Law of the wild

My hands are shaking as I write this.

I am noticing a recurring theme in some of the comments and emails I have been receiving, and I think it needs to be addressed.  Like, immediately.

It seems as though we’ve decided there is a hierarchy of victims.  I’ve talked about this before, regarding our rape culture.  This is different.  I mean, we- as victims of sexual abuse- have decided this.  About OURSELVES.

Typing that makes me feel a little sick to my stomach.

Just within the past week, I have had two emails from women telling me their stories, stories which are remarkably similar and are, unfortunately, becoming increasingly familiar to me.

I have yet to hear a story of sexual abuse that doesn’t involve shame.  It is the singular unifying theme- there is no surprise there, sadly.  But there is a subset of stories within our collective tale.  A group of survivors who are intent on being accountable for their part in what happened.  When they were children.  They are determined to take on their share of the blame.

And they MEAN it.  They are sincere. They are heartbreakingly sincere, and completely drenched in shame about it.  They believe, down to the very core of who they are, that they are at least as to blame as their perpetrator.  At least, you guys.

I have been told by several women that they aren’t the same as me, because I was so little. They were old enough to know better.  Or because no one ‘forced’ them.  Or because it didn’t hurt.  Or because they liked the person.  Or because they were victimized again and again by different people, so therefore they are OBVIOUSLY doing something to attract that kind of ‘attention.’

Okay, let’s talk about this.

There is a reason we use the word predator to describe the people who commit these sorts of crimes.

A predator is defined as an organism that exists by preying on other organisms.  What do all predators do?  They hunt- whether it’s an out and out chase, a careful stalking, laying in wait, or setting a trap.  They ALL hunt.


Predators almost never intentionally go up against another animal as powerful as they are- they can’t risk fighting another creature capable of hurting them.  A gazelle can continue to live while injured, eating vegetation.  Most plants are notorious pacifists- they seldom fight back, or, y’know, move.  A predator has to hunt, and chase, they cannot afford to be injured.  They seek out prey they either identify as weak or that have been separated from the rest of the herd.  Easy targets.

Little kids.  Isolated children.  Kids of single moms, desperate for a father figure.  Kids from homes where there is so much dysfunction it is unlikely there is anyone for the child to turn to.  Someone who they may even realize has an innocent crush on them.  Or the child SO CLOSE to them, who loves them SO MUCH, that they are the Sun in that child’s solar system. Their ultimate authority figure, role model, hero.  Someone who they will obey, unequivocally.  A father, a grandfather, a brother, a pastor, a teacher.

Have you guys heard of pitcher plants?  They are these carnivorous plants that contain deep wells of sweet smelling nectar.  Bugs and small animals are attracted to the scent, go inside to investigate, and fall into the pool.  The walls are slippery and the nectar is toxic. By the time the prey realizes what is going on it’s too late.

Friends, that insect isn’t any less dead than the fly that is violently swatted on the wall.


It stands to reason that if a predator is hunting older prey, such as teenagers, they are going to need to be more clever.  Their prey is older and wiser.  More able to communicate. More likely to know that someone ‘forcing’ them to do something is wrong. Unfortunately, predators are very, very clever. They identify children and teens at risk. They hone in on kids who are desperate for attention and validation. They fulfill unmet needs.  And they count on teens being confused and conflicted about their burgeoning sexuality. They bank on it.

And they convince their victims that they are complicit.  That no one will believe them, or that if they are believed they will be in trouble for their part in it.

And for those of you who have been victimized again and again- predators are also adept at identifying wounded prey.  You didn’t draw the abuse toward you, your perpetrators were looking for the signs- signs with which they are all too familiar.  It is their handiwork, after all.

They are actively looking for isolated kids and teens who WILL NOT TELL.

I don’t know the exact statistics, but I’m willing to bet that the number of abusers who groom their victims carefully far exceeds the number who attack forcibly and violently.  By a LOT.

You don’t need to measure your suffering against anyone else’s, and you don’t need to have been a ‘perfect’ victim.  These crimes- and they are CRIMES– happen to human beings, and we are by nature imperfect.  You wouldn’t say,

Yes, he robbed me at gunpoint- but I had money in my pocket.  He couldn’t have robbed me if I didn’t have money.

That would be ridiculous.  And you wouldn’t say,

He didn’t REALLY rob me, because it wasn’t at gunpoint.  All he did was empty out my bank account and leave me with no money.

You aren’t any less broke, baby- either way.

You have already been saddled with more than you should ever have had to carry around as a child or a teen.  It is already too much.  That crushing guilt that you’ve assigned yourself?  The notion that you share responsibility for the crime committed against you?   That is not yours to carry.

Lay it down, friend.

73 Comments on “Law of the wild

  1. So very beautifully explained, Laura. This may be your best blog entry on this subject yet. Do believe you will help many, many survivors of sexual abuse in all of its forms. Bless you for having the caring and courage to tackle this subject. ❤

    Liked by 5 people

  2. Now I am shaking and rattled. I was told I was ‘boy crazy’ so that is the role I assumed, my path was chosen for me. Dysfunctional you bet. Still trying to find a place to file it, as it was my life from 12, filed neatly under ‘boy crazy’ by my Aunt and Mother (it was my older 16/17 yr old male cousin). He would watch me, hunt me down if I was separate from the safety of the group of cousins and relatives. He wld block me upstairs, wait for me outside the bathroom door. I was terrified. I was the ‘bad one’ not him. I left the province and had no contact with any family members other than my immediate family when I turned 21. The family knew who I was – the bad girl. I had to return to see them all at my mothers funeral. A day I knew would always come. Thankfully 30 yrs had passed and the majority of relatives had aged and passed. But he was there and I had to face him again. Most horrible day. The secret that filled the room, that has been so long a part of me, the secret and I are horribly entwined. I hated my mother for so many years after – until I went to a counselling as an adult for a totally unrelated matter, I was told it was because I was angry at my Mother for not protecting me. I was justified for feeling hate and feeling guilty about not loving my mother. We never spoke of it from 12, I forgave my mother in my 40’s. But I have never allowed myself to be forgiven. I am so sad for the loss of me from 12. Oh what I could have been.


  3. I wish it were that easy. Maybe it is, or can be for some. Not for me. Shame goes deep. It became a part of me during the formative years. I was, bad, dirty, not even fit for life. Intellectually I agree with everything you said. My spirit, soul, emotional being, personality? I have to work on that and I probably will be working on it daily for the rest of my life.

    So many components go into shame. It became the bedrock of who I am, or was. My body betrayed me and responded. It took a very long time to even tell that to anyone so I held in culpability until middle age. And the sexual explorations with friends heightened and became more than playing ‘doctor,’ which also took till past middle age to talk about. And of course I now realize that is common once a child is abused.
    There are many layers of dirt on my coffin that I did not put there. It has not been easy unearthing each layer. I am patient. I am ok even if I cannot just drop it. I am glad for you though.


    • I can’t even imagine. I hope you are working on this with a professional who understands what this does to people. Good luck!


      • Thank you Meredith. Your kind comment means a lot. I’ve worked with professionals ever since I left home at 18. I am at peace which does not mean my work has ended. I have to work at showing compassion to myself. I learned otherwise during childhood and my adulthood has been spent repairing the damage. Some I needed to just accept and live with best I can. (PTSD and it’s permanent damage to my nervous system which has affected other parts of my body permanently too)

        Liked by 1 person

  4. I hope the many, many people who found a kindred spirit in the story of your pain will be reading this and HEARING the definition of a predator. Thank for your continuing to provide this space for them, even though, incredibly, there are people have called you out for imaginary wrongdoings in no uncertain terms. It’s very possible that you are touching their hearts as well, even though you will never hear about it.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Thank you! I know in my head that it was not my fault, but the shame and guilt in my heart won’t let me go. It is a never ending battle that I must conquer. I recently found your blog and have found so much comfort and a feeling of un-loneliness. Although I would never wish what happened to me on anyone, I am glad that you had the courage to speak out so that others can know we are not alone.

    Liked by 2 people

  6. One of the hardest parts of all this for me is to put down the whip. To stop owning the list of men who hurt me, perpetrated against me. Its two steps forward, one step back. The voices in my head are loud, sometimes all consuming and sometimes they are their voices. But with love, support and practice they do get quieter at least for awhile, long enough to remember I am on a journey and that it’s a marathon not a sprint. That this was years of abuse, I’m not going to be better in a couple of therapy session.
    It’s the secrets that have kept me sick. Slowly I am sharing my story with a few women I can trust. It’s baby steps.

    Liked by 3 people

  7. One of the previous comments mentions that for years she hated her mother for not protecting her. I felt like that for many years towards my brother. It was his friends. My brother was to supposed to be there taking care of me, protecting me. So many times he turned a blind eye. I hated him and loved him at the same time. He was my big brother. I haven’t spoken to him for 17 years for different reasons. Over these years, and lots of deep thought and soul searching I have realized that he was a victim also. He was abused physically and I have suspicions he was abused sexually also. I truly believe that because of his abuse that he was so desperate for acceptance that he allowed what was happening to him, happen to me. Such a viscious cycle. I would some day like to find him and tell him I know what he went through and that I forgive him for not protecting me. He was just a child himself.


  8. It has only been within the past few weeks that I’ve ever seen my abuser as having had malicious intent. I’d always discounted what he did to me as uncontrollable teenage exploration. It wasn’t until I faced my feelings of culpability that I could see it as a vicious attack aimed to hurt rather than harmless curiosity. It wasn’t until I saw his anger at my being ‘out of my place’ that I realized that teenage boys don’t find 6 year old girls irresistible. I had been so afraid to face my false culpability that I buried the true culpability along with it. The wounds are DEEP. The beliefs are so engrained. At first thought the idea that I could lay it down seemed much like the idea that I could fly a helicopter. Yes, I believe I could. But the ease and probability of getting there seemed comparable. On second thought, maybe I have lain it down. If not I’ve at least discovered that I was in fact carrying something to be lain down. I’m glad you wrote today. xo

    Liked by 1 person

    • I almost feel as though I need to go back and add a line, because by no means do I think it is easy- I don’t think I implied that, but there seems to be that perception. It isn’t easy, but it sure as hell isn’t as hard as carrying that dark and heavy lie that you are to blame.

      You did NOTHING wrong- you were a baby. Six years old is a BABY, honey.

      Liked by 3 people

      • No, you didn’t imply that it was easy. You just stated it was possible. It’s hard to conceive. I understand the logic that I did nothing wrong. But the logic, the understanding hasn’t changed the way I feel. The deeper beliefs which seem to be impenetrable. I understand I can lay it down, I should lay it down but I have no idea how to actually do that.


  9. Wow. This post is very powerful. You make so much sense. Even though my abuse started PRE-COGNITION, I still find ways to blame myself. The assumption, for me, is that there was obviously something INHERENTLY WRONG with me that made people hurt me. People that were supposed to be taking care of me. I still struggle to reconcile this.

    Also, totally agree – we need to stop with the “victim Olympics” that we’re always engaging in. It’s a futile game because no one wins anyway.


    when it comes to sexual abuse…
    as victims. .. we try to find some way to make sense of what happened…what happened to us…to you…to me!
    that is what I found myself desperately trying to find some logic out of what happened to me begining at age 2 1/2 By my dad ….then later about 7 by my brother’s friend.
    There is NO LOGIC!

    great article!! I know this is an important article for all of us to not only read but to ‘hear’.
    Thank you!!

    Liked by 4 people

  11. My heart hurts so much for so many of you… I KNOW the shame… I know how hard it is to lay it down. I know what it is to hide the bits and pieces that make you feel like it’s your fault (I was crushing on him; I wanted the attention; I thought it meant he liked me and so even wanted it to happen again; I acted out sexually after that ; I — a GIRL — became addicted to masturbation; I… I… I….). I could look at my therapist and tell him “I know it’s not my fault… in my head. But my heart? My heart still feels the shame.”

    But you know what? I just said that all out loud for all of you to see. In public. Without shame. It’s been a recent change — very recent. It’s been a combination of things: Two years of intense counseling with a Christian psychologist… things going on in my own life and marriage… God… a couple of studies on the Song of Solomon… and… the very last piece… reading “He Wrote it Down” and all the comments that followed (every. last. one.). I suddenly dropped my shame. Felt a need to share my story; to try to open the door and shine a light for others… to let them know they are not alone… that they have nothing to be ashamed of. I’ve started writing out my story and shared even the hard bits with my parents… after all these years.

    No, it wasn’t easy. No, it wasn’t instantaneous. It was a journey. Actually it IS a journey. Still is. I found myself in tears just last night recounting something to my husband that we’d already talked about and I thought I’d let go (one of those acting out incidents that carried MAJOR shame). And each journey is different. Our destinations may not even be all the same. You may never feel called to share publicly like I feel. That’s okay. It’s OKAY! But what’s not okay is to not carry the hope of dropping the shame; not having the awareness that it’s really not yours to carry. We were never meant to carry it. And even when you feel like you don’t have the faintest clue on how to lay it down… that’s okay. It’s part of the journey. But even then… even when it seems impossible… please believe me… it IS possible. Keep hoping. Keep believing. Keep working. Keep praying. Because the freedom…. yes, FREEDOM… is so worth it. And it’s there for each and every one of us. It is NOT our burden… not our shame. No, it’s not easy. We hold so tightly to it. But I know God wants to take it from us… to give us freedom. We were meant… to lay it down.

    Liked by 2 people

  12. I honor and applaud you for speaking so straightly to this unfortunate and erroneous and damaging and shameful way we add deep insult to tremendous injury. I am hoping that we will all let your words land like a warm salve on a painful wound. May the healing continue ….

    Liked by 2 people

  13. (By the way, I’ve been commenting as MyTwoCents but made an actual account under this user name)


    You know where I am. You know how lost in shame I am. And that it feels like a bottomless well of shame and self hate and if there was a way out, I’m not sure I’d deserve it anyway.

    And it is different — not because my stuff is worse than anyone else — I would never play the comparison game, that’s as bogus as it gets because pain is pain and whether harm felt was physical, or emotional, or sexual everyone has the right to feel and express their pain.

    But I was different. I knew it was wrong, there wasn’t physical force, I even pretended to like it and go along with it, so he never had a chance to stop — I mean what if I’d only said no and cut off three years of torture and death? How can I not feel stupid for that?

    And there wasn’t a huge age or physical difference. And no, I didn’t have anywhere safe to turn, but still — I should have found a way. I should have. It’s that simple.

    He was stupid and even if he was older I was always smarter and wiser than him. He was on drugs and drinking alcohol, I was sober. I knew it was wrong. I didn’t like it, or want it, but still I went along with it. Do you get how horrible that is?

    And everyone is going to be kind, and disagree, goodness knows my therapist does, and that kindness will be painful because I’ll know it’s not merited — or worse, someone will chime in with similar experience and ask if I think it of them and of course my answer is no, but they weren’t me, and they don’t know what was in my head then, and my heart, and what my actions were, and so in that sense no comparison of similarity is any more relevant than a comparison of disparity.

    I love your blog posts but sometimes they are so painful to read. Not because of anything you say or intend, but because you shine a light, a beacon, but it feels wrong to hope that light can shine on me, because I’m not worthy of it. And yes, I know you will disagree and use a word like friend, which will also pierce my heart, again, because I’m not worthy of it.

    Yet I come back and read anyway. Like a moth to flame, I suppose.

    Ahh, there’s my user name.


    • All I can do is keep praying that something will get through. If you were in such a broken place that you couldn’t stop what felt wrong to you, and if you had no one to turn to, that doesn’t mean you are to blame- it means you were in a hurt and lonely place and you didn’t know how to help yourself. I can’t make you see it my way, but you will never get me to see it yours.

      Moths are drawn to flames, and yes- they sometimes do get burned- but they are drawn there because they are SEEKING THE LIGHT. So I will hold onto that- that despite the darkness you see right now, you are still trying to turn your face toward the sun, whether you realize it or not.

      And only I get to decide who is and is not worthy of being called my friend. xo

      Liked by 2 people

    • I will say this, though. Before therapy I took on all the blame — gave him a free pass for being stupid, drunk, high — but now I know he was (and still is in a less harmful way) selfish also, and never protected me, even though there times (even after those years) where I tried to protect him. So I do apportion some blame now to him, but that does not absolve me of mine. Just makes mine worse, for not seeing him for who he was, and who he is, all these years.


  14. It has taken 40 years it happened from age 3 on to realize that I did not seduce ask or enable the abuse. It started with my parents and branched out to my grandfather, neighbor, babysitter then later a therapist as a teen. What is sick is I thought it was my fault. I was groomed to be a sexual creature at an early age. I am learning to lay down the lie and embrace the freedom of not having sex as my identity.


  15. I was also a victim of sexual abuse as a young child and I’ve carried that guilt around for years. I know that it’s played a HUGE role in my alcoholism and in the choices that I’ve made throughout my life. Thank you for posting this….I know it wasn’t my fault, but I still carry those feelings around like worn out luggage. Thank goodness for therapy and for our blogging community! I’d be crazier than I am now and probably still a nasty drunk. HUGS!!!

    Liked by 1 person

  16. This is beautiful! I know there are so many people who have never had anyone say this to them, and they’ve needed to hear it, straight out, for a very long time. Thank you so much for sharing this!


  17. I love your posts. A victim of acquaintance rape, twice, this one rings so true and so close to home. This is so helpful. Thank you


  18. Unfortunately, after rape, the focus always seems to be on the victim. After all, they are the injured one, and I in NO WAY wish to disparage what has happened to them. My heart shatters and bleeds for the impossibly horrible injustice done to them.
    But where are the criminals who did it? They slink back into the shadows. No one mentions their name, no angry lynch mob storms after them. And if, by miracle, they are uncovered, somehow they always end up being the “unjustly accused,” the martyr. Family and friends swarm to protect the coward, and the victim is attacked all anew.
    Thank you for ripping the mask off. I can’t help but feel that until the post-rape focus includes not only helping the attacked, but also the public humiliation, castigation, and delivery of justice to the criminal, the “rape-culture” (at which phrase my stomach turns) will just continue.
    If a lion kills a human, no one rests until the lion is dead. Rape is a worse crime than murder. Just saying.

    Liked by 1 person

  19. Pingback: Misplaced Compassion | Slash & Burp

  20. Yes, shame is so difficult. I’m most shameful for wanting that power over my grandfather. Being able to make him tremble, and only being 13 years old.


  21. My own mother testified that I was “boy crazy” My entire existence as a young teen was questioned. They even used my best friend as a witness. Fortunately he was unafraid and told the truth.

    Liked by 1 person

  22. Pingback: We choose you « Ten Thousand Places

  23. How? How do we lay down the shame when it feels like it fills the whole core of our being? When even speaking a speck of our story brings a cascade of shame and voices of “you’re lying. You’re making this up. What horrible person would say such things about her family?” I don’t know what else is in me sometimes besides shame and fear. What if I lay down the shame and I’m just an empty shell?


    • There are very few things I am comfortable guaranteeing in this life- but this is one. I want you to listen up, sweet friend. YOU ARE NOT WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU. The shame in this is not yours to carry- it is a lie we get told, and internalize. If you had been hit by a car as a child would you be ashamed? You might have some trauma, you might have lasting injuries, but you wouldn’t be ASHAMED. You were, essentially, crossing the street, and someone hit the gas and ran into you. On purpose. The shame is THEIRS. The act was done TO you, but it wasn’t ABOUT you. You are so much more than this tragic happenstance- and all of the goodness, and talent and joy that naturally resides in you is being held captive by your shame and self judgment. I am not saying it’s easy to lay it down, just that it’s easier than continuing to carry it. It’s so heavy, love. Too heavy.

      Liked by 1 person

      • It is heavy as crap. But it’s a cruel cycle because I get just enough brave to lay down a tiny piece and the shame comes crashing down. I guess that is why it’s baby steps.


      • If I ever figure it out, I’ll post it her for all of us. ❤️


      • the reality is, your answer is YOUR answer. Otherwise, I could have already posted the formula I’ve used to get to a place of shamelessness, and we’d be done here. No one’s path is one size fits all. Everyone’s trauma is different, family circumstances are different and *WE* are different. Annoying, but true.

        Maybe the shame comes crashing down because you have played host to it for so long, and like any parasite, it becomes hostile when you threaten to stop feeding it.


      • But what if the shame is all who you are?

        If it was gone, and there’d be nothing left?

        If you didn’t hate yourself, who would know to do so?

        And letting yourself off the hook, that’s not an option. There doesn’t get to be redemption, it’s not that easy.

        Presenting like a normal, whole person — it’s such a constant lie. Isn’t that reason enough for shame — hiding who and what you are, letting people believe otherwise.


      • The shame is not the sum total of who you are. It’s just NOT. It is taking up so much space that you’ve decided it’s who you are, but that’s a lie you were sold.


  24. I hear you, Laura. I guess it’s like how stuff that works for one kid doesn’t always work for the next. Also annoying. 🙂
    @moth2flame–we will all get there. We will walk each other home. Sending loving thoughts to you. ❤️

    Liked by 1 person

  25. I told my shrink that I had obviously done something, something…..of course it was MY fault. How else to explain that I was abused as a child by more than one man, including my own father?

    What are the chances of getting struck by lightning more than once, unless I was doing something to attract it?

    She said, “The reason you were struck by lightning more than once, is because your parents put you out in an open field, in the middle of an electrical storm, holding a metal rod. They never pulled you in out of the rain, taught you to do it yourself, nor even let you know you didn’t have to continue holding that rod if it didn’t feel good”.

    Liked by 1 person

  26. Thank you SO MUCH for this. For 20 years, I believed I was complicit in my abuse and filled with shame. When I finally came forward about what happened to me, my pastor assured me this was NOT my fault. I was so surprised and relieved. That was not the response I expected. However, it’s taking counseling and a lot of work for me to get out of the habit of blaming myself for it. And I don’t see these stories about abuse in the teen years hardly ever, so it’s easy to believe the lie that our stories aren’t valid. I wonder if it’s because of the extra burden of “responsibility” we bear makes us less likely to tell our stories.

    Liked by 2 people

    • It does. I hear it time and time again. Teen victims get sold the bill of goods that they are participants, and not victims. It is a lie, and it does EXACTLY what it is meant to do- keep kids silent.

      I’m so sorry that happened to you, and so glad you got the help you needed.

      Liked by 1 person

  27. Wow. A year later.

    Been working on this in therapy. Hard.

    I’ve been asked over and over what does the self hate protect me from?

    Think I finally figured out the answer.


    Not fear or shame — those I live with all the time. They’re just part of me. Part of my armor, really.

    But helplessness.

    If I’m equally to blame — well, sure, that’s drenched in shame. Of course it is.

    But if I’m not, then I was helpless and the idea of helplessness causes anger to rise in equal measure, and hate; and maybe that’s not fair, to hate her for being helpless — maybe that’s the next discussion in therapy —

    But there it is, that’s what it’s about. About not being helpless, ever, ever again.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I understand that. Powerlessness is terrifying. You are not that young girl anymore, though- and to continue to let shame hold you hostage is the ultimate white flag, isn’t it? You’re powerless in the face of self-loathing, self-judgment… Maybe consider that laying down that mantle of shame that WAS NEVER YOURS TO BEGIN WITH might be the ultimate reclamation of your power.

      Liked by 1 person

      • I know.

        It’s like I make these little mini-leaps (okay, very mini) and then my brain has to hurt for a while before I can absorb it.

        You’ve been a constant cheerleader, though. Thank you. ❤

        Sometimes it's hard to remember I'm not her, though.

        Don't get me wrong. I don't WANT to BE her. I hate her and push her away with everything I have…… but I think you're right, it's because I still am her in some fashion, and don't want to admit that. Urg, that made sense in my head, I swear.

        Liked by 1 person

      • She didn’t do anything wrong. Not one thing. I will keep banging that drum. It’s not fight or flight. It’s fight. flight or FREEZE. We do what we need to do to survive. You are here. Why do we use the word survive? Because not all of us do, friend. Maybe give her credit for making that possible.

        Liked by 1 person

  28. This was so hard to get through ny head. ‘But I was 18/19.’ ‘I got in his car and went with him.’ ‘I never said to stop doing it.’

    He targeted me and sought me out. He saw my neediness and circled and attacked. He very much was a predator, wrapped in the disguise of a loving pastoral figure, a friend, then a sort-of boyfriend – albeit one 17 years older than I.

    It took a while to break free of the shame and self-blame, but I did. It’s all on him.


  29. Laura thank you so much for putting into words that make sense to others who have no idea what REALLY happened. And how what happened continues to poison our adult existence. As I work to heal from the deep wounds of being sexually molested by very close family members, I see how the abuse infiltrates the entire family. I am also beginning to realize the exponential affect the abuse had on my life. I don’t think it will ever get easier to talk about the abuse with the help of Say It Survivor it gets lighter as other share my pain w me. My hope is my sharing may help someone else unlock a piece of their story and see a ray of sunshine in their future .

    Liked by 1 person

  30. This makes me so sad for the little kids we were before it was ripped away. We were already broken, which is why we were chosen – set up for pain and devastation from the very start, before the first hand was ever laid on our tiny selves.

    I think I’m still floating in the pool of the pitcher plant’s toxic nectar…. I’ve grown so tired trying to climb out on the slippery walls that I’m now just back floating in the toxic pool. Awaiting assigned fate by the plant. Every once in awhile, a warrior will throw me a rope to try and help me out, but it’s not quite long enough or gets stuck on the sticky wall or my slippery hands are just too tired to grab on tightly enough to be pulled out. Maybe tomorrow? Today though, back floating and reading and breathing. Just keep breathing.

    Small note of irony though: those plants are so beautiful. We can look so beautiful and right on the outside when every fiber of our insides is toxic and dying. Clever, Mother Nature. Real, real clever.


  31. Pingback: Luna | In Others' Words...

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: