Is This a Joke?

**Trigger Warning...Beginnings of Becoming a Comedian/Writer

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I was 6 years old when I was fondled in a school bathroom by a scary stranger.

I didn’t know what was happening. So I went back to the classroom and wondered — is this a joke being played on me that everyone is in on? I decided I wasn’t going to act rattled, I wasn’t going to let them “win.”

I didn’t know to walk to the office and tell them there was a predator/perv/pedo loose in the building fondling kids in bathroom stalls. I couldn’t say anything at home either because my dad was an explosive rager and I never knew what exactly would set him off so I just did my best to stay invisible there. Couldn’t risk the potential fallout of sharing that a weird joke was played on me in kindergarten, nor did I have the words at that age…and beyond than that — I didn’t even remember it for 20 years. I suppressed it completely.

My history of people pleasing, prioritizing others over me, and self-abandonment is long and strong.

When we suppress things — or don’t have the words to communicate them — they come out sideways. I didn’t have language for how fucked up that incident made me feel. So instead, I scribbled on another kid’s art project and got put in the corner. I ruined another girl’s birthday sleep-over by anonymously writing cuss words on her Etch A Sketch. My brother and I found some Kahlua to get drunk on at age 8. Et cetera…

Eventually, I became a comedian. Because I could control the jokes.

Years later, I went to EMDR therapy. The memory came back and was filed away in the proper drawer in my brain so I didn’t have to act out on it anymore.

Now I try to check in with that little girl every day. I ask her what she feels, what she needs — and I try to offer it to her. She had to hide and hold a lot for a long time, today she gets to feel safe to be honest and use her words. Speaking our truth is a privilege and a gift, how are you sharing your gift today?

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