Nnnnooooo…no. No. No…Please, God. No…

This precise combination of feelings were new ones to me…gut wrenching, anxiety-ridden, deeply disturbing, unsettling, powerless rage, bottomless sadness…all at the same time and all long-lasting. This sudden and striking dichotomy…the innocence of a child who still played with dolls, whose mother still sang to her every night, who still trusted blindly…to…what? What’s the opposite of innocence? Victim?

It’s the type of thing that’s impossible to wrap your head around and it’s almost too painful to speak of…but speak of it, we must. Lest we continue to encounter the exact same fate again and again. It’s real. It exists. It’s everywhere…perhaps it’s everywhere because it IS too painful to speak of (?).

It’s not my story to tell in detail, but the lesson from a mother’s perspective is…

My primary job in life for the previous 8 years (after staying sober) was to raise this little girl. I was supposed to protect her from harm and be there no matter what. I was supposed to teach her the difference between right and wrong. Lead her towards safety, not away from it. Prepare and properly equip her for life…real life. And I was determined to do that and to do a good job (remember?). And I really, really was determined and it really didn’t matter, not in terms of saving her from this experience anyway…(as this IS how the road to hell is paved)…

This has been my greatest failure of all. I didn’t listen to my intuition. It warned me about kids with devices and I didn’t listen. I allowed harm into her life…right into our home…I fucking failed. I knew it too. The temptation was there to blame anyone and anything else (that man, her father, the device, the world, etc.), but how helpful would that have been? Not helpful. It would have only created more pain for everyone and there was no time for that.

This was huge. Huge.

I began right away trying to help, trying to do whatever I could. Except…I didn’t know. I really didn’t know what to do and I didn’t want to cause more harm, but I couldn’t not do anything. I had to do something. So, I was grasping desperately at anything I could, anything that could possibly help…

I called her school guidance counselor and told her what happened. She was shocked and said that it never occurred to her to talk to children that young about predators on the internet. It was a conversation she had with 5th graders. I asked for her opinion on the best way to help her moving forward. She promised to talk to her one on one during the first week of school and check on her periodically afterwards. She was reluctant to advise therapy as she believed in the resilience of children and not wanting to hurt her further by making it too big a deal…

Since a new school year was about to begin, fourth grade, my love suggested we take the kids down the shore beforehand…one last hoorah. He was trying to be supportive, and I appreciated the effort.

Though even at the beach with the latent warmth of summer’s end…this was another cut me to the core experiences. I may not always be able to express myself effectively, but I’m also not able to hide or run from pain anymore either…

I remember not being able to sleep while we were away. In the middle of the night, I peeked in on my daughter and found her sound asleep, which was mildly relieving. Then, I went outside onto the deck and climbed the spiral steps to the rooftop where I laid down on my back. Searching for the answers in the stars again I suppose…there’s something about that salty air…softly pulling the truth out somehow…like a magnet…like that’s the ocean’s job.

“Sweet sound of the ocean…rolling in rhythmic motion…like nature sent serenity…calmest thing I’ll ever see. Everlasting sight of blue…water embracing the sky. Alone…just the wind, warmth and me. Stay until washed away with the sea…” (me)

I started sobbing and, my God, it hurt so badly. Of course, as a woman, I’ve been reduced to an object a million times. And, unfortunately, in the past, by my own projection even. It feels degrading, demeaning, depreciative…But this was a child…my child…reduced to an object…

I was scared for a billion reasons…how would this affect her? Her worth, her sense of self, her sexuality in the future? How was I going to be able to help? Or is it too late? How does this not scar a person for life?

Together, her and I, we tried to create a new normal. School was back in person, there were no devices in my home, and this is when she found horses. We would talk about it regularly with full transparency. The early conversations were mostly me expressing my desperation to her about needing to keep her safe and needing her cooperation to help me to do that. Making sure she knew that it was me and her father that failed, not her. That this experience was an illustration of why we don’t talk to strange people on the internet and how it could’ve been a lot worse. Though it was important that she understand her part. So badly I just wanted her to know that she could trust me with the truth no matter what that was. That the shame was not hers to carry. I also told her of the other children and of the two who were most hurt…and she cried saying, “He stole my happiness…”

I struggled terribly at times with my anger towards him (and he is lucky he was so far away)…looking up flights to Boise, imagining all the ways I wanted to hurt him, fantasizing about waiting outside for him whenever he’s released…and that would take care of one…one sick person out of countless sick people, and it would make me sicker in the process. Ultimately, that’s just a price that I can’t afford to pay anymore. Not now. I’d have to claw my way through…

“You cannot fight the darkness. It’s impossible…We are in a dream that has become a nightmare and before we can awaken, we must turn this into a happy dream,” Marianne Williamson.

I was taught by Betsy to regularly ask myself the question, am I moving towards a drink or away from one? Towards the light or away from it? If the nightmare is what’s blocking the happy dream, the nightmare in its totality must be seen…and then…shattered…

Running away is no longer an option. Standing still is not good enough. There is no choice but to keep going…keep seeking…

It was around this time that I first came across the following ideas (found somewhere in the video below)…

When you decide not to respond to injustice with injustice and bear the betrayal instead, you transmute the suffering. You CAN choose not to hand it back, but to bear it. It’s going to feel like a death, but it’s going to be a resurrection. That’s what changes the world…

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