Ok people, listen up. A lot of you know me as a lot of things. A haphazard cook, a sarcastic commentator, a Twitter addict. Today I’m speaking to you as something else: A survivor.

Image credit: David Garzon

It’s taken me a long time to write this post. I’ve started it several times and deleted it, not wanting to come out and be “that girl.” That girl who was abused. That girl who was helpless. That girl who you feel sorry for. I talked at length with the fiance today about the negatives versus the positives of telling my story and it came down to this: I don’t want people to treat me differently. I hate that in the past I’ve been handled with kid gloves by people who know what I’ve been through. But in light of the recent Chelsea King murder, I also understand the power of information. And I feel that the “positives” of my story could be life-changing. Maybe life-saving.

Seventeen year-old Chelsea King went for a jog a little while ago in the hills of Rancho Bernardo, and she never came home. I know the area well; I pass by the lake where she was murdered every day on my way to work. I saw the news choppers and vans the day they found her body and I knew what must have been discovered. I pictured her last moments. I called it “disgusting” and terribly, painfully, “preventable.” I feel sick, I feel sad, angry and worried – I feel all the normal reactions to her horrific death. And then I feel something I can’t describe. Something personal. I see her murderer’s face on television and I feel regret. I feel a tightening in my throat because every time I hear a sickening story like this, I see the face of my own attacker and I know that could have been me.

From age three to age twelve, I was molested daily by a close family member. I was raped, I was beaten and I was discarded. I was made to believe that I was crazy, that it was my fault, that I deserved nothing better. I knew that it made me feel bad. I knew I wanted it to stop. But I also knew that he was my family member and that everyone trusted him. The very few times I did threaten to complain to my mom, he said that I would ruin the family, that without him we’d all live on the streets and go to hell and suffer from the “horrible, ridiculous leach” that I was. I understand now that it isn’t an entirely logical argument, but I was eight or nine and I believed him, so I didn’t say anything until I was 16 years old – long after a divorce had already split him from the family.

What does this have to do with Chelsea King? Actually not a whole lot, except that her murder has sparked a movement to warn children and inform them of the danger in this world. I’ve read, discussed, and heard a ton of thoughts on the topic. Children MUST to be protected. Your children need to know what’s out there. But please, I beg you to warn them of the risks that are everywhere. Not only among strangers. People they love – people you love – can do this too. The signs are usually there, but child molesters are excellent actors. They’re charming and they seem trustworthy. They’re your neighbor, they’re your soccer coach, they’re your real estate agent and fellow church congregator. Mine was all of these things.

You need to have an absolutely honest and blunt conversation with your children about boundaries and about what is right and what is wrong, whether it’s between a friend, a family member, a teacher or a stranger. It’s uncomfortable and it can be awkward and scary. But five minutes of awkwardness can save a lifetime of regret. Please keep an open line of communication with your children. And if you need any specific tips on how to broach the topic in your particular situation, just shoot me an email at somedayilllearn [at] gmail [dot] com. I’d be glad to help.