too good to be true.

Sometimes there are days when I look at my life and the life of my children and ask myself, "Is this really my family? Did I make them, and raise them, and are they really that great?" Am I actually keeping it together after 18 and a half years? Does my husband really, stilllllll love me that much?"

No one is hurting them, or me physically or mentally. No one is damaging their self esteem. No one is wanting to run away, do drugs, drink, or even smoke. No one is harming themselves physically or inflicting any kind of pain on themselves, and although there may be tears...they are the kind that can be healed with a talk, a hug, a kiss, an "I'm sorry" or even a prayer.

What I have now, and how I'm raising my children is nothing compared to how I was raised and lived as a child.

They have a father who stays for better, and worse. Through the good times and the bad. One who heals, and loves...not hurts, or makes afraid.

Me...I've had several father figures in my life, and the one who practically raised me was the one that hurt me. He deceived me with the wrong kind of affection. One that would damage me throughout my youth, and even after I joined the LDS church. Those were the hardest years of my young life.

Although I feel that I overshare my personal life on this blog there are things that I'd rather not get into much detail, but here's a little bit of my molestation story, and why I sometimes feel that my life is too good to be true.

*****

my beautiful sis and me, circa-1982

This picture sure brings back a lot of memories. Memories of my sweet grandfather calling me "rosona feona"(which means ugly rose in spanish) Sounds so much prettier said in spanish than English huh? Luckily I was a resilient child and that those words never hurt! I sure loved my grandpa. RIP in grandpa.

Here he is in the background of this picture, and I honestly can't remember this picture being taken. All I remember by looking at this photo is what was hidden behind that smile. A child who was being hurt both physically and emotionally. And even though I'd giggle when my grandpa would call me "rosona feona" underneath those giggles was a lot of pain, confusion, and a lot of heartache. 

I am a victim of child molestation, and I have been wanting to share my story for quite some time. About a year ago I wrote this massive, thorough post about how it all began, and when it finally stopped. As I was about to add more touches to my post I decided to revamp it a little & then I accidentally deleted it. Blogger wasn't being very kind to me that day, and the post was irretrievable. I'm actually glad it was deleted because there was too much sadness in that post, and way too much detail. Maybe someday I'll share it with you in a book, but for now what you get is what you're going to read. 

I was a scared 10 year old little girl who had no clue what to do. Since my real father abandoned me when I was five, I wasn't sure if the love that my stepdad was showing me was the 'right kind'. Because my own mother didn't believe me I didn't feel the need to go to a teacher. Then again my stepdad told me to never tell because if I did he said that my mother would give me away, among other things. 

Being that it was a member in my family was shocking. I loved, and trusted this man as if he was my own father. I honestly don't know what triggered him to do such a thing then, but now that I'm older I have looked back and realized what could have caused him to do it. 

I feel comfortable telling a little bit of my story because my step-father has been deceased now for 16 years.  

Out of all the people in the world I couldn't believe this was happening to me because I always considered myself an ugly duckling. I mean look at me. I didn't have the Farrah Fawcett hair like my sister did, the trendy clothes, and I certainly was not the popular girl in school. I was thin, had bushy, curly hair, and dark skin. I got made fun of so much it wasn't even funny, and that sure didn't help with the situation that was going on in my personal life. 

Little by little memories of that time are coming back. Repressed memories can be a blessing and they sure have helped me learn how to deal with all that I endured as a young child. 

What happened to me was terrible, and I wouldn't want to wish it on anyone. Just know that if you've ever been a victim of child molestation, or any kind of sexual abuse know that you are not alone, or if someone is hurting you or touching you in a way that makes you feel uncomfortable, and you hear that still voice telling you that it's not right...don't ignore it, and please seek an adult. 

Generations are changing and it seems like a lot of the kids today are strong willed. I am a survivor, and if I can heal from this so can you. 

I have learned a lot from this life experience, and I have shared my story with a few close friends. I've certainly grown a lot from this situation, and even forgave my stepfather for what he did before he passed away in 1998.

I give thanks to God for sparing me, and for helping me through every slip up I have done in my life.

He has given me a great husband. He has helped me, and guided me through every situation that seemed unfathomable to overcome. He never gave up on me. I know that He was rooting for me on the other side of heaven, and that He is now clapping His Heavenly hands for enduring such heartache then, and for trusting me to be raising His children now. 

Is my life too good to be true? On some days it is, and this past week, I've had many of them. 

Still...there are days when I want to pinch myself so hard so that I can wake up & say to myself, "Is this life real?" Do I really have a life that is good? Do I really have a foundation for my children in which I continue to hope they will stand firm in? Do they really have this wonderful, father who will always love them, and not harm them in any way?" Or is this all a dream?"

Indeed I do, and it's not a dream.

"Scars reminds us of where we've been. They don't have to dictate where we're going." 

~Domenico Estrada