26 years of silence

This is one of those personal demons. It took me 26 years to discuss this with anyone. Hubby was fairly upset that I wanted to discuss this with my psychologist instead of with him. But I needed a professional female audience for this. Well it’s out now and the people that I felt needed to know, now knows.

I’ve also dealt with the emotional aspect of this. And it removed a great weight off my shoulders.

So without making you wait… I was molested at the age of 16 I think. I truly don’t remember exactly how old I was. Old enough however to have had breasts.

I spent the weekend at my dad’s house. 3 bedroom house with 3 occupants excluding me. My dad’s solution was for me to sleep in his bed.  I woke up during the night with his hand cupping my breast underneath my pj’s and bra. I lay awake for ages not moving and not sure what I should do. Eventually I shifted so that his hand slid away.

Yes, I know that what happened wasn’t physically traumatic, but it was emotionally traumatizing. The next night my cousin and a friend were visiting and a christmas bed was made in the living room. I begged to be allowed to sleep in the living room as opposed to sleeping in my father’s bed again. He was drunk and I just didn’t want anything to happen again. He tried to convince me for several minutes before admitting defeat and going alone to his bed.

I had rationalized it as him following instincts with a female body in his bed.  However once I discussed it with my psychologist she explained that it was molestation. That no father would do something like that in their sleep without a major flaw in their thought process. So my dad had a screw loose. Not that I didn’t know it before, but I hadn’t known that screw was also sexually defective.

I never went for a sleep over again, not until he got married again and I was safe from him.

The stepmother was nice when she wanted and a calculating bitch on average. To say the least was that I hated her by the end after they split up and took every monetary thing from my dad. As well as the ring that I was pressured into lending her.  So I’ve been dragging that hatred with me for many years.

But after working through the thought of what could have happened to me if she hadn’t entered my father’s life. I’ve become greatful to her. Yes she probably was a sociopath, only in it for the money. But she also saved me from something far worse. I can now remember the nice things she did for me without the hatred I had before. Some of which has helped me a lot in my life. I prayed to God to bless her and have given her the ring that she took from me. I still miss the 3 carate diamond ring, but I don’t blame her for it anymore.  That said, if my father had trusted me with the necklace it was made from, it would have been mine today. But then he didn’t trust me…


Somedays I just need them to shutup

The kids I mean.

Oh, I know all about blaming your parents for whatever is wrong with you. I did exactly the same.

But there is a slight difference. They did not need to look their dad in the eyes at the age of eight and see the truth in his words “I will kill you if you do this again when I’m hitting your mother”. The softness in his hands as he gently shoved me over onto the bed. From that day on I was always on my best behaviour. Just as long as I never got him angry at me.

Oh or like the time when I was “forgotten” at the restaurant in a different city and my mother’s first words to the police when they finally got me back to them was “What did she do wrong?”

Voilence, disregard and coping with a mentally ill mother after their second divorce.

Yeah I had issues, and I can add more, so much more. Well I got over most of that shit.

The point is that my kids never had to deal with these kinds of issues. Yes, they had a depressed mother, who finally got help with the support of their father. They had to deal with a father who almost cracked under the pressure that he had to live under for the last few years, but who got support from me and help to get back to normal.

Now me and their dad got help and got better, why the hell can’t they give us a break every now and then? Asking them nicely to please be nice to each other and not give me shit while I’m feeling sick (sick enough that the doctor prescribed 3 types of antibiotics at once), then why the hell can’t they just shutup and give me a little space while I’m talking on the phone with a client and then their dad who tried to phone me 3 times while I was talking to the client? Why do I have to ask them 5 times to please remember mommy is not feeling well? Why bombard me with questions even though I am obviously busy talking to the lady helping me at the post office who is trying to fix our broken post box lock?

Why the hell can’t they just shutup for once?

Why do I have to beg for a little compassion when I’m sick?

Why the hell do I have to deal with tantrums because these little spoilt brats believe they are owed every fucking thing they want?

What ever happened to giving mommy a little bit of me time? Instead of trying to compete with each other about who can be the most annoying?

And for that matter, who gave them the idea that they can asked for whatever they want and they will get it? Oh, wait that would be my husband trying to give them what he couldn’t have as a kid growing up, because they were poor.

Fuck, anyone interested in 3 little spoiled brats. They might still be trainable

The unspoken

Our society has certain rules, leaving each woman/girl having to learn about those areas of her life by trail and error. Or wondering if what is happening to her body is normal.

The idea behind this blog is to say those things that are never discussed.


Let’s start with one:

The female body is designed to create babies. So naturally the vagina is built to keep as much sperm inside to get the best chance to do this. But what this means for a woman is that after a time that excess fluid gets expelled. And since there is a distinctive smell, this could be an embarrassing situation sometimes. Now just imagine standing next to your sitting boss and feeling the fluid flood out. If I can smell it, can he?


But this blog will also deal with my personal demons, rages and other things that I cannot share except through anonymity.