The Grooming Game

One of the hardest things about being a victim is the level of blame a victim places on themselves. Take me for instance, I was well trained, knew all the warning signs, risk and protective factors,  what to look for, and could dissect a case study in minutes, yet, I was clueless when it pertained to me. Reflection and replay painted a clear picture, a nauseating picture of exactly how I was groomed, manipulated and later victimized. These were classic tactics, nonetheless, I was blind to them. How could I be so dumb? 

It all began with targeting. I was painted as the “go-to” person because I had more knowledge, depth, and breadth on certain work-related subject matter. I studied hard, worked hard, involved myself in community forums, spoke up, and researched- I was hungry to make a difference. I welcomed the challenges associated with changing outdated perspectives, it not only intrigued me, but it also drove me. But it was there, in that place, that I was weakest and most vulnerable. I missed the obvious signs because, in my mind, nothing like this could ever, would ever happen to me. I thought I was the voice for the voiceless. I was wrong.

I mistook the incidents of isolation for a meeting-of-the-minds that would produce a global agenda of quality outcomes. Far from the hearing ears of others, the words of admiration, understanding, and teamwork took root in my hunger to reach the end goal. Never once did I recognize that sinister seeds were being planted. Never once did I realize that the initiated conversations regarding the inadequacies of others would be the foundation of separation and misrepresentation. I refused to acknowledge the possibility that physical boundaries were being crossed, even when they were crossed many times over. I kept the “just between us” secrets I was asked to keep, and even shared bits of information about myself at the end of probing questions, only to realize later that this was all part of the grooming process. 

In my head on repeat, I began to ask myself if I had mistakenly incited this. Why me? Had I said something, done something, or sent the wrong message? I didn’t have any answers. I didn’t know why those moments of repudiation were met with exhilaration, arousal. I couldn’t understand why I was the one carrying guilt and shame because I pressed for accountability. 

 I presented “me specific” information to the powers of change, only to be met with insults and belittling. I lived and operated in frustration from having my concerns fall on deaf ears, and my fears minimized. I was quietly labeled, and those labels ushered in loud consequences. Consequences that changed my life, forever.  

So here I am, in this place- having seen all the theatrics play out. A place where accountability is not a widely accepted practice. A place where retaliation, targeting, and attack are commonplace. A place where the demons of induced anxiety, depression, guilt, and shame are known to roam freely. And it is in this place where confronting the demons are necessary for my survival, no matter who it offends. Permission and acceptance are not required. This is my narrative!

Here I am!