When I Was a Little Girl: Writings of a Survivor of Sexual Abuse

By Angie Hensley

When Angie became a Christian the week that she graduated from high school, the very first thing God would call her to do was face the sexual abuse she endured as a little girl. He gave her the gift of writing poetry to express what was in her heart and her head, and she knew that one day she wanted to share those writings to encourage other abuse survivors. Read how being abused affected her faith and how God helped her walk through issues such as forgiveness and shame. Whether you yourself are an abuse survivor or are walking alongside someone who is, may these poems minister to your heart and assure you that healing is possible.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Sep 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781638443988

Book preview

My Story

When I was three years old, my parents divorced. They met in high school and married soon after, becoming teenage parents to me and my older brother. My mom wasn’t ready for the responsibilities that being a mom to two small children entailed, and she left to start a new life in another state. My dad worked hard to support us, and we spent a lot of time with his side of the family, including his parents. It was during this time that the sexual abuse began at the hands of my grandfather.

At first the abuse didn’t happen very often, usually just when my dad, brother, and I were visiting my grandparents since we lived in a different town. The summer before I started second grade, however, my dad moved us to the town where my grandparents lived so my brother and I could stay with them while he was working. At that point, the abuse began to happen much more frequently.

I won’t go into details of what did or didn’t happen because I don’t believe they are important. In talking with other survivors over the years, I have always said abuse is abuse is abuse; the specific details don’t matter. The abuse lasted until I was ten years old. My dad had remarried the fall I was in fourth grade, and because my stepmom was a teacher at our school, my brother and I weren’t spending as much time at my grandparents’ house. After my brother and I got into a fight one morning at school before class started, though, we were faced with the possibility of going back to my grandparents’ house before and after school. I was terrified, and I still remember exactly where I was the moment I decided it was time to tell my dad about the abuse. My grandfather had threatened me with lies to keep me quiet, but I didn’t care. I just wanted the abuse to stop.

When we got home that afternoon, I went downstairs into my room and wrote my dad and stepmom a letter. Even now, when I have something important to say, I say it in written form because it’s just easier for me to express myself and explain my feelings that way. I recently found the letter I wrote them, and even reading it now takes me back to that night and all the days and nights of abuse. Looking back, I find it amazing that I was able to write such a letter at the tender age of ten, and I know that it was God giving me the strength to write it. After I wrote the letter, I went and put it on my dad and stepmom’s bed. The next thing I remember is that my brother and I were sitting on the living room floor upstairs dividing up a bunch of Halloween candy that our mom had just sent us. I saw the two of them go downstairs, and I remember thinking, This is it, I can’t take it back now. I knew there was no turning back and my secret was out.

That night, my dad and stepmom sat my brother and I down on the couch before we went to bed, and we got a lecture about our behavior that morning at school. I remember my dad being incredibly angry. After we had been talked to about it, my dad asked my brother to go downstairs and go to bed. After he left the room, my dad held up my letter and asked if it was true. I started crying and told him that it was. At first, he didn’t believe me. He kept saying, Tell me what he does to you. I was too ashamed to tell him exactly what my grandfather had done to me, so I kept answering back, I told you in the letter what he does to me. That wasn’t good enough for him. He said he wanted to hear me say the words. He was angry, so angry. We argued back and forth about that for a while because there was no way I could tell him out loud all the things my grandfather did to me. Eventually, he switched tactics and said, Well, we’ll just call your grandfather and have him come over and we can ask him if it’s true. I didn’t want this to happen either. I was already scared to death as it was and didn’t want to have to see my grandfather on top of it all. Here I had just told this huge, horrible secret I had been keeping for years, and no one believed me. The last thing I wanted was to have to face my grandfather. So I kept saying, No, I don’t want you to call him, and my dad would answer back, Then I guess it’s not true, is it? Again, we argued back and forth about this for a while. I don’t remember if my stepmom ever said anything and, if