I'm overrun with pride at watching my sisters and brothers share their #MeToo stories with such bravery. I'll admit I don't know where I fit into the grand scheme. I'll likely never name the boy because I've seen enough to know the receipts are not on my side. I've seen the cruelty with which people treat survivors that have much less confusing stories than mine. Also I hope and pray that he is a different person. It has been over ten years since that day in his home and a little over five since our last interaction. Hopefully he's grown. I have. I write this on the chance that someone comes across it and feels a little less alone. I write this hoping that someone may read it and have some of the same Eureka! moments I've had. If you're raising a child in the Christian faith or some other religion that's fine but it may be useful to help them take a more understanding approach to their sexuality because shame and silence are unhealthier than you might think. As I said my mother never made me feel shameful about sex. But she isn't my only relative and maybe my church didn't straight up say sex makes you bad but it still seeped in. -- Excerpt from [Untitled] Realizations by Kelli Green
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