Part Two:Innocence
A Daughter’s Journey
Part Two: Innocence
“If I keep it to myself you might think you’re the only one”
-Jon Keith, hip hop artist
Childhood is supposed to be the easiest time of our lives. For the most part mine was. Filled with loving parents, typical sibling joys, rivalries, and growing pains, summer vacations to the beach.
But like I said, the only way to heal from your trauma is to do the ugly work, which I have through endless therapy sessions in my early twenties, and of course poetry.
I came from a loving home of a interracial married couple. My mom is African American and my dad was German-Irish. Layers of identity wrapped in that one!
Mom and Dad.
The one thing all childhoods have in common is trauma, no matter how loved the children were the moment trauma enters a child’s mind or body it changes them forever.
It’s how an easy going, goofy, silly, fearless child who always would see the best in people becomes quiet, shy, and lost in herself.
It’s something that when happening in the moment your young brain truly can’t process the effects it has on you, the years it takes to finally find the courage to speak on it, even if some family don’t acknowledge the hurt you never deserved in the first place. The one thing to always remember is it wasn’t your fault. You did nothing wrong for something so devastating to change how you view the world.
How you trust in it.
So here comes the dark part of my story. Very few know of this. It may come as a shock to those who
Children are very intuitive because of their innocence. It warns them of adults you can’t trust. That gut feeling. It’s a red flag for a reason.
My father had two best friends he grew up with.
One ended up in a wheelchair from a tragic car accident and the other came up through karate black belts together and Berklee College Of Music, best men at each other’s weddings. It doesn’t get any closer. Only one I felt comfortable with my whole life.
One violated the thing you’re supposed to feel with an adult, never mind your father’s best friend, and that’s trust; in one of the most deceptive, manipulative ways possible.
Molestation. Definition and context is extremely important. I’m not talking rape.
Molestation in its most comprehensive breakdown is “unwanted, sexual advances to another person” now based on that definition that is different for every human being because we all process touch differently.
What is comfortable for one person may not be for someone else.
Physical touch is something I never really felt comfortable with. Unless I felt safe with a person then it was okay to hug me.
Keep in mind, I grew up care free, no daddy issues, almost sheltered from things.
During this time of childhood we would spend random weekends with my dad’s best friend and their family. Them having only one child, a son meant no room for me to play with anyone. So needless to say, it was something I never was really excited about. Ever, unless my cousins were there because they were neighbors but it didn’t happen enough.
I remember two distinct moments. I remember all of us sitting around in their living room watching old home recordings from VHS tapes of cookouts etc they would hold. In the video all the kids were single digit ages, carefree etc all making silly joyful sounds when the camera was put on them.
When it was my turn, I screamed “No!” and ran from the room. Everyone watching the recording just laughed. Looking back on it myself, I question why nobody ran after me.
The second memory is the kind that unfortunately stays with you. Like I said, because I never had friends with me during these visits I was forced to sit with my mom and listen to adult conversations with his wife. I probably had no business listening too.
I remember standing up near the kitchen table, my back facing the stairs they had which led to other bedrooms. My dad’s best friend comes down the stairs and out of nowhere hugs me from behind and gives me multiple sloppy kisses on my neck, and I instantly FREAK OUT! Screaming, crying, yelling for this grown ass man to get off of me! I am a pre-teen at this point. The whole time I’m elbowing him, he laughs because he’s a whole black belt and I’m a child. What is my full little girl strength doing?
My mom is laughing and drinking and the only thing she says as she’s watching all of this uncomfortable moment of her little girl squirming, “it feels great when a man kisses you on the neck”. Finally I get set free and just remember running to another room shaking.
I don’t know why I didn’t just run tears and all to my dad. I honestly wish I did.
When I say everyone doesn’t experience touch the same way, this is what I’m talking about. That horrendous incident of trauma changed my life for the worst for many years into adulthood.
What’s even more bewildering is the nickname he gave me that nobody calls me. All types of predo creepy vibes. “Ashley-Baby”. Vomit in my mouth. Do you know how many times I would yell that’s not my name, stop calling me that?
The only nicknames I recognize to this day are “Bash, Ash, and Wonder” and only selected family members can use them. Ash is pretty much universal but all of them come with trust, love, and respect.
So the creepy “Ashley-Baby” nonsense has never sat well with me. It’s something predators do to their victims in an attempt to have power over them. Maybe I’ve watched too many Special Victim Unit seasons, but that is a very real thing.
Remember when I mentioned the intuition children have? Never dismiss or belittle it. I’ve learned through this horrible experience that just because adults grow up with people doesn’t always make them good people to children.
It’s also a testament just because siblings may have always felt comfortable and safe with this individual, doesn’t mean I had that same experience when I should’ve.
Some may think what happened to me was trivial, but it left a permanent stain of unworthiness, lacking what true physical intimacy is in relationships, it’s why for a decade I wouldn’t hug people or kiss anyone on their cheeks, much dismay to my older aunties that I still don’t. It’s also why I’ve always wiped my mom’s kisses off my cheek.
Ask yourself again, how do you process physical touch? When, and if, was yours violated? How did you overcome it? A lot of victims of sexual assault have two reactions to it, they run to older adults for intimacy or they fold into themselves.
Guess which one I did? Might be easy to guess if you know me. I ran to fantasy worlds, poetry, then came the depression, anxiety, low self esteem etc..
And the irony of it all? What my mama said was correct, but context is everything.
One thing to be taken from this: nothing a grown man does to a child They feel uncomfortable with is justified.
Healing is possible. Your past pain doesn’t have to define you. Wait till part two to find out how I found mine.
