Scars Exposed

The goal has always been to die empty. Just like many of you, when I heard of Chadwick Boseman’s death, I cried like a baby. Yes, I was also on my menses, which in my case, puts me in the most vulnerable spot to begin with, but I wept for a few hours. Crying for him, crying for the people who did not understand the end to his purpose, crying for me not ready to expose my true self. Just crying. But mostly crying because I knew it was time to actually expose this piece of me.

I am an advocate of releasing the imaginary hold we – women, people of color, humans in general – tend to put on ourselves. I would not be living my true purpose life if I kept holding on to my true purpose. The whole reason I started the blog was to be naked, true to myself and to the world, helping anyone whose eyes came upon my words. It took a whole year to drum up the courage to feel as vulnerable as I thought my strength was courageous. And it took the year before that, after numerous racing thoughts – should I, should I not talk about it, to finally come to the point of acceptance. Not accepting of the act, but accepting of the woman I became because of it: a beautifully complex mixture of strength, truth, and vulnerability. I am whole because of these fragmented pieces.

The next paragraphs may seem passive, effortless to you, but trust me, it took me years to get here. Many nights – and days, were spent, up, crying, thinking of a worst outcome, until I came with the best outcome… to tell my story, to help the next person. Because as I opened up to my family and circle of friends, I realized what I thought was a single, individual case was too present in others’ lives. So allow me to expose my scars to you.

I grew up in the most loving family. I love my family. Anyone who knows me knows I brag different when it comes to my immediate family. They are my EVERYTHING! My parents and my siblings are both my guiding light and lifesavers. I had everything I could ever image as a child. We were not rich. Upper middle class I would say, but the best education, social life, the best supportive team; just a whole-heartedly loving environment. They gave me everything I needed and wanted, without excess. Haitian parents who were and are still actually in love and raised their kids with a mutual blueprint. Life was good!

In Haiti, first communions are like weddings for children, such a big celebration. There was one at a cousin’s house. I was 8. All the family and immediate friends were there, plus the whole neighborhood, in this big ole house. Until this day, I do not remember how I ended up in the master bedroom…maybe I needed to pee or something. That specific detail is irrelevant at this point. But here I am in the master bedroom. A female cousin, my age, was there briefly; she was his half-sister. Her older male brother – my cousin, my maternal aunt’s son, 7-8 years my senior was also there. Said half-sister a few minutes later had gone downstairs to join the party. I am left in my aunt’s bedroom, at 8 years old with my older male cousin, in a house full of family members. Like how harmless is this setup.

Few minutes later, a movie popped up on the screen – he had inserted a videotape and suggested we re-created the scenes. I will spare you the visual – but things happened to me, which should have never happened to an 8 year old, and definitely not by an older COUSIN.

I went back downstairs to the party.

Confused.

Scared.

Unsure.

Disgusted. AT MYSELF. And MOSTLY STILL CONFUSED.

I would spend my summers in New Jersey; and most summers, he would be there also on vacation, at the “family house”. These vacations were dreadful, as these episodes would be repeated many times. Just say no right?! If I actually understood what was going on... Again, why not say something? Why not push him off? The why not list is long, but as a kid, fear and shame froze me.

I remember seeing a post on Shaderoom where people were criticizing Oprah Winfrey for saying how kids who get raped enjoy it, or something in that fashion. If you have never been in that situation – and I pray and am thankful you have never been; but unless you have been through it, you cannot comment on it. Your body responds to touch, whether you want it or not. Literally your mind is saying no but your body is responding yes. This is the most confusing thing especially for a little girl. You ask yourself what is wrong with you? Why did he choose you? Is it something you did? Were you too girly? Too friendly? Did your boobs come out too soon? Like, what was it that made him prey on you? It had to be your fault right? Like no other cousin is going through this, or were they and they were also too scared to speak out?

It took 6 whole years for “IT” to stop. And I kept this secret for another 16 years. It affected my sexual relationships. There were certain acts I preferred not to participate in – as they would remind me of my “past situation”. Or felt disconnected all together. It also affected my relationship with extended family members. Like how could you guys love a person who was this disgusting? Has it happened to older cousins and no one spoke about it? You become suspicious of others’ affection while hiding your pain. They wonder why you are short and indifferent at times; but your own misunderstanding of the situation keeps you muted. You become so good at faking. Best in school, social girl, great at any job - I was perfection in so many areas, substituting for my "only flaw".

I will forever be thankful to my roommate in PA school. My E! One drunken night, after sobbing my eyes off, I literally told her everything. Without judgment, with the most encouraging words, she urged me to tell my family. I would never forget this day, November 2018. I was at my brother’s house; he was on the phone with said cousin, wishing him a happy birthday and wanted to pass me the phone so I could greet him also. I literally ran out of the living room, crying. I could not take it anymore. I was done hiding my secret and protecting an ugly person. My brother….oh how much I love him, held me so tight, confused and heartbroken I didn't feel safe enough to tell him sooner. I was so grateful he loved me so much to believe me. He actually called the cousin who at first denied it up and down and then confessed. Who in their right mind would fabricate a story like this?!? Few months later, I received an apology DM, which was read but never replied to.

I remember family and friends questioning why I would always be home, in my room, away from the gatherings, with my bedroom door closed. Stephanie ap fe enteresant (being a brat). No, she was just protecting herself the only way she knew how. It is an uncomfortable feeling to have trust issues with your own family members. To my future husband and kids, call it PTSD but our kids will not have any sleepover and if the grandparents cannot babysit them, then we are not going anywhere!

So please God, may our parents live long lives!!!

Speaking about this to my closest friends has helped me realize this is not uncommon, sadly to say. "IT" happens to the best families; indifferent of social status, educational background, skin tone, degrees of faith and love. I have older acquaintances I believe if they had spoken up, it would have prevented their younger generation to live through this ordeal.

This is the reason I am finally speaking about it. It has been such a freeing experience to talk about it, to release it, to expose my scars as they were intended to be. My journey is both private and purposeful. I would not want to transition without telling my story if it could help the next person. My transparency does not minimize my purpose.

My beautiful sister in Christ, Mathiana saw me at my sis Myriam’s wedding and mentioned how happy and light I looked. This was the time I battled with the idea to start the blog, releasing this hold; and it was confirmation when I calmly told her, while standing in front of the funnel cake truck about my rape and felt empowered. I want to thank Jennyfer, Myriam, Erin, and Becky for being my strength through this. And of course, my immediate family for believing me and loving me despite, loving me more.

Will I ever respond to the apology? I doubt it. It is not up to me to forgive him. I have long wished him the worst. Not wanting him to die the most horrible death and actually praying for his daughter to never go through what I have gone through is forgiveness enough.

To anyone who has experienced a similar story: this is not your fault. There is nothing you have done that could have prompted such behavior. There is not an imaginary mark on you that made them choose you. You are beautiful. You are worthy. Your past does not determine your present and certainly not your future. You are not damaged. You are strong. May you find the strength to forgive yourself. You owe it to you, to your daughters, to your husband, to your sanity. For many years I wonder how people would look at me; I have realized the only thing that matters is how I viewed myself. And Steph PP is one hell of a lady – it took more than a decade to get and stay in that mindset. I deserve to be sexy and feel sexy. I deserve to celebrate my body, when for so many years, I blamed it for drawing his attention. This was a major reason of doing my photoshoot last month. It was like a visual stamp of approval of my emotional growth and release.

Cheers to letting go of shame! Let’s open up the communication. Cheers to love and acceptance.

Love your journey, it does not define you but it is merely a part of you. This is part one. In part two, I would like to take you on the journey of my steps to this empowering freedom.

Love and Light, always and in all ways!