ever love me when my own parents, people that are biologically wired to love me, don’t love me. Obviously, there is something wrong with me.

So, I stayed in unhealthy and toxic relationships, and I worked hard in my career, to prove that I was worthy, despite the fact that there is something wrong with me.

Decades later, after two failed marriages, no career and long bouts of depression, I finally decided to go to therapy. As it turned out, I was running from my trauma and had to dig through my past to heal from it.

Slowly, I started to open up more about what had happened to me in therapy. I also started to talk to people in my life about my trauma.

It was hard at first and I was crippled with fear and embarrassment. What if they thought I was damaged goods, or worse yet, what if they didn’t believe me?

Lucky for me, I was surrounded by loving and supportive people. Over time, it became easier for me to talk about what happened. More and more I felt less ashamed.

Now, I no longer carry that shame. Now, I longer carry those secrets.

After I told Timmy what happened, I felt so much lighter and freer. Now, no one in my life was kept in the dark, they all knew. I was no longer burdened with having to carry the family secrets.

A couple of days later, I called my mom, and I told her what happened. I explained to her that now there are no more secrets and that maybe now she and I can work on our relationship.

At first she kept deflecting. She said things like, “How was I supposed to know what your dad did” and “I can’t tell you why your dad did what he did.”

I had to get her to stop deflecting and actually listen to what I was saying.

I don’t want to talk about why dad did what he did, I want to talk about why you did what you did.

I asked you to protect me and you didn’t.

When dad tried to have sex with me and I told you, I asked you to never leave me alone with him. You promised you wouldn’t leave me alone. The very next day, you left me alone with him. So, then I left and I never came back home.

When I was overseas, and I would call to talk to you and Timmy, you would hand the phone over to dad and try to get me to talk to him. Finally, one day, I asked you to stop doing that because when I talked to him it maked me sick to my stomach. You said, ok, that you didn’t know that and that you wouldn’t do that anymore. The very next time I called, you gave him the phone. So then, I never called you again.

Before I left for Hawaii, we planned to try to fix things and to have lunch before my flight. I drove to the house, and you weren’t there, and you never answered your cell phone. I left for Hawaii, and you never called me and I never called you and we didn’t talk for 9+ years.

Those things mother, those are the things I wanted to talk about with you. Things you did, not dad.

She said that she didn’t like talking about the past and that I always bring up the past.

I said, I always bring up the past cause you never talk about it with me. I want to work on my relationship with you but I at least need to know why you were the way you were and why you did what you did. Knowing the why helps me to understand and maybe even forgive one day. You may not like to talk about the past, but what about what I want?

Her response, in a happy and cheery voice, “Ok, I’ll talk to you later.”

What? No, I want to talk about this. I’m not going to let this go.

Her, “that’s why I said, I will talk to you later,” still in a happy and cheery voice.

I said, “Wow! Ok, I see where I am in your life then. I’m not going to try anymore to try and work things out. Bye.”

And I hung up.

She may not want to talk about my past and what has happened to me, but I do.

She may not want to hear what I have to say, that is fine, but I am still going to shout it from the rooftops!

My version of shouting it from the rooftops is starting this blog.

It took me a long time to finally find my voice and no one, especially not my mom, is going to stop me from talking about what happened to me and my journey to heal.

Not only is talking about my trauma therapeutic for me, but I hope it helps someone out there who went through what I went through. I hope they see that they are not alone and that there is light at the end of the tunnel.

I write this for the little scared girl I was many decades ago. This is not your shame to carry and not your secrets to keep.