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Ruth: "My husband molested my daughter and how didn't I know? What didn't I see until too late?

I saw my daughter, a young girl, acting like a sexed up older woman, swaying her hips and loading on make-up and I said "Honey, what's going on?" She EXPLODED ERUPTED pounded on me with bitterness "YOU KNOW! You have to KNOW! You bitch cunt whore YOU KNOW!"
Why didn't I know? I divorced him after three miserable months in my youth. We had shared custody but he never wanted to see her much until she matured. Is that what I should have seen right away? His agenda?
I'll take every bit of her rage and I'll see him in hell. My hatred is an aimed sword to cut to shreds any more lies. I have to know the extent of her suffering and my stupidity. How can this happen? How can a man molest his own child? Any child? Does this scream of pain ever go away?"

Kathleen: "My mom died when I was 14 and I became the "woman of the house" (quote dad). I cared for my brothers, cleaned, cooked, and did the "female" stuff mom did in our gender double-standard family (mom worked, too, but Dad never helped out). All this and school.

Dad made me feel really important and praised for stepping up. I felt like I'd become an adult. We starting drinking beer together after I put the boys to bed at night. He would put his arm around me and pet my hair while we watched TV. It made me feel valued. It also felt creepy, but I couldn't process that.

Gradually it was like I became Dad's wife. He looked at me as a partner, and started acting like a man not a father with me. When he got me to stay in the bedroom with him, I felt so many things that I didn't feel anything. Underneath I felt very scared and humiliated, and a kind of shame, but on top nothing seemed different.

Anyway so I thought. But my friends noticed I was different. They got that something was wrong, even if I was in denial. I didn't have friends to the house anymore, but one day my two best friends stopped by. I really don't know what they saw or sensed, but somehow they figured some of it out and got the rest out of me in a very stormy raging confrontation in which I acted like a shit.

I also finally cried my guts out and had to look at how horrible the situation with my father was.

Long story short, my father was arrested for molesting me and is now out on probation. I have been blessed to get help and counseling and don't hate myself so much anymore. I see I was a kid under the influence and what wrong was done. I'm going to go to college and eventually become a social worker, because people going through this need help and understanding."

Mi Corazon

I joined a Latina's woman's support two years ago and learned that like me, most of the women in the group had been molested by a family member. An uncle, father, grandfather, brother.

Latina women grow up under the shadow of Catholicism. Angel or whore. Good wife or loose woman. Within this mythic structure, men must worship or loath us, and themselves. And like priests who molest under unnatural strictures, they victimize the vulnerable, the ones they think will remain silent, afraid, confused. Ashamed. Loyal.

To fight incest is to fight the sex role binary and to stop causing people to be divided within, to accept sex as positive and not dirty and hidden, to shatter the family lies.

Women are strong when they are free from dark apartments and kitchens and bedrooms and poverty and low expectations and double standards. Silence is death.
Lucida, San Juan

What Its Like To Be Fucked By Dad
What its like to be a tiny scared boy who hides trembling under the sheets while a giant stands over him and can't do anything to stop him. What its like to have a huge dick shoved into your ass a red hot poker tearing you apart - by your dad your protector your god. What its like when people don't want to know something's wrong and you know they know. What its like to be alone and want to not exist and love your father and want him to die.

Fucking think about what your doing when you turn your back on a child.
Teddy, Australia

Zen: "It started with holding me on his lap and touching me too much, caressing my buttocks. It felt very upsetting and confusing for my father to touch me like that, because it wasn’t really affection or comfort…I was seven when he started coming into my bedroom late, after mum was in bed. He said we were “loving each other” and that we mustn’t tell mummy; it was a secret. I wanted daddy to love me, but it made me feel crushed and afraid and nauseated and vile. I cried and he liked that, he would “comfort me”.

I couldn’t stand for anyone, anyone to touch me for so many years after leaving home. I felt complicit in betraying my mother and corrupting my own soul. It was forever before I could truly accept that I was inexcusably exploited and manipulated by a person I      should     have    been     safe     with

Photo:  Gemahcastro
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