Brave and crazy.....

The prompt is to speak about a blog that I wrote but was afraid to post or a blog that I was afraid to post but did it anyways. This is the post. I posted it. It is from last year but it is far from "so last year". Instead of discussing the hows and whys of the post and the distress I felt over posting it....I will just re-post it. Cheating the prompt...sort of.....

Today's prompt is about bravery. I need to consult my dictionary for a definition of that word. I use it a lot, like when I tell my girls that they are CBS....confident, brave and smart. When I saw the prompt, the first thing that came to mind is what I should write about. However, like most good prompts...another idea quickly followed. If I have any talent at all, I can combine my 2 acts of bravery into one blog post. Let's see.....

At 18 years old I survived, and escaped from, a 4 hour ordeal that included an attempted rape. I was very brave and kept it together so as not to further enrage my attacker. The scars left by this terrorist were emotional as well as physical. The perpetrator of this horror died about 10 years ago. He is for sure in hell.

Soon after this attack, I left home for life in a college dorm. 30 months later, I was brave again.

At 20 years of age, I walked into my mother's kitchen, slowly took my house key off of my key ring, calmly laid it on her kitchen table, looked her right in the eye and told her she would never see me again. Then I walked out the front door and never looked back. That was brave of me. It closed the book on years of emotional abuse. She is also dead. She died alone.

As unrelated as I wish these two acts of bravery were, I am sad to say they are inextricably linked. The person who victimized me was married to my mother. After my assault I begged her to leave him. Like so many times before this, she was too weak and not committed enough to her very own children to stand up for us. So one by one, we left her.

In one instance my bravery was a path to my very survival. In the other it was my path to freedom. I never thought I was going to die during my endless ordeal but I was dying, little by little, living under the same roof with those people.

Today, I am a mother. It is unfathomable to me that a mother could choose anyONE or anything over her own children. That a woman, who carried her own babies in her womb, could ever, at any point in life, stop protecting those babies.

If any person ever harms either one of my daughters... well, I do not need to say what I would be willing to do. My vigilance is completely justified. My dedication and commitment to their safety is unwavering. My love for them is staggering. I never received anything close to what I give to my girls. That only makes me want to give more.

I used to think you cannot give what you don't have. That may be true in some cases. Not in the case of love for your children. It is instinctual. The work comes in deciding to withhold or deny the love and care. My mother was nothing if not a worker.

Some will read this blog and not think both of my acts were brave. That is ok. Some will read this blog and feel badly for me. Please do not. It happened but it does not have anything to do with the person I am today. I healed the wounds and let the justice of the universe exact my revenge.

One day, if my girls have to tell a story about bravery in their lives, I hope it is a story about zip-lining. That shit is straight up scary.

 

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