Men. I’m 29 years old and sometimes the word still triggers me. In a moment, pain will stir in my heart and I’m reminded I still have healing to do.
I know all men are not created equal, but most of my life was spent believing that.
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The first sexual contact I experienced was at the age of four, by a man. Then another. Then another.
I was convinced that the one man I desperately wanted to love me, my own father, chose alcohol over me.
He beat my mother. He beat my step-mother. I learned to mix his first drink at six years old. His friends, all men, were the same. They always smelled of whiskey or beer and I’m sure they only owned one shirt.
Not only was I struggling with my own view of men from an early age, but my mother was doing the same. Through her own disdain and fear of men, she was teaching me that men were evil. So far she had proved her theory to be true, so it was easy to believe.
I lost my virginity at a young age, assuming it was the thing to do. Isn’t that what so many of us believe?
Today I’m guest posting for my friend Jennifer over at Prayerfully Speaking.