Here is an excerpt of an article I wrote recently:
I never wanted to have children. I mean at some point I never wanted to be married, but I fluctuated between wanting to be married and wanting to remain single several times. But as far as having children, I never wanted to have children.
I had heard too many terrible stories, stories of childhood snatched away too early. Stories of uncles doing things that should not even be thought of, cousins touching places that they have no business touching, brothers doing things to much younger sisters, fathers doing things to their daughters that demands explanations, school children exposing innocent school children to terrible things, teachers giving pleasure to themselves while robbing children of their innocence. Sometimes I felt pity for the perpetrators, especially after they had been caught – often times it was exposed that they too had been victims of childhood sexual abuse. Sometimes when I gave myself permission to empathize with them, I felt sorry for them, but most times I didn’t give myself that permission. I was angry because how could someone knowing the kind of pain that their own abuse caused them, decide to cause that pain in someone else?
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