We were both 8 or 9 at the time. Some kids kept telling us explicit stories at recess and got their voices in our heads. We thought we had to do it because they told us to. All I remember is what I was wearing and small details about it. It wasn’t our fault. I don’t think I knew how to handle it and I eventually ended up dragging it onto another girl. I never touched her, but she told her mom. I got in trouble. I still haven’t said anything.

Last year right before my birthday, I finally told my mom what happened to me. I wasn’t sure what to expect from her when I told her, but it was a situation that feels almost like a dream now. I remember forcing my body up the stairs and saying what i had to say. She didn’t really say anything. She didn’t seem upset. She didn’t really ask any questions. She just kind of sat there and then told me not to tell my dad, which I already wasn’t planning on doing. I don’t think it helped me at all, except for the fact that I knew I was brave enough to start having this conversation in the first place. And that was all me, not her. That’s what I’m going to try and start doing now. Healing for me.