It was early fall, 2004. I was 18 and babysitting for a family with two young kids. The little girl was a handful, and I was thankful that most of the time she was at kindergarten while I cared for her little brother, who was sweet as can be. I remember exactly what I was wearing the day it happened; dark jeans and a light blue zip-up jacket over a white t-shirt.

I remember being upstairs, right outside the bathroom, when I suddenly started feeling violently ill. I remember calling Mrs. H and telling her I needed to leave right away and having a very difficult 30-minute drive home. I remember lying face down on my kitchen floor in agony as my mom was anxiously calling the Dr trying to find out what to do with me. I remember going to the emergency room where it was discovered I had kidney stones, and I remember my then boyfriend, now husband, showing up with a sweet get well card.

For 17 years, that’s all I remembered of that day. Fast forward to February 2022, and flashbacks of this time had been occurring for about a month. I suddenly remembered how the dad of these children started carrying my senior picture in his wallet before I even started working for him. Sure, we all thought it was a little creepy, but not enough to be genuinely concerned. Then I remembered why they hired me. The babysitter before me was getting a little too close to the dad… they were spending a lot of time together, and their relationship seemed inappropriate. Why we didn’t see these as red flags before, I don’t know.

And then, like pieces of a puzzle coming together, more parts of this day started coming back to me. Upon arriving around 8 a.m. that morning, Mr. H offered me a chocolate cupcake that was leftover from some kind of party or family gathering they had just had. Then, like a slideshow, I see the next “scene,” and I’m knocked out on the bed of their master bedroom, but I’ve no idea how I got there.

I’m still unsure of what exactly he gave me (was it in the cupcake? A drink?) This was far from the first time I was drugged, but praise God, I’m quite certain it was the last. Either way, whatever he gave me fulfilled it’s purpose and he was able to accomplish what he intended. Were the kidney stones my body’s way of reacting to the terror it just endured? I don’t think that’s too far-fetched, especially after reading The Body Keeps the Score.

While processing this memory, I felt a lot of things; mainly disgust for me and sadness for his wife, but what I didn’t feel was surprised. And that surprised me! Is it because these “incidents” have happened so often that it all just seems par for the course? Was I born with some kind of sign on my head, signifying I was available to be used and abused at every pervert and pedophile’s disposal?

I feel like this is the part of the blog where I’m supposed to come up with some deep, spiritual insight to make sense of everything and prove God is still good even though things that happen can be anything but. I’m hoping the fact that I still have faith after going through all of this is enough because I don’t think I have anything else right now. No special “aha” moment, just the knowing that He’s been with me throughout all this tragedy. For that, I am thankful.

In middle school, Cara and I were inseparable. Whether it was hanging out on the weekends, walking home hand in hand from school singing Disney songs, going to her church’s youth group, shopping at the mall, pretty much anything and everything you do in those early teen years, we did it together. One thing that stands out to me now, is that even though we were together all the time, I never felt “at home” in her house, the way I did at other friends. I guess there was something subconscious going on, for me to never fully feel at ease in a place I spent so much time at.

Out of the blue one day, after two years of being the best of friends, Cara very suddenly and vehemently ended our friendship. Unfortunately, she didn’t stop there. Whatever she previously felt for me in friendship was now diametrically channeled into hatred. I had not only lost my best friend, but gained an enemy who was out to make my life miserable.

The worst part? I had no. idea. why. The more I racked my brain for a reason, the more confused I felt. We hadn’t been in any fights, there weren’t any signs of us drifting apart, nothing to even hint at what I might have done to cause my once best friend to have so much animosity towards me. It was brutally cruel, and when you’re already in an awkward and insecure time, it was devastating beyond words what I was feeling.

Fast forward 22 years. The pattern of flashbacks accompanied with ptsd episodes and fragmented memories surfacing is something that is all too familiar. As bits and pieces of this time of my life started rising, the question of why Cara awoke one day with so much hostility towards me permeated my mind. I just felt the Holy Spirit revealing something glaringly obvious that I just couldn’t put together before. It was no coincidence, something caused her to act this way.

The first memory that started popping up was of New Years Eve 1999. Her parents were having a small party, and I remember her mom being nervous. Apparently some of the adults thought something bad, or big, or ominous was going to happen when the clock struck midnight and it was officially the year 2000, and Cara was joking that her mom thought the world would end. While nothing they feared took place, it wasn’t much longer before something bad, big, and ominous happened. To me. The world might not have ended, but a piece of mine sure did.

Flashbacks of Cara’s brother, Taylor, “Tay”, and his two friends Big AL & Donovan, who were three years older than us, and the pop I was drinking out of a red solo cup were immediately followed by an overwhelming sense of dread and disgust. I could see Tay’s room, his bed, his friends, and him behind the video camera. Even now writing this, the knots in my stomach are real as I see Big AL holding me up and sodomizing me, Donovan on the ground performing oral sex, and a night full of degradation and terror being filmed. And people wonder why I don’t let my kids go to sleepovers.

This particular memory took much longer to work through than some of the others, and it came with a lot of very unpleasant physical manifestations as well. Six months later, a very similar memory of the same 3 boys, and similar humiliating sexual acts, resurfaces, only this time we’re not at Cara’s house, but rather, her church’s youth camp. Yes, you read that correctly. I’m sure at the time, these parents thought it was so great their teen boys were going to a Bible camp. Ugh.

These memories took place roughly a year apart, at 13 and 14 years old. I kept going back to Cara’s treatment of me and can’t help but wonder if she saw or knew something and instead of doing the right thing, was afraid for her brother and so turned on me. I guess I’ll never know. Side note, this is only one of several memories of me being drugged and I can’t help but wonder how in the world so many teens have such easy access to these drugs. It’s mind boggling.

Once again, I’m thankful for the Truth that sets me free, for the One who sees me through all this turmoil and trauma, and for the healing and restoration that only He can bring. As for those involved in these wicked schemes, I hope you turn to Him too.

In the fall of 2003, I got dressed up in a long black and burgundy strapless dress, had my hair done and went off to homecoming with my now husband. We were invited to a party after the dance, at a friend’s house who I rarely hung out with anymore, but for some reason, this is where we went. I only wish we hadn’t.

For years, the only thing I could remember about this night was the picture we took together before we left and small pieces of the following morning. I dismissed this as me likely having had too much to drink, as was quite common for me at that time in my life. When this memory started to rear it’s ugly head, I went to my husband with questions because I just couldn’t remember anything about even being there.

To my surprise, this was a really sore subject for my husband but I hadn’t the slightest idea why. I was fraught with worry, amidst some really disturbing flashbacks, wondering what in the world happened that night. What did I do? And what was done to me? Were questions I replayed in my head over and over.

I explained to my husband that I truly didn’t remember anything that took place, only asking my friend the next morning where he was, and her saying he left quite early the night before. I remember feeling concerned when she said that, contemplating why he might’ve gone while leaving me behind. At the time when I asked him, he really didn’t give me a reason and I just kind of forgot about it and moved on.

Fast forward 18 years later, and he finally opened up about what transpired. My drinking that night was so out of hand, I had been running around the party with a fifth of Bacardi Limon, drinking straight out of the bottle. As he started recalling the events of the night, I could hear the pain in his voice and began dreading what he would say next, as I could only imagine what I might’ve done to hurt him.

While this wasn’t the first time I had been flirtatious with other guys in front of him, I was apparently pretty out of control that night, to the point where he decided to leave, and who could blame him? Hearing how I behaved and how it hurt him was so upsetting that I started to not really care about what may have happened to me after he left, but rather that I deserved it. While that isn’t true, I felt such humiliation, shame, and regret for the person I used to be and choices I made. While I’m thankful he stuck it out with me in those early years, and we both know I’m now a completely different person, there isn’t any way for me to go back and change the hurt I caused.

Processing through this was difficult for us both, but I knew it was truly a good, healthy thing that he was no longer carrying that hurt around but made me aware of it. Unfortunately, after he left that night of the dance, I either continued to drink to the point of unconsciousness or something was slipped in my drink.

Flashbacks too graphic and degrading to write about publicly intruded me every night for a week straight. Three boys I had been going to school with for years didn’t let the opportunity of me being knocked out cold pass them by, but rather took pleasure in all sorts of evil. I could see myself being drug around outside with a black pillowcase over my head, as they took turns raping me in the darkness of the night. Now I understood why I’d been having dreams about waking up in that house, and taking a baseball bat to one of the boys’ truck, filled with so much anger I’d be shaking as I woke.

This was a longer one to process, as not only did I have to go through the normal emotions that accompany the memories such as fear, anger, disgust, and shame; I had in the added layer of hurting my husband, and knowing that I was always safe, protected, and loved while with him, but how I took that for granted, made terrible choices, and payed dearly for them.

“Here is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners—of whom I am the worst.” 1 Timothy 1:15

In February of this year my husband and I found out we were expecting our 5th blessing. There was a lot of joy and excitement in our family, though I struggled with trusting God’s timing. There were many things I thought needed to be fixed or reconciled before we could have another, one of them being that I was done reliving my nightmarish past, and for a couple months, I didn’t have anymore memories, though I knew in my heart there were more.

I was incredibly sick this time around, throwing up all the time and so exhausted I could hardly move from the couch. My “morning sickness” lasted until I was 18 weeks along, four weeks longer than what I was used to. I had plans on another amazing homebirth, but around 24 weeks my blood pressure started going up. My midwives and I monitored it closely and I had blood work done often, but at 31 weeks my care was transferred to an OB & I was admitted to the hospital for pre-eclampsia.

I spent the next 30 days on bedrest, separated from my family, my birth plans out the window, just trying my best to surrender everything and trust my Heavenly Father. This had previously been a “worst case scenario” for me, as I had a huge fear of hospitals and doctors, and of being away from my kids. This was the very first time I had ever even been one night away from my almost four year old, who was used to sleeping with me every night.

The blessing in this situation, aside from getting the much needed rest my pregnancy was demanding, was that I was able to bond with my baby. It was just us, and where before I was so busy with wife and mom duties with the other kids, now I was able to really connect with him. No longer juggling a million things but slowed completely down, hearing his heartbeat every day during non stress tests, weekly ultrasounds, finally being still enough to really notice every movement, it was special. While it was extremely emotional for me to be away from home, I was thankful to feel so close to my little guy.

Amidst the very huge blessing of expecting our son, and all the drama that goes along with being in the high risk pregnancy unit of the hospital, I was dealing with some pretty monumental memories. I had little pieces of these memories pop up prior to going on bedrest, but it was as though they were “stuck.” As I’ve been on this healing journey for almost five years now, I have found that the more traumatic a memory is the deeper it’s buried. There were some that seemed to be right at the surface, and others so hidden and locked away only the Holy Spirit has been able to bring them out.

I started to understand why maybe I needed to be there, with my only job being to rest, for these memories to surface. There were four in total, one each week I was there. It was excruciating to process, but I was thankful I wasn’t trying to deal with it while caring for my kids. I don’t think I could’ve managed any other responsibilities while going through those. I believe the Lord in His infinite wisdom knew that, and allowed these memories to surface at this precise time for that very reason.

The whole time I was in the hospital, I was being reminded that while this was a real fear for me, not being in control of my body, that HE was in control even when everything else felt out of control. He truly held me through the duration I was there, and I was constantly reminded of His presence. We had so much help from family and friends, all my nurses were kind, I even liked my Dr. And He told me that this child represented reconciliation, and he absolutely does.

I am so incredibly thankful for you Harrison. And I’m so thankful that despite walking a path infinitely more difficult than I could’ve ever imagined, He continues to bless me, remind me of His love, and show me no matter how painful, I don’t walk it alone.

“The Lord will fight for you, you need only to be still.” Exodus 14:14

The man with the shiny tooth is at a lot of family get togethers. He acts pretty nice, always joking around and laughing. But there’s another side. Does anyone else know? Is it only me?

The man with the shiny tooth always has a drink in his hand. His breath always wreaks of alcohol. I’ve never seen him without a drink, that is one of the things I remember most about this not quite family, not quite stranger, shiny tooth man.

The man with the shiny tooth likes to hold me in the hot tub. One hand with a drink, the other where I don’t want it. There’s so many people here, can’t I sit with someone else?

The man with the shiny tooth says he likes my fashion show, with all my new Christmas clothes I modeled for everyone. I always get a lot of new clothes at this Christmas party. I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to show everyone the cute new undies I got, I am only six. They all laughed but the man with the shiny tooth changed after that. I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to show them.

The man with the shiny tooth has a sharp knife. He shows me upstairs when no one else is around. He tells me what to do, and what not to say, and I guess that’s why he showed me his knife. I am little and I don’t like this. He should do this with his wife I think. Not me.

Everyone thinks I’m sleeping, because it’s so late. But do they know he’s here too? Did they notice him follow me upstairs? Do they know about his knife? What are they doing? Are they opening presents without me? I would rather be with them. I feel safe with them.

The man with the shiny tooth likes to take me for golf cart rides. I don’t like where he takes me. I didn’t want to leave with him. Everyone else is always laughing and having a good time, do they not know?

Why does he have his hand over my mouth? Doesn’t he know I won’t scream? He showed me his knife, I won’t scream. I’m a good girl, I do what I’m told. But listening doesn’t make me feel so good. It makes me feel bad. It’s confusing. I am little. But he makes me do big things.

The man with the shiny tooth died recently. I suppose that’s why I felt it was safe enough to remember. He can’t hurt me with his knife now.

Years later I will struggle with the smell of alcohol, and having something cover my face. It all reminds me of the man with the shiny tooth.