I used to feel ashamed.

I used to feel alone.

Sometime around preschool I was molested by someone who both I and my family trusted implicitly. I was young enough that I didn't know what was happening. I didn't know that what he was doing was wrong. I don't remember most of it; the most distinct memory I have is of being sad when he eventually stopped. I couldn't understand why he didn't want to spend time with me anymore. I didn't realize, didn't understand, how screwed up the situation was.

As I grew up, my subconscious blocked the memory for me. I learned about sex. I learned what was and was not appropriate. And I completely forgot about what had happened to me.

The memories resurfaced sometime in high school. I don't know what triggered it. What I do know is that I was mortified, repelled, and, above all, ashamed. I hated what he had done to me. I hated him for quite a long time. But what struck me the most was that I felt guilty for what he had done to me, what I had been too young and too powerless to stop.

It took me nearly a year to work up the courage to tell my parents what had happened to me. I felt sick to my stomach any time I thought about it, any time I heard his name. I hated what had happened. I hated myself.

It took me a very long time to work through that sense of guilt. Logically, I was not to blame. I could not have known. I could not have stopped it. But that sense of shame still lingered, and I couldn't get out from under it no matter how much logic I used.

We live in a society where these things are not supposed to be talked about. Sexual abuse is something that doesn't come up in polite conversation. This pisses me off, because this actually makes it harder for the victims. We need someone to talk to. We need to know that we are not alone.

This didn't dawn on me until a club meeting about a year ago. I don't remember how it came up, but one of the girls in my small group started sharing her life story. Without ever saying the words, she implied that she had been sexually abused. She was obviously uncomfortable with the topic, and during a tearful pause I stopped her and told her that I had been abused as a child.

It was like the floodgates opened. She suddenly understood that there was someone there who completely understood all of the emotions and horrors she was trying to describe. She was able to talk about it then, to use the terminology she couldn't utter before.

As it turned out, yet another girl in my small group had also been sexually abused as a kid. She shared that after the first girl and I started talking about it. It was only because we had been willing to share our stories that she felt able to do the same. With that sharing came a small sense of closure; but, more importantly, a sense of companionship.

I've gradually come to terms with what happened to me. It still horrifies me to think of it, but I'm to the point where I no longer blame myself. In large part, that is because I've talked to others who have experienced similar things.

It is shocking how many people I know who have been molested or otherwise sexually abused. In the example I gave of my small group, three out of five members had been abused. It is horrific how prevalent a problem this is in society.

But what horrifies me the most is how many of us feel ashamed, feel isolated, feel alone.

So let me tell you right here, right now:

You are not alone.

And you have nothing to be ashamed of.