Choosing to Forgive

For years, I thought it was my fault. That I did something wrong. That somehow I had invited his adult lips to touch mine. Or that I had unwittingly enticed his grown man’s hands to explore my no-no place. I was only 10 years of age after all. What did I know of the art of seduction? Clearly, I had stumbled across some universal signal to adult men that sexual touching was welcome.

Or that’s what I thought afterwards…when it was all over and I was left to contemplate the violation that had occurred. And his warning to keep silent about it. He didn’t have to warn me though. I didn’t want to talk about it. What would I have said? How could I have described what happened? And my role in it? So I just sat wondering how I got there.

Unlike so many others with similar experiences, mine only occurred the one time. There was no repeat. Thank God. But the truth is, there did not need to be a repeat occurrence for me to feel like a prisoner in my own home…for me to feel like it would happen again…for me to wonder if I was inadvertently giving off the wrong signals to other adult males.

I felt unsafe. Unprotected. I felt wrong.

Years later, I found myself in the position of having to advocate for my offender and violator in a court of law. Again, I wondered how I ended up in that position. But I did know. He was family. A close relative. And in that moment, my family obligation trumped my childhood trauma. Besides, the other members of the family didn’t know of his violation. They only knew of his legal troubles and that I was a licensed attorney who could help.

So I did. With too wet eyes, I spoke glowingly of the man who had taken my innocence. I begged for his release from jail. I told the Court that he was a good person and deserved a second chance. All the while biting the inside of my lip to keep the tears from spilling down my cheeks.

It worked. And my violator tried to thank me, but when I looked him in the face for the first time in over 25 years, he saw my eyes and knew he should keep silent.  I walked out of that courtroom and cried.

So yeah, I didn’t watch the R. Kelly documentary on Lifetime. I couldn’t. The subject matter was a little too familiar. And I am working on the inconvenience of forgiveness in this season of my life.

Forgiveness is not something my violator has ever sought. I’m not sure I care. I am choosing to forgive because the 10-year-old version of me deserves better. She deserves to have grown into a strong woman, who can lift her head and handle her business. Most days that is who I am…but every once in a while, I remember my 10-year-old self and I weep for her.