Sometimes, we think we’ve moved on from trauma, but the shadows of our past will find a way to creep back in to haunt us. I have been silent for 33 years because I thought I could make myself forget. I thought I could navigate this world without dealing with the trauma. If I talked about it, it would be real. I would have to relive it. I would know it wasn’t just a nightmare. I would have stories running through my mind of what other people would think of me. I would have shame brought to myself and my family.

 

At seven or eight, I remember being in a room, questioned with a big tape recorder and strange adults I didn’t know. I sunk in my chair so low my shoulders were on the seat, my chin dug into my chest, and my arms folded tightly across my chest. I refused to voice that anything had happened to me. What would change if I shared my story? Life would be different, most likely. It is better not to say anything.

 

Fast-forward to a 40-year-old parent of a seven-year-old. How do I protect him? How do I have conversations with him that can keep him safe? What can I do to make it a comfortable conversation where judgment wouldn’t feel it was on him? How can I tell him about the monsters who exist among us without causing him fear and anxiety? How can I tell him that strangers can be dangerous, but more importantly people you know can be dangerous?

 

My trauma was torn wide open out of protection for my son, out of the weight of keeping it a secret and a pull to make something positive out of it. Conversations around sexual abuse and safety are uncomfortable. As humans, we resist pain and uncomfortable feelings. We don’t have these conversations with adults, let alone children. We wait for institutions to provide our kids with the tools to have these conversations. It is imperative to have age appropriate conversations with children to build awareness around body safety and boundaries.