Yay! School starts for my kids in 2 weeks, one day, seven hours and 46 minutes!!!! Unlike a lot of my counterparts in our rather affluent area of residence, I have not had the privilege of having my kids in any type of summer program this year. I even entertained the thought of pretending that I was religious, maybe Catholic or Jewish-  just for a week, if it meant that my kids could go to free vacation bible school and give me a flippin’ break for a few hours. But, I bit the bullet, entertained, refereed and wrangled my kids for an entire summer, and lived to tell about it. We did have some really fun days, like the two days we went swimming at my girlfriends house, or the day we went to San Francisco and walked all over the city. We also did cool stuff like play on the trampoline in the backyard, and go on bike rides. I worked very hard on being “present”, and also at not screaming, “stop pestering your brother/sister!” at the top of my lungs, five times a day.

One day, at the grocery store, I overheard two women talking. Neither had one kid trying to hang from the door handle in the freezer aisle, while the other kid was precariously reaching for crazy straws and about to knock the whole shopping cart over, like my two kids were. They were carefree and kid-free, meandering aimlessly, and very trophy-wifely around the store. The perfectly coiffed and svelte blonde lady said to the chic-even-in-yoga-pants-still-perfectly-made-up-even-after-the-gym brunette lady, “I am SO ready for school to start! Between Sophia’s ballet camp, princess camp, math enrichment camp and get-ready-for-preschool camp, and Maddie’s little genius camp, gymnastics camp, and after-school-even-when-there-is-no-school-club, I am just so tired of my kids!” The brunette lady retorted, “RII-IGHT??? I totally understand what you’re going through! After we summer’ed in St. Thomas for three weeks, on the weekend of the last week, our nanny had to visit her family in Mexico, and we had to deal with our kids for two whole days THEN the entire flight home! Can you imagine? The nerve of her…” “Tsk…tsk…tsk”, the blonde lady answered as she shook her head in disbelief. I literally stood there, with my kids wrecking shop in the grocery store, and my mouth completely agape.

If you can afford to have your kids in all-day camps every day for three months, “summer” in St. Thomas with a nanny, spend your days getting your hair done, doing Zumba, tanning, getting mani-pedi’s, going to luncheons, and having your ass waxed, more power to you. In fact a small part of me is green with envy, okay, I am totally Gumby-green, I am so jealous. But, at the end of the summer, I can take a deep breath, march my kids to their first day of school, and walk back to my empty car with the satisfaction of  knowing that the three of us- we created memories, Man! We survived summer, we conquered the long, hot days, and my kids are still alive after three months of fighting with each other and whining to me that they’re bored. I have new badges to add to my ” mother-stripes” on my lapel. I should win some type of award for surviving a summer with no break from my 5 and 7 year old.

In fact, I have decided that I am grateful for my last summer with my crazy kids, before my little one goes to Kindergarten, and my oldest goes to 2nd grade. Yes, there were days I ripped my hair out (literally), tears were shed, wine was poured, and a Prozac prescription was filled, but my kids will always have the memories that we made this summer. I wouldn’t trade it to be either of the ladies at the grocery store… well, maybe just for one day.

I’ll tell you what- creating a business from the ground up is not for the weak at heart. My original thought in the midst of my frustration, was actually, “starting your own business is not for puss***”, but then thought of how I hate when the slang word for something so beautiful, intriguing and miraculous is used to define someone who is weak or timid, and I decided to change my wording. Anyhoo- the point is, it takes a major pair of cajones to have the strength, organization, and perseverance (or at least pretend like you do) to run your own business.

Don’t get me wrong- I am so thankful for this opportunity, and have a ton of pride and courage for being brave enough to take the leap, but it was a hell of a lot funner to pick the font on my business cards, or add all of the cute and cuddly baby pictures to my website, than it is to write a business plan, research how to start a non-profit organization, or learn about the difference between sole proprietorship and a limited liability corporation. Just saying the word “proprietorship” is enough to make me want to switch to playing on Facebook, downing a glass of wine, and plop down to watch last week’s episode of “Pregnant in Heels” for the third time. But, apparently, since cracking open a bottle of wine at noon may lead to a bit of a problem for me and said business, I have to find other ways of coping.

One very important lesson that I have learned on this journey is, that this is the “Waiting and Becoming” time of my life. I learned this very reassuring idea from Dr. Lissa Rankin, an entrepreneur and wonder-woman that I am incredibly inspired by. This is my time to plant and water seeds, then when the time is right, they will grow. You know what they say, “Patience is a virtue”- clearly not a virtue that I was blessed with! I guess it’s not very realistic of me to expect to create a business name and website, then voila!, be standing at a podium, speaking at a public appearance, while simultaneously changing the world. These things take time, lots of research, a ton of support, and a wing and a prayer to flourish into successful endeavors.

I had a conversation with a dear friend yesterday, as I was lamenting (a.k.a. bitching) about how it will be so long before I make a living at what I’m doing, and how I still have so much schooling and training, and blah, blah, blah, and she said something very profound to me- first she said, “I love you, so I’m gonna give you a slap in the face!” Now, that’s a good friend, to know when you need a little slapping around (which I tend to like now and again.. wink). Then, she told me that just because I am not getting paid actual money to do what I am doing (yet), that it doesn’t mean that I am not being compensated for my work. That was a lightbulb-over-my-head moment for me. All of the hard work, grueling details, (yucky) financial and legal stuff to research, will someday be the backbone of my own successful organization.  She then went on to tell me that I am full of talent and to stop trying so hard to fit into a mold, that I should celebrate who I am, and that what makes me different from my peers is actually what will make me so successful. Wow- thank God for good friends who are willing to let ya have it once in a while- she definitely helped me get back to cooking with gas!

So, for now, I am grasping for patience, learning how to be more organized, and building a strong foundation for something I whole-heartedly believe in. At least ’til my whistle blows at 5:00 p.m.- then I’m pouring that glass (I have very over-sized wine glasses) of wine and cheers-ing to the leap that I have taken, to my support network of amazing family and friends, and finally, to getting slapped around a little!

“You are the woman I’ve been waiting for all of my life.” He said. Awkward silence followed. “I have thought you were the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on, and I have thought about doing this for a long time…..” And with those words, he leaned in and kissed me, full on the mouth. He reached around my seatbelt to encircle my waist with one hand, and slipped his hand underneath the waistband of my favorite sweatshirt with the other. As he sloppily pressed his tongue further into my mouth, my words were muffled by his lips, and silenced by my shame, as the abusive act continued.

I was 15, and he was a 36-year-old youth pastor at my church. The legal definition of sexual assault is: “Sexual assault refers to a continuum of behavior that includes rape, but also encompasses any unwanted physical contact of a sexual nature. On this continuum, everything from non-consensual kissing and fondling to forced oral, anal or vaginal sex, is an act of sexual assault.” In reference to my specific situation, the law defines what happened to me as “Sexual exploitation by a helping professional.” Sexual exploitation in this case refers to any non-consensual sexual contact perpetrated by someone in a place of authority or leadership over the victim. Example of perpetrators in this case would be teachers, church leaders, physicians, and therapists. This type of sexual assault can be particularly distressing for victims because of previous feelings of trust and respect for the perpetrator. In addition, this type of sexual assault can be difficult to disclose to others because of the status of the perpetrator as a respected and trusted person in the community. Respected and trusted, indeed.

My family and I practically lived at our church. From the age of 12, I volunteered at the church to lead youth-choir, was highly involved in the youth group, played the piano during the church offering for the main service, and my family was one of the founding members of the church. We were part of the church when it was 60 people in a warehouse in the “other side of the tracks” part of town. We grew with the church while they quickly climbed to over 2,000 members, and had become quite a pillar in our then- small community.

I realize now, nearly 20 years later, that I was well-groomed for this act to occur. I understand now, that even at 15-years-old, I had little knowledge or even life experience, to have cultivated a different outcome than that which happened to me, to my family, and even to his family.

My “New Year’s Resolution” for 2011 was seamingly simple:  to forgive. I decided that I am ready to forgive- ready to leave the proverbial  plastic bags full of emotional garbage that I’ve been carrying around all of these years behind for good. But, as I opened my email this morning, emblazoned across my homepage, was a story about a local youth pastor that had been accused of molesting two teenagers. In an unexpected flood- it came rushing over me. http://www.mercurynews.com/breaking-news/ci_17015591?nclick_check=1

Although, I know that I am a “victim”, I’ve read the handbooks, I’ve been to counseling, I’ve “acted out”, and I’ve attended many V-day and victim/”survivor” associated events. Sadly, I have never identified with either. What I can I can however identify with strongly, is being a mother, and the fear of someone hurting my child(ren). I’ve never disassociated myself sexually, never became withdrawn or disengaged intimately or even emotionally. I have rarely even discussed my abuse, other than with very close friends, and of course my very loving and supportive family. But, while I am trying to muster this whole spirit of forgiveness, it enrages me that churches and other places of public gatherings are not required by law to fingerprint and/or perform background checks on volunteers, or even employees.

I will work on forgiveness, and I will work on letting go. But, I feel a new inspiration to use my experience not as a cry for sympathy or pity, but as a call to action. Something more needs to be done to protect kids from “sexual exploitation from a helping professional”. Whether it’s committed by, most notably, a priest in a Catholic church, or a less-publicized choir leader in a neighborhood Baptist church, the impact that that type of violation has on a child and their family is immeasurable. I have nothing against God, and have nothing against the fellowship of a church family. But, I do think that a “Beloved, let us LOVE one another (1 John 4:7)” and “let go and let God” attitude should not be considered when allowing people that can do harm to our children and families, hold places within our church communities. I don’t think that my experience will change legislature, or bring about a law named after me. But even if I protect just one child from going through what I did, or cause one parent to insist that the people that work alongside their children be background-checked and fingerprinted, I will have the most overwhelming sense of accomplishment. And I may even start to forgive.