I went through my old laptop and found writings from 19/20 year old me. My heart sank, but I couldn’t bring myself to stop reading it.
Reading the hurt and pain from the betrayal from someone much older that I trusted made me want to hug younger me so tightly.
I found out from another website that this person had been exposed for being an abuser. I’m a year late, but I felt free enough to finally name him. By his name. Not alluding to some person. But finally putting a name to the actions that still haunt me all these years laters
People do not protect Black women especially not in communities where we are barely visible and is primarily controlled by White men. It took me 8 years but I finally named him. Every detail in my journal entries from my years ago, including ones I blocked out. There is no room for misunderstanding and it hurts every time I read them.
