The day my voice was taken.

My mother’s life was fast pace and she depended on different people to help watch her children. Even people who weren’t safe.

One day when I was a toddler, she dropped me off at her mother’s house to be cared for by her youngest brother. Without much concern, she rushed off. The house was quiet and I remember sitting still hoping she would return soon. Her brother looked at me and asked if I wanted to play. I said, no. He said, “come on, let’s play.” Again, I said, no! When he came towards me I got up and ran down the hallway. His voice changed as he grabbed me and said, “let’s play.” I’m not sure what he had in his hand, but he used it to tie my ankles together, and then...he raped me. When he was finished he untied me and cleaned me up. I cried and went back to the sitting area until my mother returned.

When she came in I ran as fast as I could to tell her what he had done. “Mommy, he hurt me right there. Mommy, mommy…” I said, but she wasn’t listening. His voice was louder than mine. He told her I was just a little upset because when we were playing I fell and hurt myself. She then looked at me as if I were bothering her and said, “Go sit down, Shannon. You’re okay.” At that moment I learned that my new injuries were mine to bear and no one cared. I wouldn’t attempt to tell her about the rape again until I was in my 30s.

S