It Wasn’t Your Fault…

It Wasn’t Your Fault…

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So, how does an educated well spoken hard working black woman begin to dissect her turmoil filled life in the judgmental society we live in? How does she begin to engage in a conversation with her peers, let alone with those whom can not come to grips with understanding her experiences. Having been through and surviving so much in her past, she carries the weight on her shoulders like that of a feather. Her strength sometimes causes her to appear invincible; consequently many are unable to see or appreciate her vulnerability. Imagine being a seven year old little girl, who is full of life, love and knowledge, who gets placed into a foster home after her mother had a mental break down outside in the street. The emotional trauma has a great effect on her life. Unfortunately, no one knew the time in the foster home added insult to her injuries, because she is now in a situation where she was molested. How does her young mind handle this type of stress? A seven year old left alone to deal with these unexplainable adult events that have taken place. I am all too familiar with this story. Why? Because I am her; that little girl was me. There came a point in my life where I found myself in situations I could never utter words about. The extreme hurt, pain, the blood, and embarrassment was unquestionably devastating. I was a young girl who never understood in my immature mind what would make someone take the only thing that belonged to me away. This was the only thing that was sacred. It was the one thing I possessed that God made for me to share with the man He created especially for me. Unfortunately, it was stolen from me early in my childhood. Why did you do this? Was it intentional? Did you hate me? Were you trying to control me? I want you to know that you hurt me, and you took away my ability to choose.

If they knew from the beginning how resilient I was, maybe they would have stayed away from me. They would have known that this experience would eventually teach me instead of destroy me. It would build me up and enable me to turn a tragedy into triumph. It taught me how to love my enemy, and to dig even deeper to learn the true virtue of forgiveness. I lived with the truth of who I really was, yet pretended for my family and friends while it put me in an emotional war zone that I entered day in and day out. It was not something that easily went away. My focus soon became wondering if I would walk into a situation where I’d have to defend my integrity again.

Many of us who have experienced this type of trauma in our lives tend to feel that we in fact did something to cause the event to take place. When the truth of the matter is, abusers usually act out that which was most likely done to them. We have all heard the saying “hurt people hurt people.” Is this a way to make excuses for them? No, but I look at myself and all the hurt I carried inside even into my adulthood. Decades of memories that haunted me. Stolen hours, days, and weeks of my childhood that would eventually evaporate in seconds, because I could not bear the moments of recollection. We must first learn to forgive ourselves. We have not done anything wrong! It is not our fault. We then can go to the Lord and seek His face for wisdom, guidance, and understanding to help assist the releasing from the pain. It will eventually lead us into a true sense of unadulterated forgiveness towards the one or ones who hurt us. Trust the process. It will take some time to heal; however, it will be a beautiful experience. If they only  knew that although I could not verbally speak, I found my voice through writing and journaling. It became the greatest escape one could have introduced me to. He has no idea that shameful experience caused me to find my creative voice. It caused me to reach out to God and it gave me hope. The horror from dealing with the inappropriate was changed from suppressed hurt, anger, and detachment into pages and pages of words unspoken.  I was insecure and did not trust anyone.  So writing in my journal and praying my pain away was my only means of survival.  My journal was my voice.  Inadvertently, it was the only shoulder I could lean on.  Sometimes I would write, then tear out the pages, and rip them up into tiny pieces. Shortly thereafter, I began writing poetry. It had such therapeutic benefits, because it provided a safe environment for me vent and be free. I began to trust my thoughts to my paper. Slowly, my shell wasn’t as hard, and became motivated to change. My healing was personal. Moving forward to become happy again was my desire. I was not going to allow this to define me and stop me from growing.

This should never have happened. Not by a stranger, or by anyone we know. No one deserves to be on the receiving end of this. Each time I was approached and touched by another “him,” I began to accept it as my fate. I was the silent poster child for sexual abuse. No one knew and I had no one to turn to.  I wish he knew how he contributed to me being more aware as a parent. I cannot imagine my daughter coming to me with stories about any of what I experienced as a child or teen. So, I kept my ears and eyes open enough to understand that things happen in life, and you must be aware and always on guard.  I wish they knew how serious it is to raise children, and be afraid that someone is manipulating them or taking their kindness for weakness. Or, how important trust is, because to lose the ability to trust at such an early age, you tend to live life impulsively.

So on behalf of the little girl in me, with whom I have attempted to protect and keep safe without knowing she no longer exists, I now set her free. Releasing her through these words that I now share in an attempt to bring reconciliation not only to myself, but to numerous little girls within the hearts of the generation of young and grown women who will read this and understand the pain I felt… and am feeling as we all know we never forget. My heart empathizes with you who have walked in these shoes of sexual desolation. Recognize the key factor is you survived and was not broken to the point of no return.  My experience brought about a genuine desire for transparency, made me passionate about myself, and those of you who continue to hurt. I compel you to believe God for your deliverance. No matter who the abuser is or was, together we can get up and regain control of our lives.

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Accomplished Author, Writer, and Poet, Freda Camille from Delaware and New Jersey, beautifully pens her life testimony through lyrics and verse in her poetry book The Storms Caused My Faith. This work was self-published in 2004. In collaboration with co-authors of “Things I Wish He Knew,” Freda becomes transparent and vividly reveals a traumatic event that took place in her life that could have ultimately prevented the maturation of the amazing and successful woman she has become.

Freda Camille has been writing for over 28 years. Freda works as a Licensed Practical Nurse in pediatrician’s office, and is a Youth Leader at New Destiny Fellowship Church, Wilmington, Delaware. She has mentored young ladies in her community, and has spoken at treatment facilities in PA, NJ, and youth programs in DE. She used these moments to become transparent and share her testimony about the various adversities she has overcome in her life such as: molestation, teenage pregnancy, depression, and was her mother’s care taker due to mental illness.

The writings in each of her books provide a safe environment allowing the reader to connect, identify, and work through experiences which were suppressed. She wants you to know and see that you can get through it, you can heal, and things will get better. Freda has also appeared as a supporting actress in an independent film “Found.”

You can contact Author Freda Camille through her website and social media platforms.