Boys Cry Too

As I neared my 50th birthday in 2010, I unexpectedly found myself in San Diego, a gift from the US Navy. Originally slated for Norfolk, Virginia, a twist of fate brought me to a tranquil town with stunning sunsets over the Pacific. However, I realized too late that youth is often unappreciated, a lesson starkly highlighted during the harsh winters of St. Paul, Minnesota. In my twenties, buried memories of a traumatic childhood began to resurface, revealing a painful truth: I was sexually abused by my father, a man who masked his actions with piety. The shame and fear were paralyzing, leading me to question my identity.In a military environment that discourages vulnerability, I sought therapy to navigate the turmoil within. My father's deceit led me to believe the abuse was my grandfather's fault, a lie I clung to for years. While flying to San Diego with my children, I experienced a painful body memory that felt like torture. Sexual assault is a dehumanizing experience, and the stigma often silences victims, allowing abusers to continue their harm.I respect those who refuse to be victimized and confront the institutions that enable abuse. I learned that I possess the power to reclaim my story and heal. My father has passed, and while I won't speak his name, I find peace in forgiveness-not for him, but for my own liberation. Now in my sixties, I embrace the truth and am ready to share my journey in Boys Cry Too.