Hello world, many years have passed since the most traumatic episodes in my life.  In the past, I was reluctant to tell my story, because I was embarrassed, and I cared too much what people would think of me.  However, I have grown both mentally and spiritually, and I am now eager to let the world look at life.   Telling my story at this time will be therapeutic, and I hope my words will motivate others to speak out or at least seek help.  In the story to follow, you will read about certain persons and those who know me will see similarities in the names and instances.  These people will muse to themselves “Is she talking about me?” and in some cases, the answer will be yes!

Another reason for me waiting an eternity to tell about my life was that I loved my mother.  Even though in her final nineteen years, she suffered from Alzheimer’s, I always feared she would remember the bad things about me.  I cared about her feelings and did not want her to know about the things I kept secret from her.  My mother meant a lot to me, and during her final years, I lamented at the fact I had not confided in her more.   I sometimes regretted in my adult years, our relationship was not one that promoted amicable feelings!   In telling my story, I will depict an accurate account of my life.

Growing up in a city east of Los Angeles, I was privy to many of the aspects of society that most law-abiding people would consider scourges of society.  I lived near drug dealers, gang bangers, and I saw the victims of rape, murder and molestation.

At this early age I remained ignorant to the fact, these perpetrators and victims were participants (willing or unwilling) in socially unacceptable behavior.  I considered my childhood normal and all of the occurrences around me were what everyone in America experienced.  There were times when trusted people around me betrayed my trust and interacted with me inappropriately.  I accepted these episodes and to this day, I cannot say why I did not tell my parents or my brothers, I guess my answer would be why didn’t they  know.

My mother was a strict parent, and she disciplined me and my brothers when we needed a touch up.  Mom was overprotective and sometimes became quite scary when angered.  However, Mom was a loving woman with a nurturing spirit, especially when it concerned me.  One could say Mom spoiled me more than she did the boys.  In fact, I got away with many things that my brothers could not dream of getting away with.

(The First Time)

My first “boyfriend” was a twenty-year-old stud, who just happened to be my brothers’ friend.  This young man (we will call him Carl) was very tall with handsome features, and I thought the sun rose and set on his entire person.  When the “Love of my life” touched me, I felt Goose bumps all over my body!  Carl was the one I was going to marry, and when things felt wrong, he made everything right.  There was just one problem; I was only six years old!

I thought about how Carl would always tell me how pretty I was and he always gave me candy.  As fate would have it, I could not have been closer to the truth, as Carl secretly and inappropriately desired me.  This grown man had dark and demented thoughts about me as a six-year-old girl.  Even though my mother was very protective of me, she allowed trusted individuals to interact with me.  These were individuals who she knew and considered members of her extended family. Unfortunately, Carl had my mom fooled and with her guard down, mom allowed Carl to unabatedly interact with me.   This interaction enabled the first life-altering event that would start me toward the brink of self-destruction.   Of course, my mother did not know what lurked in the mind of this evil man.   In the court of popular opinion, someone on the outside looking in might say, “How could she let that happen to her child?”  However, before criticizing my mother, everyone should remember that predators are actually thinkers and schemers.

My mother loved to throw parties, and as such she put together a sixth birthday party for me.  Prior to the start of party-related playtime, my mother said to a relative, “Take some photos before Vickye gets her dress dirty.”  “Just hurry up and get that fast-tailed girl,” my mother would say, and with that, everyone gathered around and commenced saying “Cheese.”  Immediately, Carl hoisted me onto his lap, and contrary my mom usual suspicious demeanor, she allowed me to remain in that precarious position.  She would not usually have let anyone place her girl child on his or her lap.

I loved this opportunity to show Carl’s girlfriend who truly was number one.   I gladly jumped at the chance to sit on the lap of my eventual abuser.  My dress draped across Carl’s lap, and immediately he had an evil and insidious idea.   This idea would involve doing the unthinkable to me, as I perched on his lap.  The unmitigated gall he would exhibit in the midst of everyone would have been impressive if it did not come from the mind of a degenerate!

Like a snake-in-the-grass waiting to strike, Carl surveyed the room waiting for the right moment.  He watched while everyone became enthralled in the giddiness of picture taking.  He had me stand up briefly and before I reseated, he deftly placed his left hand on his lap.  With his palm facing upward, Carl allowed me to sit in his hand, and he did the unthinkable.  Continuing with his plan, he slowly inserted one his fingers into my vagina.   Luckily, for him I did not react to his touch, except to squirm, and I settled onto Carl’s finger.  With the skill of a master magician, Carl simultaneously pretended to fix my dress with his right hand.

In the days following the party, I suffered light bleeding from my vagina.  My mom discovered this while giving me a bath.  Being that my body appeared mature for my age, a friend of mother; a registered nurse, assumed I started my period early.   She told my mom as much, and mom just kept track of the problem, which went away as immediately as it appeared.

The party episode passed; however, because of the inappropriate sexual discoveries in the previous days, I became increasingly sexual in my thoughts.  I found other children to play show and tell with their private parts.  These sessions contained more showing than telling, and I enjoyed touching the private areas.  In fact, I orchestrated the sessions.  I took great pleasure in telling the other children what to do and when to perform each act.

The secret and inappropriate behavior continued to dominate my life for another four years.  I recruited and played doctor with many of the neighborhood children.   Meanwhile I blossomed into what appeared to be a well-endowed woman even though I was ten years old.  This would prove to be a recipe for disaster, since predators would come to appreciate the best of both worlds.  I was young, and possessed the ample attributes of a woman.

Combined with my receptive nature, and my propensity toward sexual behavior, the predators would now enjoy an unobstructed path to my innocence. I continued unimpeded on my path to self-destruction.   I became deceptive when my mom asked me questions about my exploits.  I learned at that early age to fend off questions by changing the subject and acting as though I did not understand the nature of the questions.

Several of my brothers’ friends would say to me, “I can’t wait till you grow up.”  I liked the attention and allowed some of these young men to play with my hair.  I also became insanely jealous when these young men would bring their girlfriends to the house.  It is not to say these men had designs on me, but I could not tell the difference after the Carl incident.   In my estimation, every man who gave me attention was a potential boyfriend.   After all, I was only a child, and I saw things through a child’s eyes.

The years would pass swiftly and I endured many other distasteful episodes.  With each passing episode, I became more accepting of the abuses, and I decided it was just my lot in life.  Ultimately, I married a man whom oddly enough my mother liked.  He paid attention to me and gave me everything I asked for.  During our initial courtship, I missed the red flags sent up, as I allowed him to even choose what I wore.  He purchased my clothes and continued to lavish gifts upon me.  Smitten by this man, I allowed myself to fall into a marriage that suddenly turned potentially deadly.

During my marriage, I endured so many abuses, I cannot fit them into just one article.  However, I will get to the main point of the abuse.  After approximately four years of marriage, my husband came home and immediately began complaining about the dirty house.  This was after he had me scrub the walls, following his reading a book about a famous pimp.   As my husband walked around the house, he became more incensed, and he unleashed hell upon me.  This man beat me, choked me and left me fighting for my life on a cold bathroom floor.  Several days passed and due to the domestic abuse laws of the time, my husband found a way to dissuade the police.  This was even after my family called them to conduct a welfare check.

I was rescued only after my cousin, whom I gave a key and specific instructions to intervene, came to the house and found me.  While my husband was gone, my cousin called paramedics, and the police ultimately placed me under protective custody.  Even though I relented and failed to demand prosecution, the police took the initiative to find my husband and violate his probation.  Following the final beating, I suffered from a crushed larynx and for twenty years, I could not speak with clarity.  However, in 2010, I found a wonderful doctor, who performed a revolutionary procedure to restore my voice.  This miracle has allowed me to regain most of my confidence, as I am now able to speak without whispering.  The fact that I no longer have to ask someone to convey my thoughts makes a world of difference.

I feel that I still have a long way to go, but I marvel at my journey thus far.  However, after twenty years of hearing people saying “What?” I found a way to speak for myself louder than before.  Because of a newly developed medical procedure, I am now able to speak in a clear and concise voice. My new found vocal ability has given me the confidence to overcome all obstacles placed in my path.  All of these trials and tribulations have taught me to never give up and always persevere. In pursuit of bettering myself and achieving my goal of earning a degree, I attended DeVry University.  I chose to work toward a Degree in Technical Management specializing in Criminal Justice.

My true passion is Professional Counseling, and I am pursuing a Master of Science in Professional Counseling from Grand Canyon University.  I will complete my educational journey in the summer of 2016.  Moreover, to enhance my career choice, I volunteer to speak with women suffering from domestic violence.  I also regularly speak to at-risk teens in a group setting.  My additional credentials include being a Certified Life Coach.  I specialize in Domestic Violence, Spousal and Partner Abuse Assessment Detection, Intervention Strategies, Conflict Resolution, Healthy Relationships, Effective Communications and Kinesics (Reading Body Language). I remained in silence for a long time, but now I insist on my voice being heard

by Vickye Wilson


On March 7,2015 We are hosting an I Survived Gospel Concert.  This event is no longer just a concert it’s a movement. We are using this movement to celebrate our survivors of breast cancer,domestic violence and sexual abuse. Please join the movement. Contact us now to tell your story!

These stories are REAL stories that give an account of either sexual abuse or domestic violence. It is our goal to share as many stories as possible in order to stop domestic violence and sexual abuse and start healing in our nation. If you would like to tell your story please email it to survivors@womenwithgifts.com. In order to duplicate or re~publish any article from our website you must have the written consent from the founder of Women With Gifts.

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