Previously Hidden Details

I never know how I stumble onto things on the internet. Well, it's probably a safe bet to say that tumblr made me do it. Usually it's really funny things that I find. Or things that are really useful. And then there's the awesomeness the internet provides. Or things that are from of Brazil. Important things, too. etc. etc. etc.


The one that I found yesterday isn't in quite the same vein, but it's caused me to think a lot about what I've posted on this blog and how I've posted it--well, better put, what I haven't explicitly said and why.

I found this link and some of the things said resonated with me:

"I kept it to myself because it was an embarrassing thing: I was bigger than she was." 

Because society does not widely recognize female-perpetrated sexual assault, women who experience it are less likely to call crisis lines or go to therapists immediately after the assault.

"I had never heard of women doing that, so it just didn't fit into my reality."

Yes to all of that. Part of the reason why I had wavered back and for about even putting anything on my blog about the molestation I suffered was because it was by another woman. I was bigger than she was. I was an adult, older than 17. In fact I was 21 and on my mission. The person that hurt me was my mission trainer. I was with her for a bit more than 4 months. Her work on getting me to the point that she could abuse me took little more than a transfer and started pretty much on my first day in the mission field.

It just wasn't in my reality that this could happen on a mission. You know, trust your trainer, she'll help you out, she'll teach you the ropes. She totally power tripped on this, I mean, obviously.


Another part from the website that I found had this statement to which I gave an AMEN:

If we are raped by a woman and are not lesbian or bisexual, we may fear that people will assume we are gay.

I was terrified of people thinking this of me, not because I find homosexuality wrong, but because then it would mean that I was complicit. Who would understand? I knew that I was straight. Was I just giving off a vibe and so she acted on it? For years I figured that it must've been that. It was my fault.

I'd already had had a person--a family member--start spreading a rumor saying that I was gay and he even decided to let people know who my mystical lesbian lover was. I've already had to come out as straight once. There's nothing like someone spreading rumors about your sexuality. It all played right into my fear. Obviously I give off that vibe. orrrrr maybe that person was just a selfish jerk (which I realize now). But this was not long after I had realized that I'd been abused. Talk about terrible timing.

It's taken me a long time to be able to post this aspect outright. I'd be lying if I didn't say that I still feel embarrassed about it here and there, that I don't think guiltily, "Well, I was bigger, I should've just pushed her off."

But abuse isn't like that. After she got transferred away from being my companion, she was in a neighboring city and we all went to the same stake center for district and zone meetings. She would corner me in the bathroom and get her quick fix. We would have to spend the night in the main zone city sometimes because of zone meetings or whatever reason. Those were her favorite nights. She'd make up for lost time.

I write this last bit to show that size and distance doesn't matter. When a victim is thrown back into a situation with an abuser, paralyzing fear takes over. I was always terrified that someone would walk into the bathroom, think that I was the instigator, that I'd get sent home. I thought that one of the other two or six sister missionaries would've figured it out and told. I'd get sent home from my mission. The shame and the sorrow. The one thing I wanted more than anything was to serve a mission.

She was transferred away from that area on my half-way point in the mission, the day before my 22nd birthday. Best birthday present ever. I spent the second half of my mission with the goal to serve faithfully, to make up for how I'd obviously blown it. Maybe the Lord would forgive me. Maybe he would be magnanimous enough to let me have the Spirit so that I could teach the people, the people that I loved so much. I love the Brazilians with every bit of my heart, one that they said was like totally not American, but was so completely Brazilian.

I left the mission thinking that I'd failed, that I hadn't done enough.

Now I know that I served a faithful mission. I served and fought thru so much, while believing every day that I was failing. I worked hard every day because I loved the Brazilians and I loved the happiness of the gospel. I knew that Christ loves us so much. My goal over the last months of my mission wasn't to baptize everyone, it was to make sure that each person I talked to felt lighter in their heart, that they knew that God loved them.

For so long I felt like she'd taken my mission away from me. But she never did because I worked every day. I worked every blasted day as much as I could. I will not give up.