Loving despite hurt

When I tell what happened to me, people always ask why I didn’t tell anyone.  I hate that question because if they were really listening, they would know.  I did tell someone.  I told the people that it should have mattered most to-my parents. I only told two others: my best friend and a co-worker.

When I was 17, I got a job working at a fast food place.  there was a 30 year old man there that befriended me.  I told him about my abuse. He was so angry and I was happy that someone cared. Well, he jumped and started sexting me.  One night he convinced me to sneak out and I did.  Saying “no” didn’t matter then.

My parents found out I “had sex” with him and went crazy.  However, instead of asking my side of the story, they just went with their print out of the text messages.  Yet again they didn’t listen to me.

When I told them of the abuse, they just swept it under the rug with my “indiscretion”. That is what they called it.  However, they readily forgave BOTH of the men that raped me.  Both men were married and both had kids.  My parents kept throwing my “old bones” back in my face while in my heart I was asking what about them?

When my dad would read the news, he would read me articles of young girls being raped.  He would express disgust and share the article with my mom.  Both would say that the men that did that needed to be lined up and shot.  All the while, I was asking what about me?

Rather than make my main abuser take responsibility, they readily offered the that wolf forgiveness and treated me like the black sheep.  My mother relayed a conversation she had with him to me.  This is what he said, “I am so sorry.  I couldn’t help myself something come over me and I don’t know why I did it.” He was so easily forgiven because he prayed with my mom and promised to never do it again.

The same promise he gave me every time he violated me.  Every time he would apologize to me and repent.  I was taught that if someone apologizes and repents you have to forgive them.  Once you did that you could never bring it up again.

Apparently my parents didn’t care that this man hurt me as long as his soul was fixed it was OK with them to do what ever he wanted to me as long as he prayed for forgiveness.  What about the wolf in sheep’s clothing that was a Sunday School teacher?  My parents are allowing him to be around little children every single day.

What about me?  What about my soul?  What about the sadness so deep inside me?  What about the trauma he put me through?  I was 13 when he started, I trusted him and he was my friend. My pain didn’t matter to them.

I once asked my mom to take me to a therapist.  I was having suicidal thoughts due to the fact I was forced to keep this secret.  This is what my mother said to me.

“Morgan, you can’t do that because he will go to jail.” This is what my loving mother who adopted me said.

So, rather than my mother helping me feel like a person.  She chose to let the blister of rejection fester into an infection.

How can parents look at a child, their child, and not reach out to help?  Some times I ask myself the what if questions.  What if someone cared?  What if he did go to jail? What if I had gotten pregnant?

Then one by one I answer with God cared.  God saw what was done to me.  My mom always told me what was done in the dark will come to light.  I know God will bring it to light.

Once I realized in my heart that my God was there for me.  I had peace I could let go and let God have control.  People always joke “Jesus take the wheel.” But we want to be backseat drivers when we don’t know the destination.  I had control for years, but I kept falling down the rabbit hole of despair.  Giving control of my anger felt light shining in the deepest recesses of darkened soul.

God didn’t want me to be hurt.  God gave free will and some people choose to use that free will to hurt others.  Well, I am using my free will to help others rather than leaving a path of carnage in my wake  I choose to love because it isn’t time that heals wounds, it is love.



  1. We had abuse in our house when we adopted older kids who had been abused horribly themselves. They continued the cycle. When we found out, as parents we were devastated. We asked our kids why they didn’t speak up sooner. Aside from the pressure that the abusers put on them, there was a problem of vocabulary. One of our sons who was 5 at the time talked about the abuser being “mean” to him. In his view that was telling us. When we didn’t deal with it, he decided that telling didn’t work and the abuse went on for months longer.

    Fortunately, everyone is doing better. The abusers were just kids themselves and had horrific childhoods. They are now older teens who are in foster care and responding to treatment. The victims in our home lost something they will NEVER get back. But, we know have very open discussions about what is abuse.

    Thanks for sharing your story. Hopefully, you’re getting the help to be better.


    • I wish my parents had the common sense to help me, but they cared more about appearances. I am in therapy; I have PTSD, anxiety, and etc. The type of therapy is Trauma Resolution. Basically, it allows my subconscious to realize I am not being hurt anymore. It isn’t hypnotherapy. I just write what happened to me in a certain format and read it. It really helps. I think if my parents had been willing to talk about how I felt, I wouldn’t hurt so bad now.


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