The Little Girl Always Speaks

I didn’t know that abuse was abnormal as a child. When something appears to be an everyday way of life, you begin to believe that this is exactly how it’s supposed to be. In fact, you feel out of place and unloved and unseen when abuse is not the language being spoken to you. It’s amazing the lessons that we learn as children and the clarity that we hunger for as adults.

I often read stories of adults experiencing traumatic events when they were young. Yes, I have my share of stories and memories. However, the abuse for a certain period was so common that it felt like a badge of honor. I was made to believe that little girls deserved this type of treatment, especially if their daddy’s adored them. And nobody ever taught me the whole “don’t sit on a grown man’s lap” rule as a kid; otherwise, that would have saved me from much hurt and shame. That little girl was mishandled and made to grow up entirely too quick. Yet, even when she was ashamed, she was always speaking. Hoping someone would hear the confusion and pain of her tears.

What would make me think that, at the age of 4, I was supposed to be a sex symbol to the man from whose loins I came? Why was it such a norm to be aware of sexuality, when I couldn’t even spell it? Who made these rules? I’m not sure, but this was a game that I should have never had to play. And even when I thought I saw a light at the end of the tunnel, my whispers for help faded in the echoes of the most daunting question: You know I love you, right?

I recall when my parents separated. My mother did not know the extent of what happened to me because this was supposed to be a secret. And since I couldn’t tell on the ones I loved, who constantly told me that they loved me, I would write it out. I would pen letters to God – or anyone else who would listen – and ask to be taken away. I’d beg for something to happen to me so that this thing couldn’t happen to me again. 

As I grew older, my entire belief of relationships was jaded. I didn’t understand how to function unless my dealings were somehow laced with “adult-like” innuendos. No, I was not “sleeping around” with everyone. However, I did find it strange when I met men who genuinely wanted to be my friend without physical boundaries being crossed. To me, it meant that I was unloved. And when I felt unloved, the little girl would speak and desire more.

Through the abuse, confusion, and mental anguish, I still was able to heal. I was able to flourish. And eventually, I was able to talk. Talk about my past, talk about my present, and talk about my future. Initially, it started with elements of fear; fear of being punished and fear of not being believed. But the more that the little girl was able to speak, the more that the woman was able to heal.

Unashamed, unafraid, and unrelentless – I heal. Acknowledging my past but focusing on my future, I heal. With much prayer and faith in God to use my pain for someone else’s purpose, I heal. My healing will forever be a journey; one that I am proud of because I am alive to experience it. I remember when I did not want to be. Yes, indeed, the little girl always speaks. She sometimes tries to dwell on the bad and sit in a room of disappointment and despair; but it is the woman that reminds her, “That’s not us anymore. We are healed and healing!” I choose to be a light. Child abuse did not stop me from healing, and it won’t stop me from helping others do the same.

Ebony Walker

Walk Up Write

CEO & Senior Writer

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