In a Hello Kitty journal I shared my secrets. Tormented at the tender age of eleven I wrote my first poem to express a truth I wouldn’t be able to grasp for decades to come.

Living in a world unknown,

I’m scared to think it could be shown.

In this world I hear voices

Telling me to make choices,

Choices that should never be thought of.

For the rest of my life

I will have to run and hide

From this world unknown.

I am a survivor of abuse. I did not know it when I wrote this poem yet I was clearly insightful for a 5^th grader. I wanted to run from this ‘world unknown’ but instead I listened to the voices of abuse.

Worthlessness was the loudest.

Shame crept in the shadows and whispered reminders that led to insecurity and weakness.

Hurt, pain, and rage shouted out loud in moments when I felt the most out of control,

while selfishness, desire and regret quarreled in the background.

Why did it take twenty years to talk about the abuse? Because it’s ugly.

It wasn’t until I sat in front of a marriage counselor and heard “I feel like I’m the predator,” from my husband, Neal, that I realized how abuse infiltrated my life – our life.

God’s redeeming grace has set us free to love unselfishly and silence the voices of past abuse in our lives. I retell our journey not so others can be voyeurs in our most intimate, and somewhat shameful, moments but to silence the snarling legacy of abuse.

“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name: You are mine.”

Isaiah 43:1

BE MY PROTECTOR

The LORD God said, “It is not good for the man to be alone.

I will make a helper suitable for him.” Genesis 2:18

Debonair in his crisp, black tux, freshly shaven face, and piercing blue eyes, my father leaned over and asked, “Are you ready?”

Holding an elegant arrangement of calla lilies in my left hand, I linked my right hand through the crook of Dad’s arm and gripped the crisp tuxedo sleeve. I looked at his silver hair and felt ten again, holding his hand as we spent a day being buddies. Collecting rent from the college students who lived in the houses he owned near the university, visiting his friend’s junk yard, and eating the juiciest hamburger in town. Not really the way a young girl would choose to spend her day, except for the part about spending it with the man she loved most.

“I love you, Dad.” I didn’t answer his question. I couldn’t. I wasn’t certain I was ready and if I said anything at all it might be a lie and I didn’t want to start my future out with a lie.

There I stood in the dress my dreams inspired. Pearl white silk, delicate stitching along the hem and mirrored above, along the top of the sleeveless bodice. The cathedral train spread out behind me, the doors to my future ready to open. Yet I trembled.

For once in his life, Dad was at a loss for words. He leaned down to kiss me on the cheek as the wedding march began.

“Ready?” The wedding coordinator nodded at her assistant to help and they opened the doors wide to reveal 350 expectant faces turned in my direction.

All eyes were on me but mine focused on Neal. His dark brown hair perfectly groomed, a smile started at one corner and then spread from ear to ear, lighting up his brown eyes, offering acceptance and patience despite all my flaws.

This is it. This is for life. Am I ready? “No,” the answer came fleetingly like a minuscule breeze from butterfly’s wings as it fluttered by and out of view. I love him and that is all that matters. I focused on the man chose to love me regardless of my brokenness and scarred past.

###

We were meant to be. I knew this from the moment he asked for my number, scribbling it on a bar napkin in the crowded club, neon lights blinked and buzzed to life at closing time. He was nothing like the Neanderthal jocks who had taken advantage of me over the past three years. He was a few inches taller than my 5’ 7” frame; average in height, his lean and muscular body reminded me of Ralph Maccio from the original Karate Kid movie. He even had a sense of humor. Earlier in the evening we danced nose - to - nose on the cramped dance floor. Gyrating his hips like a Chippendale, he shouted in my ear, “I’m a male dancer!” We laughed and remained side by side as he continued to dance like a newborn doe trying to find its legs.

The next day he called to ask me out on a date. I hadn’t dated in almost a year. I knew I couldn’t hide from men forever and I tried to accept dates from other men but the voice of shame from the rape kept me insecure. I doubted a man would be interested in me and accept me for who I was, along with my eighteen wheeler of loaded baggage. Sharing the details of my past with other men made me uncomfortable even though what had happened was plastered about the university the year before. Typical with scandal the flame was quick to ignite but soon died out. It was unsure who would know what and I didn’t have the courage to find out.

On our first date Neal and I met for an Italian dinner and the movie So I Married an Axe Murderer. After the movie Neal walked me to my apartment and then leaned in to give me a hug instead of the kiss I expected. “I’ll call you later.” And then he left.

Elated and yet confused, I shut the door wondering if I’d done something wrong. Or perhaps he was one of the first real gentlemen I’d ever met. The only gentleman I knew in high school had passed away tragically in a car accident and only as I dealt with the magnitude of the loss did I realize the gift Matt was in my life.

My typical experience with men was quite the opposite. They promised love and devotion and when I wouldn’t give them sex they took it, at times by violent and inhumane means, and left me silenced by insignificance and un-worth. I’d expected nothing more, nothing less, from Neal.

My roommates weren’t home to sit and ponder Neal’s every word and behavior so I got ready for bed. Two seconds after my head hit the pillow, the phone rang.

“Hey.” A deep, calm voice came through the line.

My pulse raced. It was Neal. “Hi,” I whispered, not wanting to pierce the darkness in my room with a loud voice.

“I wanted to tell you I had a good time tonight.”

For a brief second I thought I’d imagined what he said. I sat up in the bed and held the phone tighter to my ear. “I had a great time too, thank you,” my voice still a whisper.

Neal talked. He asked me questions about what I was studying at school, my friends, my family. We stayed on the phone for a few hours, finding out we had more in common than we imagined coming from separate backgrounds. It wasn’t a deep conversation but it was obvious we didn’t want to let the other go. It felt comfortable with him, like a security blanket from long ago.

When we hung up, I thought about all the things left unsaid. Did he know about the rape trial? Did he believe what happened? Memories of the year-long battle against the star player of the University’s football team (and VP of his fraternity) squelched the safety I felt from our conversation. In a matter of minutes I listened to the wrong voice. I let in lies and convinced myself I was not worthy of a man like Neal.

I closed my eyes. The healing wound ripped open and the glimmer of happiness escaped. The reconciliation I’d experienced a few months before meeting Neal brought me back into God’s healing fold, but I was still vulnerable to the enemy’s attack of unworthiness.

Despite my self-inflicted dose of insecurity, Neal called the next day. It was between semesters and neither of us had anything to do besides work. I lived in an apartment with three other girls who happened to be out of town for the weekend despite my fear of being alone with a man I asked him to come over for the afternoon and watch a movie.

I was nervous to see him in the light of day. So far we had only seen each other at night. Would my flaws show? Not just the pimple on my chin but the inner scars that remained scabbed and healing. When I opened the door and saw him standing before me, my nerves tingled. “Hi.” I let him in and my mind immediately went to the negative. He’s not going to like me. What if he’s like the others?

“This is a nice place. We have five guys in our house and you can’t sit on the couch because of the trash.” He sat down and looked like he belonged.

I fluttered around the apartment too nervous to sit next to him, unsure where to sit, beside him or on the other couch?

He didn’t seem to notice. “What movies do you have?”

The movies were in my death grip. “Oh,” my cheeks burned, “we only have drama and, you know, girly movies. Maybe we should go rent one?” I unclenched my fingers from the movies and held them out to him.

“Let’s see.” He read them out loud. “Sixteen Candles, good one. Breakfast Club, classic. And Steel Magnolias, sad.” He looked up at me with a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Eat my shorts…what was that? Eat…my…shorts. Who can pass up Breakfast Club?”

We laughed and my nerves calmed. Once the movie was in the player I sat beside him on the couch. He held my hand and never made a move for anything other than to eat popcorn or take off his shoes. I was accustomed to seeing the first five minutes of a movie and then battling roaming hands until the credits rolled.

Throughout the movie we laughed and joked at times bringing up a memory of a moment when we’d watched the movie before or how the characters related to us or our friends. I didn’t want it to end.

“I sometimes forget how funny that movie is,” I said. We remained on the couch with our fingers interlocked. “I wish you could stay all day and I didn’t have to work.”

“What time do you have to go?”

I looked at my watch and panicked. I’d lost track of the time. “In half an hour and I still need to get ready and go by the store to pick up Band Aids for the blisters on my heels. I used the last of what we had yesterday. My shoes kill me and I have to walk the campus all day.”

“Let me do that for you.” He got off the couch and pulled me up with him. “I’ll go to the gas station down the street while you get ready for work.”

“Are you sure?” I had never had any man go out of his way to do something as simple as get me bandages.

“Where are your keys?”

“Thank you,” I grabbed my keys off the counter and threw them in his direction.

When he returned he knocked on the door.

“You don’t have to knock. It’s only me here.”

“Well, I wanted to make sure you were decent.” He walked past me and put the box of bandages on the kitchen counter. “Oh and I filled your car up with gas, you were empty. I wasn’t sure how far you’d get.”

“Really?” I didn’t know what to do or say. I was not used to the boys I dated caring for me in this way. I felt my heart grow with admiration.

“Yes, ‘really’, it’s no big deal. Call me when you get off of work.” We hugged and he left. No kiss. Just a hug from a gentleman.

Later that night I called. “We have our last orientation group coming in next week so we had to get all of their name tags and stuff done. I didn’t realize we would be this late.”

“It’s okay. What are you doing now? Can I come over?”

“Sure.” My heart pounded with excitement and anxiety. I wanted to see him again but what if he expected more from me than I was ready to give?

The second he entered the apartment I knew my apprehension was foolish.

“It’s nice out.” He hugged me and headed to the balcony doors. “Let’s sit outside.”

The balcony was small with two plastic chairs facing the parking lot. We sat and stared up at the starry sky, talking for hours. Not looking directly at him made it easier to venture into areas that were more private. Turns out we had similar stories to share about our siblings. I’d never met someone else who could share the pain I felt as I watched my sister make destructive choice after choice. Drugs mainly. Neal knew more than I the pain of watching a loved one squander the gifts and life they’d been given. More so he knew the pain of loss.

We stared up into the night as Neal talked about his older brother who had died three years before. Neal was 18 and just graduated from high school when Tommy, twenty-seven, fell forty feet from a highway billboard sign that he was working on, leaving behind a wife and five-year-old son. His mom had been so stricken with grief that Neal gave up his opportunity to play soccer in college to be closer to her.

I looked over at him, my heart filled with the grief I knew all too well. “I’m so sorry.”

He looked my way and shrugged his shoulders. “That’s life, right? Accidents happen. It’s my nephew I worry about.” He cleared his throat and looked back to the sky as if for answers.

My heart grew even more for this man beside me. He suffered the loss of his brother and the loss of his dream.

“Instead of walking on to play soccer for a University I took some classes at a junior college and met Nicole.”

I froze. Nicole?

As if reading my mind Neal continued. “Nicole is my ex-fiancé.”

Fiancé? Not better but worse. “You were engaged? When did y’all break up?” The hope I had for our relationship deflated. He had been engaged. I was probably a stop on the way to their final reunion.

He snorted and shook his head. “We’ve been broken up for almost a year now. Before that a few months and before that a month.” He looked at me and grabbed my hand. “Trust me, it’s over.”

“What?” I smiled to mask my relief. “You can’t blame me for asking. So, what made you guys break up?”

“We never got along. I met Nicole after Tommy died. I was mad I lost out on going to college and at the same time I was worried about my mom. Nicole was a distraction. I did love her,” he looked at me again and squeezed my hand, “but not anymore.”

The voices were loud. Was she prettier than me? Was she smarter? Bet he wished she sat there beside him in my place. We’d only known each other for three days but I could do nothing to squash the hairy legs of jealousy crawling up my spine. “Where is Nicole now?” I hoped to sound indifferent.

“She goes to school here. She’s the reason I chose this college. Mom got better and I knew I wanted a four-year degree so I decided to follow Nicole here since it’s two hours away from home. We dated for a year and then got engaged.”

Three words stuck in my head. We got engaged. He loved her enough to put a ring on her finger. Feelings like that didn’t just go away. Maybe he still loved her. Worse, she could still love him.

He squeezed my hand again. “It’s been over almost a year. Ten months I think.”

“Oh,” I managed to squeak out and thought about the fact that it was just over ten months since I’d made the decision to turn Zach in for rape. Ten months of taking my self-esteem and giving it a good scrub down in therapy and group sessions. Ten months of dodging Zach’s incessant verbal attacks and threatening phone calls as he stalked my every move. Ten months of connecting with a strength I hadn’t felt since I was a young girl and learning to move forward with confidence. Neal had a broken engagement and I had multiple traumas. Ten months of pain for both of us.

“It’s over,” I heard him say again breaking through my reverie. “I’m done. I tried to make things work. I love her family and I care about her but we just don’t work together.”

I had no reason to be jealous or concerned when sooner or later I was about to dump my own truckload of baggage. Insecurity crept in. Like a snake coiling around a heated furnace, it settled in, content and harmless unless it was provoked.

“What about you?”

An imaginary vice tightened around my chest. “What about me?”

“Have you had any long term relationships?”

Only with Matt and I wasn’t ready to discuss the pain nor could I imagine explaining the relationships I’d had with other men, if it could be called that – ‘relationship’. Shame and guilt threatened to keep me quiet.

###

Neal’s smile set me at ease. He walked to the center of the aisle and took my arm from Dad.

Dad playfully slapped him on the cheek.

The pews filled with laughter at the fatherly gesture. Neal and Dad’s relationship had always revolved around this type of banter but it was obvious Dad adored him. He had made it very clear to me early in our relationship he believed Neal to be a man of integrity and honor. Dad felt any man who would defend my honor to an accused rapist who stood six inches above him and outweighed him by at least fifty pounds was worthy of respect.

###

Neal sealed the deal on his first visit to meet my parents. Bowling was an activity we did as a family so it was not surprising my parents wanted to take Neal for a game on that first night. Dad was on edge. We were at the counter renting shoes and he had his eye on someone sitting in the bar area. “Who are you looking at?”

Dad looked at me and with his hand brushed it away in the air. “No one. It’s nothing.”

Neal raised his eyebrows. I could tell he sensed it too.

We bowled two games, laughing at my gutter balls, and celebrated everyone else’s strikes. On our way out a man walked up to Dad and shoved his shoulder.

“Well hello Mr. McGraw.”

Immediately Neal left my side and stood next to Dad.

Dad looked pointedly at the much younger man. “Good evening Mr. Dean.”

The man thrust his hand out to Dad. “Don’t you want to shake the hand of the man you had fired today?”

“You were given the opportunity to attend the AA classes and keep your job. That was your decision that got you fired.” Dad turned to walk away and Neal positioned himself in-between the man and my father.

The man followed us outside muttering curse words toward my father. Once outside Neal turned around to face the man ready to be on the defensive if a threat was made.

“He’s all right Neal. He’s not going to hurt anyone. Isn’t that right Mr. Dean? I’d hate to have you thrown in jail.”

Mr. Dean held my father’s stare with contempt and muttered another curse before turning to go back inside.

“Well I know you always have my back.” Dad slapped Neal on the back and beamed.

Neal proved himself to be loyal and authentic, not full of the trash the other men in my life tried to dish out.

I needed this reassurance because I no longer trusted my instincts with men. On our third date in the first week of having met, Neal walked me to my apartment and leaned in to say goodbye. Naturally, I thought he was going to kiss me, but instead he gave me a hug. A hug. When he pulled away he stepped back and headed toward his car. “I’ll call you, okay?”

I waved in response.

Ten minutes later the phone rang. I smiled before answering.

“Hey,” Neal’s voice was deeper than usual. “I’m sorry I rushed off like that.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I think I’m afraid.”

I sat on the bed still wearing what I’d worn that night for dinner. I sat up straighter and pulled my knees up to my chest, guarding my heart for the inevitable news he found out about my past and couldn’t risk being with me. I cleared my throat, “Afraid of what?”

The three seconds of silence was excruciating.

“I think I’m falling in love with you.”

My eyes narrowed but my heart soared. “Really?” Could he hear my heart thumping?

“I can’t stop thinking about you. I’ve known you for a few days and I can’t get you out of my mind. I want to be with you all the time and I’m afraid to kiss you because I don’t want you to think that is all I want.”

That’s when I told him. He needed to know who he was getting involved with and I was going to give him the key to a gracious goodbye.

“Neal, Zach isn’t the only man that raped me. I was raped in high school two weeks before my seventeenth birthday. I’d known Paul since the sixth grade. It was awful and violent.” I shuddered from the memory.

“Son of a…”

“I never told anyone until my counselor talked me into telling my parents before I came back to school last year.” I thought about all of the other skeletons in the family closet that were revealed that day and rolled my eyes. He would surely walk away if he knew the magnitude of the drama that surrounded me.

“Are you okay?”

I smiled and allowed myself to cry then. I could hear the concern in his voice. “I’m okay I guess. I see a therapist on campus and I’m in a rape survivor support group.” I surprised myself by telling him everything. I told him about Matt, about Paul and all the guys after Paul who I allowed to use and abuse me because I no longer felt I could say ‘no.’ I owned their shame when it was not mine to own. Even when I opened the door to let them in I never asked to be treated with disrespect and a lack of dignity.

Through it all Neal would utter a sound of frustration or mutter a curse of anger but never disbelief or judgment. He asked questions and let me talk, cry and even at times made me laugh for hours into the night.

Before we said our goodbyes he said, “I won’t say it because I know it is too soon but I want you to know that I’ve never met a girl like you before and I really like you.”

Was it too soon? The lie that I wasn’t good enough for a man like Neal or for the love and sincere intimacy he offered had embedded deeply into my spirit. That lie spoke deep inside telling me it may be too late.

###

Neal cradled my arm next to his chest and guided me to the altar. “You look beautiful,” he whispered as we took the steps up to stand before the priest.

“So do you.” I giggled.

We looked ahead as the priest announced the reason for the celebration. He asked our guests if anyone had any objections. Behind him, above the altar, was the lifeless body of our Lord Jesus Christ covered in gaping wounds and nailed to a cross. I held my breath and stared at the wounds.

Here I was, my internal wounds exposed standing next to my bridegroom at the altar. If anyone were to have an objection it should be Neal.