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The Cost of Silence

Writer's picture: Becki LedfordBecki Ledford

Warning: This post contains descriptions of the abuse of a minor.


 

When I was 16 years old, I entered into a nearly two-year secret "relationship" with a man who was 26. I use quotes because as I approach my 38th birthday, a full two decades after I got out of this situation, I'm fully aware this wasn't a relationship; it was abuse — specifically, sexual grooming.


Today, we hear a lot about older men sexually grooming young girls, but it wasn't as prominent in the general lexicon in 2003. In case you're unfamiliar, RAINN defines sexual grooming as "manipulative behaviors that the abuser uses to gain access to a potential victim, coerce them to agree to the abuse, and reduce the risk of being caught."


In my case, my abuser worked at the same restaurant where I got one of my first jobs. He was a cook and I was a server. He knew how old I was, but marveled at how "mature" I was, physically and intellectually. It wasn't long after I started working there that our secret "relationship" began.


Those of you who know me personally may be wondering how a straight-A student who never got into trouble and was involved in a variety of extra-curricular activities could fall prey to this kind of situation. In short, I was vulnerable.


Despite being smart and involved in many activities, I was an outsider and felt alone. I wasn't popular. I was nerdy. I was overweight. I was desperate to feel worthy of someone's attention. I was, in these ways, a characteristic target for a predator.


Me in high school. A literal child.
Me in high school. A literal child.

Of course, my abuser told me how important it was for our "relationship" to remain a secret because "people wouldn't understand" and he "might get in trouble." He told me he loved me in short order, which I fell for hook, line, and sinker. It was everything I wanted: someone who loved me exactly the way I was and who really "got" me. I lost my virginity to him while I was still 16 and he was 26.

I'm 16 or 17 in this photo.
I'm 16 or 17 in this photo.

Furthering his hold on me, he took it upon himself to act as a spiritual mentor, becoming a sort of gatekeeper of my spiritual path, which was becoming ever more important to me.


I'll pause here for a moment to offer a few notes. The spirituality I was exploring, and which indeed I still practice, is a non-Christian religion. For some in the area where I grew up, this probably either 1) sounds scary or 2) feels like an immediate explanation for his behavior. In reality, it's neither. My spirituality is grounded in a respect for all creatures and life forms, a reverence for nature and its cycles, and a belief that the energy we put out into the universe matters. My abuser's behavior is entirely antithetical to the basis of my spirituality and is explicitly forbidden by reputable practitioners.


This is an important component because, while my own spirituality is non-Christian, religious gatekeeping is often an aspect of abuse and grooming. When the abuser is seen as the one and only person who can offer religious or spiritual guidance, it's much harder to escape the abuse.


While the "relationship" was kept a secret from everyone in my family and most people, some knew it was happening. Co-workers, friends of his, and a handful of my friends were privy to the secret. Many of these people were adults who should have known better and should have said something. Eventually, he took me to meet his mom and stepdad who lived in another state. At first, he told them I was 19, but I was insistent they should know the truth. They did nothing to stop it, probably because I was a "good influence" on him, helping him get a hold on his drinking and get a promotion at work.


Of course, his self-destructive behaviors, like drinking and drug use, were both addictions he was fighting and yet another way he was keeping me in the "relationship." He told me he needed me, he couldn't do this without me. I didn't know it at first, but he was still drinking heavily and hiding it from me.


When I would have second thoughts about our relationship, or we would fight about his drinking or the company he was keeping, he manipulated me into staying in whatever way possible. One night when I was ready to call the whole thing quits, he proposed to me. Fearing I might never find someone else who would want to be with me (another aspect of vulnerability that made me an easy target for this abuse), I said yes.


For the nearly two years this abusive relationship was ongoing, I spent nearly every waking moment either figuring out how to see him or how to keep things a secret. Still, I started to get "sloppy" after a while. This is something that lots of therapy has helped me realize was actually an attempt at being discovered so that I could get out of the situation. You can even see my "engagement ring" in my senior photos.


The longer the relationship went on, the more overtly abusive he became. Once, when I was threatening to end the relationship, he forced me to take a Xanax, something I had never done before. It completely incapacitated me, causing me to miss school that day as I lay in his bed barely able to open my eyes until it wore off.


Another time, he put me into a literal headlock while I was driving him to work. I dialed 911 on my cell phone, which I was lucky to even have since my parents didn't have cell phones yet, but he took my phone from me and ended the call. I was late to school and made up some excuse. I don't even remember what I said, but I have a feeling my AP Calculus teacher wasn't buying it. Just a few minutes later, he tried calling me and, despite my phone being on silent, it rang. That's because dialing 911 (even though the call hadn't been completed) put my phone into Emergency Mode, allowing calls and texts to come through at full volume. I panicked, apologized, and turned the phone off, but was a shaky mess for the rest of the day.


During a large portion of our "relationship," he was living in a motel efficiency because he'd been kicked out by several different roommates. Once we were fighting so loudly that someone in the next room over called the cops. When they showed up, he turned off all the lights and made me lie on the floor silently until they left. I was equal parts terrified of getting in trouble for lying to my parents and desperate for the cops to come in and discover the whole situation. They knocked on the door but left after no one answered.


All of the secret-keeping and abusive behavior kept me on edge. As a result, my immune system took a beating. During the course of our "relationship," I got a bad case of mono that made me miss finals one year. I also developed dyshidrotic eczema, which caused small painful blisters on the palms of my hands and fingers. I also had stress-induced ulcers in my mouth that once got so severe that I couldn't eat and it hurt to talk. The doctor prescribed a steroid and told me to try to eliminate some of the stress in my life. My solution was to quit the swim team.


We were constantly fighting at the restaurant. If I was too friendly with male customers or other servers, he accused me of cheating on him. By this point, he was an assistant manager and I was sent on errands for the restaurant and asked to do things I never should have been asked to do as a minor. I was working tons of hours, including multiple double shifts on the weekend, while trying to juggle school. It's no wonder I did so poorly in my AP Calculus class, which was first thing in the morning after I'd seen him and he'd rattled me for the day.


Eventually, I changed jobs, which helped me start to distance him from one aspect of my life. I almost didn't even apply to Harvard, but at the very last minute, I did. Shortly after submitting that application, I knew more than ever that I needed out of the situation. On my 18th birthday, ironically enough, it was the final straw. I was done.


When I finally broke up with him, I also worked up the courage to tell my mom. It turned out she had somewhat recently learned something was going on. Not from one of the dozens of adults who knew what was happening, but from an 18-year-old who happened to have a class with her at the local community college. My mom hadn't known who the guy was and hadn't figured out how to bring it up with me yet, but she had been filled with worry for me. She was afraid that if she said something, she would push me away (or push me to actually marry him). She made me promise to never take him back and it was an easy promise to keep.


Still, he continued to pursue me. He came into my new place of work more than once to try to convince me to continue a relationship with him. He called and texted me constantly. This continued even after I left for Harvard. Eventually, I changed my number.


The impact of the "relationship" reverberated throughout college and all of the relationships I had for years. At times I considered suicide. Other times I engaged in self-injury. I let a lot of people treat me like trash because I had learned that's what I deserved. It took years for me to reclaim who I was and demand the kind of love and respect I actually deserve.


If you've made it this far, you've probably realized I've yet to name my abuser. That's because, believe it or not, this isn't about him. This post is about the people who knew what was happening and said nothing. I don't mean the people my age because they were kids, like me. (Though, I did learn years later that one of my friends had told her mother, who chose not to do anything with the information.) I'm talking about all those adults who knew what was happening and didn't say anything. They didn't tell my parents. They didn't tell school administrators. They didn't tell the police.


While I've healed a lot from what my abuser put me through, over the years I've become incredibly angry at all the adults who didn't say anything. My anger is only intensified by finding out similar things have happened to others in my hometown and everyone looked the other way (and continues to look the other way). This post is for those people to know the cost of their silence.


We are all responsible for protecting all of our children.


I don't care how mature someone seems for their age, how much they seem to have it together, or how afraid you are that you might not have the full story. If you suspect that a child is being manipulated, groomed, or otherwise abused, you have a responsibility to speak up. And yes, a 16-year-old is a child. So is a 17-year-old. Any adult in a "relationship" with a child is a sexual predator.


Far too many people who turn a blind eye to this kind of behavior are constantly posting on social media about the dangers of child trafficking. I'm not saying we shouldn't give attention to trafficking victims, but let's not be hypocrites. Children are being abused right here in Western North Carolina (and elsewhere) by adults they should be able to trust. Older coworkers, coaches, teachers, family friends, and family members are all abusing children every single day.


We are all responsible for protecting all of our children. Speak up. The cost of silence is too high.

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