On my court papers from foster care it says I was molested at 5 years old. I remember being “tucked in” by Kent, my mothers boyfriend, with his hands heading towards funny places, but I don’t remember being touched or kissed. I do remember my mother running in a screaming for him to get away from her daughter, I remember the sound of her slapping his face, and I remember the slam of the door as she threw him out.
Fast forward about 2 years to my mum and I watching tv, an interview about abusive partners. Partners being raped and beaten, I looked at my mum and held her hand and said “I hope nothing like that ever happened to you, Mum.” I saw the tears well up in her eyes as she said “Bob wasn’t very nice.”
Bob was her boyfriend before Kent, he smoked a lot and I called them “yucky Bobs”, he also would walk around the house naked when we were alone.
I was 4 years old and had to hide in my closet and up the stairs onto a landing where I would squeeze through the railings out of his reach. I don’t know if he ever touched me, I just know back them I felt I HAD to hide.
I also remember the terror in my mothers eyes whenever she saw a car resembling his after we did a midnight run to get away from him.
I don’t remember being molested, but that doesn’t make it okay.
I don’t remember my mum being beaten or raped, but that doesn’t make it okay either.
It happened.
And the men who did this to us will certainly remember.