What’s left of the origin family clings together. And in the gang like behavior, shame rises squelching the irresistible need to cleanse my interior by speaking what was not to be spoken.
Leave it and move on? Or tell, tell and tell. There is more than my story. There is the continual abuse of children at the same rate of statistics since the beginning of time. And why?
Because others can’t hear, won’t hear, and refuse to face the truth. It is happening in your family by your husband, son, or uncle.
A part of me needs to tell, the little girl continually shut down to please others. She is left there alone and still mute. Should she carry that? She may need to tell one hundred times, or one hundred million times, and I will honor her.
What was done to her/me was repulsive, but I’m not repulsive. I will tell. If I had the guts, I’d shout to the world what was done. And shout, and shout, and shout until I’m heard, and until you look around and see that’s it happening in your own home, and you stop it.