My Story Part 7 – Time to Tell My Sons?
It isn’t easy speaking up and telling someone when you have been assaulted, especially family. The question is not, to speak or not to speak. The question is who do you speak to, who do you tell? Who can you trust? Where is your safe place? Who do you tell about this horrible, embarrassing thing that happened to you?
My greatest concern was my sons. How do I tell my sons? Do I need to tell my sons? My sons are adults. If they were younger, I would have waited or never told them. Because I was pursuing charges, I wanted to tell them before they heard it from someone else. The case was going public eventually. Three weeks after the assault my sons came home at my request.
Sons Come Home
My sons came home from out of town. I called my best friend and asked her if her husband and she could come over when I tell them what happen. I wanted her husband to be there for them, be a contact, a support for them. They knew what happened to me. She said yes. My boys came in too late for me to talk with them that evening. I will talk with them tomorrow after breakfast. My friends had a prior commitment that morning, so it was just me, but I’m good.
My sons’ pseudo names are Houston and San Antonio. Houston came in first. He looked so handsome and dapper in his suit. He just came from a wedding. We sat and talked on the sofa while he ate. San Antonio came in about 45 minutes later. Houston and I heard the car music. I told Houston “That is your brother coming. I know his sound from all others just like I knew your sound when I heard you coming”. San Antonio and Houston greeted each other in their usual way with a robust greeting. I was standing in the kitchen, and I laughed so as I heard them greeting each other. Oh, it blessed me so to hear their voices and have my sons home in spite of the reason. Their greeting just lit up my spirit. San Antonio came and gave me a big hug. I felt so small as he hugged me. He seemed bigger than I remembered. I told the boys we will talk tomorrow because I was tired. San Antonio ate, and I went to bed.
The next morning, I woke early, went into the kitchen, and began making a homemade hungry men’s breakfast. When my sons got up, we all sat at the dining room table for breakfast. One of my sons said grace and we ate. After we finished breakfast, I nervously began to tell them what happened. I was concerned about what their reaction would be, especially Houston. If I could have found a way to avoid the conversation I would have.
Even as I write this blog it concerns me. Is it always necessary to tell what happened? It depends on who you tell and why you tell, but for your own sanity and peace you should tell someone. But where do you draw the line in telling someone you were sexually assaulted?
I told my sons on that Saturday morning. Their reactions were very different but in the end they came together. They had my back. That Sunday morning unbeknown to me they came to my church and sat 5 or 6 rows behind me. They were watching me. At the end of service, they walked up to the front near where I was sitting. I was shocked to see them. They were stately and confident in appearance, insisting on talking to top leadership. After privately meeting with top leadership, they met me in the sanctuary, and we left. They had my back. I was so proud and relieved. It was good to tell my sons.
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