I am desperate for a nap as I am still recovering from last night’s bender but I have to write this awakening, if you will, before I forget to think more upon it.
I grew up trying to see myself through my mother’s eyes, to be her good girl and please or bring joy to this deeply sad woman. She was a victim of incest. She was shamed by her sexuality. I somehow have always been proud of my awareness. I thought, through her perspective, that I too was to see myself as victim of sexual abuse. I was lucky however, because I did hold a boundary even as a child. I bit that thing when he tried to put it in my mouth! That was nasty by my three year old standards. But I had demanded he sleep with me, each of us nearly naked if I had to go to bed. I wanted and pleaded for us to watch each other urinate. Why? Childish innocence? I think not because I did this to more than one. I learned it was easier with young teens than with grown men, and of course it got easier with age. I wasn’t seducing for sex at such early ages; I think I was seducing for connection to knowledge and people. I grew into my sexuality, only now beginning to see an open, free creature, of loving intimacy reaching out to help others feel the rush, the calm sea in torrential waves, the exciting ride of life’s energy that blossoms between us all (when we are open to allowing it). So no, I am NOT a victim, I am a loving woman with incredible sexuality.