Oracle 20/20, Atlanta, GA 2002

I read a book by Dave Pelzer named, "A Child Called It."  This book is about child abuse, the story of one brave little boy named Dave. In reading Dave’s story, I realized that I had only seen glimmers of my childhood.  

My memory was a blur with only some things that happened during the special events in my life. Nothing unimportant, like the day-to-day events of sitting around the table eating dinner with family or hanging out with my friends. As I read, I'd get flashes of memories, sharing moments put aside. I've forgotten a lot of my early years and reading "A Child Called It," I realized that "it," was me. And I had an awful lot to discover... about myself. Mainly, who "I AM."

 This book touched the core of my feelings because I knew "Its" pain, his shame at what he must have done that was so bad. To share those same feelings of humiliation and hurt, trying to run away from something that is so much bigger than I by trying to escape the feelings that I held onto to so tightly. Hoping that there would be a day when I was strong enough to face my deepest fear, the hidden secrets locked safely within the dark abyss of my psyche. No matter how far I run, it always catches up. Always.  

As I read about the emotional and physical abuse Dave went through, I cry for Dave; crying for the boy who was so badly bruised and battered. But it wasn’t about the bruises on his body as much as the bruises that were left on Dave's soul that touched my own soul deeply. As the tears flow, my mind wanders, remembering the abuse from my father and my downward path of hurt and shame.

Turning the pages, I read about David’s first placement into a foster home. As he sits in the back of the police car driving him away from his past, away from his mother, I breathe a sigh of relief. In the story, he begins to cry, but this time savoring the taste of the salt on his cheek from his tears; tears that are not from sadness or pain. It is the taste of tears of joy as David savors the bittersweet taste of freedom. My own tears slowly moisten and build, as I begin to release many more just like that one, all remnants of my pain. Tasting my own salty cheek, knowing that I, too, found freedom through the courage and liberation I have found in myself.   

I fidget with my hands, needing to pause from reading, to assimilate everything that I felt at this moment. There is hope and joy, yet this deep sadness because I felt like I was missing something, something I was cheated out of.

I felt anger at the one who was supposed to be there, to protect and guide. I was angry at his misuse of power and authority, infuriated by the recurring dreams that haunted my sleep.  

I was the child, the innocent. I wanted the innocence taken. How dare they, I cried. Did they realize how much I wanted affection and love? Not from others, but from myself. Being jealous of those who had relationships since I had no idea of what it meant to love, and an even greater fear of opening up. My experience taught me that "those" words meant pain and I thought "Love means never having to say you are sorry."  

What I mourned wasn’t just the innocence of a young girl, it was innocence lost until I was strong enough to reclaim what was too painful to allow. The rage was merely hiding my beauty. Shame kept me in a prison for many years, hoping he would apologize, so I could then heal and forgive. And let go of carrying the burdens. 

It was time for me to let go. Until I released the truth, I was still living in that painful illusion. By exploring grief, I found the power in my feelings. I knew at that moment something profound. I realized that love is not painful and that love was every emotion I felt at this very moment, but for myself. And it was time to reclaim all that I was, all that I am now, and begin this journey on all that I will be.

Through many tears cried into my pillow, I found release. Rage became peace. Life calmed. I noticed a brightness that I could not only see, I could feel. Though the pain was present, I was now able to grasp so much more than pain. I found my strength, through the truth among the pain and anger through the successes and failures, the likes and dislikes. I recognized that I am a loving and kind person and it was safe to truly open my heart in a way that is joyous. And I liked who I am. No, I could actually say that I Love who I am. And the discovery was that I too, could Love, beginning with myself.

Everything seemed to fall right into place; and for the first time in my life, I knew that I was finally home.