Childhood is the age of innocence and curiosity, at least it’s supposed to be.
My innocence was robbed from me and I didn’t even know it at the time.
We frequently visited a home where there was the customary stack of magazines in the bathroom.
Being an avid reader I would sift through them and read articles until someone would come looking for me. I was about eight or nine at this time.
Amidst the Chatelaine, Macleans and Family Circle where Playboy magazines, I opened them not knowing I was in for a suprise, there weren’t any recipes, just pictures…lots of pictures.
Pictures that no eight year old should be looking at, but I was intensely curious and looked more and more.
Shame and guilt started creeping into my toes and my cheeks would burn hot.
Something had been awakened in my little girl heart that was not meant to be awake and I did not know what to do about it. So I did nothing. But I kept looking, for years, I kept looking.
These images were imprinted on my brain. I had no idea what they meant but I believe my framework of beauty and sexuality were being built in those stolen moments in that bathroom.
This was a very nebulous kind of abuse – not outright, not crime-worthy but one of neglect on the part of the owners of that house.
My parents had no idea of what I was about in the bathroom and I’m guessing my siblings probably tasted of these hidden treats, too.
There was damage done here that would lead to more, much more…
This is part 4 of my story:
part 1 – The Beginning of Grace
part 2 – Monsters in My Closet
part 3 – The Night the Flame Went Out