The older women in my life—whether it was my mother or my aunt or the women in my building, who looked at me as their sweet baby—taught me plenty about protecting myself and my private parts. Never let anyone touch your private parts, they’d say. But I wasn’t told why I had to protect my private parts, just that it was imperative that I did. Because of this, when I thought of my experience, I didn’t hold my abusers accountable—I held myself to blame. In my mind, they didn’t abuse me. I broke the rules. I was the one who did something wrong. It was this thinking that also kept me from ever
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