Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids

Reason #157: What if I found her?

As my regular readers know, my life of sex abuse began with a babysitter.   I was young, somewhere less than five years old.  My brother was also young since he is 2 and a half years older than me.  I don’t know if Mom put an ad in the paper or if she answered an ad, but somehow this babysitter came into our life.  Mom says she only hired her one time.  Mom said that the babysitter seemed ‘too eager’ to come back, and something about her made mom nervous.

I have no conscious memory of the babysitter, of what she did to us, or anything.  All I know is that from the time of my conscious memory, I slept with many blankets and was VERY afraid of intruders.  I was terrified of night time.  I still do these things.  My brother, on the other hand, has full conscious memory of the babysitter.  I didn’t even know there was a babysitter until a few years ago, when a therapist mentioned how unusual it is for a little boy to molest a child.  I thought about it, and I realized he must have learned it somewhere.  Then when I asked my mom about it, she said “Well, you did say how you saw him licking the babysitter”.  I was flabbergasted.  Apparently, at some point, I had conscious memory of the babysitter, because I am the one who told my mom about what she did to us.  Or did I just tell her what she did to him?  I don’t know.  I fear I will never remember.  One of the many reasons you shouldn’t fuck kids.

A few days ago, my mom called me and said that she has been cleaning out the garage.  She said she found a notebook from ‘those days’.  This notebook may or may not contain this babysitter’s name and phone number from ‘those days’.


What would I do if I found her?  I mean, all these reasons – all of them started with her.  If she never fucked us, he never would have fucked me.  Maybe we would have been okay?  Who knows.  Maybe we wouldn’t have been okay.  My dad still would have been whatever he was.

If I found her though, maybe I would remember.  Maybe the parts of me that remember – the parts that seem to need my body covered in many blankets even in the hottest summers, the parts that are afraid of the dark, the parts that startle at the slightest sound, even when no one else in the room notices them – maybe those parts would join my conscious memory.

Perhaps the remembering of what she did to me would kill me.  Maybe my mind is being kind to me by letting me forget the evils that she perpetrated onto me and my brother.  Perhaps because I was young and unable to process this sort of human evil betrayal to my mind and body, perhaps my mind let me forget.  In which case I say thank you to my mind.

On the other hand, perhaps the remembering of what she did to us would make me whole.  Whole in a way I haven’t been since she came into our life.   Perhaps a complete memory would stop the intrusions and nightmares and fears and anxieties from living my life for me.  This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.  It’s Saturday night, and all I can think about is what if I found the babysitter who molested me.

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What happened to me was nowhere near as serious as the things that have happened to you- I was molested by my brother two or three times, and he did some other creepy things- but I do understand the struggle of reconciliation/closure. I do want to speak to my brother some day about what he did, and I want to completely forgive him. That doesn’t mean that I am ready yet, though.

It sounds like you are still “in the meantime” about this. I’m not sure if going to see this person would be beneficial versus whether it would make you totally lose your mind. If you do decide to, however, please go with someone there to support you, and make a plan for what you wish to say/do. Please be safe. ♥

Comment by TreatInfamy


I wrote a story tonight about the things that happened with my brother. I want you to read it, partly because I feel that reading your blog has really inspired me and helped me speak more openly about it. However, I have not posted it publicly since my family could read it. Do you have an email I could send it to? If you dont want to leave your email out in the open, you can post on my site’s guestbook and it will only be visible to me.

Best wishes,

Comment by TreatInfamy

Hi Butterfly,
I hope you do find your babysitter. In my experience, knowing the truth is a relief, even if it changes things a lot (like finding out about my scars). I’d never go back. You won’t be destroyed or go crazy, that’s just the anxiety talking. You might find out she’s dead and have a grave dance on your calendar…

Not in any way to let this babysitter off the hook, and I hope I’m not being too intrusive, but you don’t write much here about being angry at your brother. Your mileage will of course vary, but I’d be furious, even if he was a victim himself.

May you get exactly what you need.

Comment by sworddancewarrior

Hi Butterfly,

This sounds huge. I hope that you find much healing along this path, no matter what you do or decide or what you find or don’t find. Good and healing thoughts to you.


Comment by kate1975

[…] Reason #157: What if I found her? […]

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[…] people have helped to create the jail I stay in.  However, I only have hatred towards her: the babysitter.  She was the first one – the one that showed me that there is such a thing as evil.  I […]

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Pingback by Reason #248: The Address Book « Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids

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