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Mommy Moo Moo's Musings

Dear Little Debbie (2.4.18)

As I was searching for a file, this other file came to me. I wrote this letter to my 8 year old self almost 3 years ago. It’s a process. It sucks.

 

April 28, 2015

Dear 8 Year Old Debbie –

I hear your messages loud and clear. Thank you for communicating with me. I am here for you. I am here to comfort you. I am so very sorry that Daddy hurt you like he did. I don’t understand why he hurt you like this except to say that he made a very, very, very bad decision to hurt you. I am certain that he is hurting in his own way, but he had no right to hurt you like this. No father is supposed to treat his daughter like this. You were right and immediately knew that what he was doing to you was wrong, inappropriate, hurtful, and bad. You are not a bad person. You did nothing wrong. You did everything that you could to survive this awful, horrible, horrendous abuse. No 8 year old child should have to go what you went through. A father is supposed to protect his child, cherish his child, nurture his child, guide his child, love his child, and support his child. Your father did many great things for you, but he also did horrific, awful, hurtful, painful things to you that were not your fault. This entire experience is Daddy’s fault. He was the adult and should have known better. You are a child and no child should have to deal with sex at that young of an age. Your father acted inappropriately. He abused your trust. He abused your body. He abused your mind. He broke your spirit. He lied to you. He misguided you. He misinformed you about love and sex and how people express love and sex to one another. No father is EVER supposed to love his daughter sexually. It is wrong on every level of human beings. There is no excuse for what your father did to you. I am very, very sorry that Daddy hurt you. I am also very sorry that you were left on your own for all of these years. I am sorry that no one was able to support you, understand you, guide you, protect you, listen to you, and help you until you met Mr. Denton.* I am so sorry that it took 15 years after the abuse first began before you received the appropriate help to guide you to healing.

I am very proud of your Debbie. You are so precious. You are so beautiful. I welcome you back into my being. I want to be with you forever. I am here for you. I am listening to you. Thank you for talking to me. Speak clearly to me so that I can know how to best support you. I want to make you whole. I want all of me to be whole. I have forgiven Dad to the best of my ability. I know it is difficult, but if you can forgive him for what he did to you, it may help you to feel better in time.

I love you Debbie – my precious girl, my beautiful child. You are part of me and I welcome you back into my soul. Please help guide me as to how to help you, what to do and most of all – where do you want to go this Saturday for the next week? Where can we go and spend quality time together? You are the light of my life. I love you with all of my heart and soul. Let’s walk the rest of this journey together. THANK YOU FOR SENDING ME MESSAGES THROUGH MUSIC. You are amazing. I love you.

Heavenly and Great Spirit, Mother and Father God,

Please surround 8 year old Debbie and me with Divine white light and love, guide us, nurture us, reveal yourself to us, protect us, and heal us with your unconditional love. Thank you for creation. Thank you for love. Thank you for beauty, creativity, faith, hope, healing, joy, music, dance, art, self-expression, and family. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Love,

Debra

 

*Don Denton was a counselor at VIPCare (Virginia Institute of Pastoral Care) who was a Vietnam Vet. He used to give me bird feathers as rewards for re-learning or overcoming specific obstacles during my healing process. I worked with him for approximately 3 years or less.

P.S. “Little Debbie” and I ended up at our condo in Pawleys Island, SC all by ourselves where I wrote, cried, grieved, and did “mirror talk” therapy which is a method advocated by Louise Hay.

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