One of the stats I like to check every so often is the referring site. Where did you come to me from? Did my Facebook page send you over? BlogHer? Twitter? Or did you search me out on Google or something?
Google hosts my blog via it's blogger platform, so they're also kind enough to give me a list of common keywords people used to get to me, as well. You can imagine my dismay when I see a list like this entirely too often:
pre teen sex stories
preteen daughter mom sex stories
stories about pre teen daughter sex
I'm guessing these misguided souls ended up here because of a previous entry I wrote where I discussed talking to my pre-teen daughter about sex. I gather from their search terms, they were looking for an entirely different kind of story. It makes me want to wash out my blog. With Lysol. My kids are referred to under their pen names, as am I - just because I worry about people like this.
And now that I've typed the words "pre-teen daughter" and "sex" a few times in this entry, it's likely that anyone searching for something similar will be directed right to this entry at some point. So let me just take a moment to say this:
YOU. You are someone who has a problem. You need help. You know that you do. Do me a favor, do all mothers a favor, and get the help you need. Don't be so ashamed that you don't do the right thing. There are people out there, trained professional people, who can work with you on this, and maybe someday, you can be searching for stories of true love or adult desire or the recipe for peanut butter cornflake cookies instead of searching for stories about sex with little girls.
(I have the recipe for peanut butter cornflake cookies. I'd make you a batch every single day for life if you promise me you won't search for those terms again, or search for little girls to act out any stories you read while searching out things like that).
I don't know what shaped you, or continues to shape you. I don't know what draws you to innocence or makes you feel powerful when you destroy it. I just know that whatever it is, it can't be any way you truly want to live your life.
Call somebody, please.
Use Google again, and search out terms like therapist, psychologist, psychiatrist. Call one. Call another one if you don't like the first one. Call as many as you need to. Then take yourself off the internet and off of this dangerous path and be better than this. Maybe you don't believe you can. Maybe you feel like no one believes in you at all, for anything.
I'd like to believe in you. I'd like to believe and I'm willing to believe that you don't want to be this, deep down inside. Call me a cautious optimist.
But if you or anyone like you ever tries to weave their kind of stories around my kids, I will find you.
I will find you, and I will eviscerate you.
I just said that in my best Liam Neeson voice in my head, and I meant it.
When I write the words "pre-teen" and "sex" together in a blog post, it's not because I need to. It's because I have to, to keep communication and conversation open. To keep her safe.
It's just a real kick in the gut to remember that pre-teen boys and peer pressure aren't all I have to keep her safe from.