When I was little, I invented a way to prevent childhood sexual abuse. Because I was experiencing it. Before you read about my sexual abuse solution, check out these statistics*: Nearly 70% of ALL reported sexual assaults happen to children 17 and under. 1 in 10 children will be sexually abused before age 18. Children
April is National Sexual Assault Awareness and Prevention Month. As a survivor of childhood sexual abuse, this topic is very important to me. And since one in four girls and one in six boys will be sexually abused before the age of 18 (according to the US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention), this issue should
Right about now, all over America, mothers of college freshmen (and kids taking [international] “gap years,” studying abroad, or leaving for mission trips) are dampening tissues and handkerchiefs, perhaps even the pillows in their children’s bedrooms, with copious tears. If you’re one of those mothers and you’re worried about staying in touch with your kids when
Fluid, surprisingly warm, gushed down my legs. I glanced at the porch floor where a small pond was forming between my flip flops. Here we go again, I thought. Our last labor and delivery ever. “Watch how high we can go,” my older daughter said from the swing set. The younger one squinted and slammed
“In this life you will have trouble.” Man, do I believe this statement. Not simply because Jesus said the words, but because I’ve personally experienced trouble. And now that I’ve lived a half a century, time and again I’ve seen bad things happen to good people, people I love. But what if it’s your own
For 20 years I never slept in. Not because of kids, though. Because of pets. For two decades straight I woke up earlier than I wanted so my family could sleep in. Each morning, if I didn’t tiptoe downstairs before six or seven for doggy detail, one or both of our canines would howl—a very
“Hey lady, did I yank you away from a hot date or something?” That’s what I wanted to ask the nurse-midwife when I was writhing about in childbirth with you. She was supposed to be rubbing my back, spooning ice chips into my mouth. Instead, she leaned against the wall in her periwinkle scrubs, kept
When I gassed up in Summersville, West Virginia the cashier let me mix bold roast coffee with flavored cappuccino for no extra charge, but he wouldn’t look me in the eye. I squinted at him. Look at me. Nothing. I dropped my dollar five on the counter. “Can I ask you a weird question?” He winced. “Weird?” “Have
Confession: I peeked inside my daughter’s diary once. I didn’t intend to, but there it was, wide open on her bedside table. Instead of disclosing her crush-of-the-moment, her fifth-grade handwriting read, “I wish Mom didn’t care so much about how the house looks.” Her secret ran me through like a skewer. The constant clutter in
Guest Post by Karin Fuller I was listening to Dr. Laura Schlessinger’s radio show when a mother called about her grade-school aged daughter, who kept wanting to start activities, like gymnastics and dance, and then quit a few months later. “So?” said Dr. Laura. “Let her quit.” The mother seemed surprised, perhaps because she’d likely
