Child sexual abuse: On belonging
I was struck by a conversation I had recently with my mother. We were vacationing along the Mediterranean. I was there for a conference. She and my dad joined me over the weekend.
"Mama," I began, "My hair's turning brown. Like maybe since seven years ago. Why is that?" I had jet black hair growing up.
"I have brown hair," she said simply.
It is not often that I consider myself as belonging to this family. I wasn't just an outlier; I was an anomaly. My incest experience was only the starting point.
But her remarks, so casually put, made me think twice: I have something in common with my mother after all. She, of the ample bosom, silky straight hair and lush eyelashes.
I belong to my mother.
Read part 12 here.
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Read part three here.
Read part two here.
Read part one here.