For All Of Us In The Infinite Stream Of Healing

Photo by Mariana Montrazi on

By Sherletta Germain

Before I dive in, I want to express my gratitude for your time. I would like to celebrate you for taking the “deep dive” into a topic so taboo that many people will never have an open discussion, as if sexual trauma is a myth. But as you already know, that is not the case. Thank you for taking the time to be a part of our tribe, be it as a healer, or to heal.

About us–You are now entering into this safe space of creative expression. You have given us permission to boldly express our “his-story” and “her-story,” in a way that no one else could. Our ability to even take on this topic in writing, is a miracle. We have a type of interconnection, but not the type that mends. A series of unfortunate events have taken place in our lives that have left many of us with permanent scars. The good news about scars, is that many scars are no longer painful to the touch. They have healed (over time). And now, although a bit difficult to look at, is not as painful to the touch as it once was. We have found a way to change our addresses from “Victim Boulevard” to “Survival Drive,” and this is where we met you. It is our goal that you find love, light, hope and healing after reading this book.

About You- These stories you are reading are true. They may resonate with you in many ways, and on different levels. If you suffer from mental health challenges e.g., PTSD, depression, or anxiety, some topics may trigger or exacerbate those feeling. If you are a caregiver, empath, or simply a lover of mankind, you will be enraged, shocked, and lost. If you are a professional healthcare worker, or entrepreneur, you understand these stories happen far too many times in our society. My point is, you will be moved by what you’re about to read and (hopefully) what you have read thus far. My focus is not what you will read, but how you process what you have read. (Here I am creating that safe space again!)

I want you to say these affirmations out loud, but first I want you to take a moment to pause and look at your surroundings. Make sure you are in a safe space. Remember who you are NOW and only reflect on who you WERE when this happened.

  • I am safe
  • I am whole
  • I am Love
  • I am Light
  • I am healed
  • I will not let my past stop me from enjoying my NOW
  • Whatever I’m feeling at this moment, is ok
  • Feelings are a sign of being human and having a heart of flesh
  • I was hurt, but now I am healing and soon, I will be healed
  • It was not my fault
  • not a coward
  • I am I am not weak
  • I didn’t know any better and that’s ok
  • Even though I am ____ years old now, I remind myself that I am no longer the helpless ___ year old I once was, and I AM SAFE Now. Take in a deep breath. Let it out. Pat yourself on the back. You are the real MVP! Now, on to my story-

I was not always who I am when I look in the mirror. While writing this, I found myself telling my story in the 3rd person. As a result of a series of unfortunate events, I have been diagnosed with PTSD, anxiety and depression. Not only as a child, but also as an adult. I was “stuck” for a long time. I isolated myself from crowds. I was very withdrawn and full of distrust. I was unforgiving and full of resentment. The childhood memories that I held on to led me to a place where I did not understand who I was, or who I was becoming. It is by Grace and Intention that I no longer identify with that person.

Mental health is rarely discussed in-depth in certain cultures, if at all. I have learned that NOT talking about our issues which keep us caged in can be just as harmful as having issues. My childhood is what I describe as blotchy or staticky. I don’t remember my childhood in detail as some of the other writers do. I successfully suppressed my memories, and it gave me some sort of amnesia. At times, I would feel bad about the amnesia, but others, I’m glad to not have the unwanted memories replaying again and again. For me, it would be like people moving into my space living rent-free. (new revelation just “off the press” – I now know that I was healing myself before I understood what the word fully meant. I took myself out of my experience when it became too painful.) Some people want to remember or “recollect” but I would rather not-please and thank you!)

Of course, as a child, I didn’t know what a predator was. I would hear the pinochle cards being played and the dominos being slammed on the table. I would see the drinks being poured and the laughter that came with that (or the arguments). The children were always somewhere playing somewhere else-a basement, a room upstairs, outside etc. Who knew we couldn’t even feel safe within our own homes?

Sometimes I would catch a grimace from the stares that these guys while I walked towards wherever my destination was (the predators). They knew no one would be paying attention to the children and used the situations to their advantage. My predators started with close family and family friends. I know that statement is way too relatable.

Predators are sick and full of many things too. Demons, liquor, drugs, and narcissism to name a few. Mostly, the predators were full of mental health issues, in my opinion. I say this because for any male or female to look at a helpless, innocent child and be sexually attracted to them, is unacceptable and vile. Women are just as much predators as men, and boys are victimized more than girls. The difference? Girls and women talk about “it” more; the “it” meaning moment (or moments) where we were sexualized, victimized and traumatized.

Some of us moved on to our healing place. Some of us are still there, waiting to be rescued. We need a lifeline to draw us out of the lion’s den. We need hope.

I recall being in Detroit over an aunt’s house for a family gathering. I was just developing breasts, so I’d say I must have been around 10. I remember there was a “cousin” who wouldn’t stop staring. He trapped me in the basement and told me how fine I was and proceeded to take his penis out and made me grab it. He told me he would come to my room tonight and (basically sodomize me) and I better not tell anyone. And that’s exactly what he did. Boy oh boy! The secrets abused children had to keep were MASSIVE.

Another time was with my stepbrother. Another time was with Mr. Hall, the old man across the street whose house my brother and I could stay at when no one was home. I don’t know why my brother hadn’t been with me that day, but old nasty Mr. Hall began to grope and fondle me, stating that he’d been waiting for this moment. And when he died? I didn’t feel a thing. Happy, maybe?

I cannot clearly say how many times I was sexually victimized, but things happened after my mother passed and my father remarried. So roughly between ages 5 and 11, I’m guessing? The hardest one to discuss, and the reason why I suppose it took me this long to write about it, was my father. I was a Daddy’s girl to a predator. Can you believe that shit?!? Looking back, I truly believe he tried to contain his urges to sexualize me and other women. He was never faithful to my mother. He didn’t start off sexualizing me or touching me or saying inappropriate things until I was a tween. But it doesn’t actually fucking matter. Victims often want to take the faults of the Victimizer and place that guilt on themselves. That truth no longer serves me in any aspect of my life. The fact that the thought entered his mind in the first place was a sign he needed help. Now that I’m 47, I know the epidemiology behind my father’s sickness. It was inevitable, but not unavoidable. His father raped my grandmother and had him. Because he was a 40’s baby, the Rule of Thumb was that if you were unwed and pregnant, you would have to marry the father of that unborn child (#wtf).

My father, who I will call Les, victimized women, just as his father did to my grandmother, over and over and over again. He sexually assaulted women throughout his entire life and never paid a dime for what he has done. He raped my closest friend in his tractor trailer truck. He made inappropriate comments to my friends growing up. And yet, he was somehow, still my superhero for many years. I can remember one of the last times I saw him, I was breastfeeding my oldest daughter and he walked in just as I was finishing up. Can you believe he made comments about my breasts!?!


How was I the only person seeing this? Was everyone turning a blind eye? Am I that bad, I thought, that no one sees what I’m going through? The teachers were aware that my brothers and I were being physically abused (that’s for another book) but did nothing. In the 70’s and 80’s there were torturous abuse levels that were ok when inflicted by parents (again, #wtf)! There were several image issues stemming from the years of abuse I endured. One day I woke up! If this was happening to me, how many hundreds, if not thousands, if not tens of thousands of children could this be happening to? Where is OUR safe haven? Who will come to rescue us?! I will. I was drafted into this military camp. I will stand up and speak out for those whose voices have been silenced again and again.


“Daddy Issues” are not always what one would think. I chose to sever the relationship with my father and any person in my past who I felt might have victimized me. I don’t let children sit on the laps of grown adults-period. After having my own children, I spoke to them about their body parts (calling them by name e.g., breasts, penis, vagina, etc.). If someone touched them inappropriately, they could say precisely what happened without using pet names.

I also went to counseling. I actually sat on someone’s couch and told them my story so I could get it out in a safe space. I talked about it more and more until it no longer became painful. I wrote. I cried. I got angry. I helped those in need and am still doing so. I created a “safe space” in my home, for every child deserves to feel safe. I took my knowledge of spirituality, religion, self-help, and knowledge from others, and recreated an image of myself that I am very proud of.

I see myself as beautiful-not because someone told me, but that who I believe I am.

I see myself as love and light-for I am giving an outward expression of what’s inside.

I see myself as healed-but I had to rescue myself first.

I am a healer-because I have painfully been made aware of the process it takes to heal.

I am full of life and purpose-I can now teach you how to become better.

The people, thoughts and situations which no longer serve me, are now discarded into a compactor and are no longer an obstacle to reach my goals. No one is living with me rent-free. At the time, it mattered what you did to me. Now that I’m healed, it no longer matters, because you are an old memory which was upgraded by my faith and love and courage to stand up.

Thank you for reading. I pray these messages in some way, helped you to either become better yourself, or taught you how to teach someone else how to be better. I love you.