The Story of Lila

The Story of Lila

I was born into a happy family and grew up to be a happy little girl. I was showered with special attention that kept telling me I was the most beautiful and loved girl in the universe. My mom said that when I was born, a word traveled fast through the maternity ward of a beautiful baby being just born. All hospital staff streamed through the room, desiring to see this unusual beauty. I knew I was special. 

My family is affectionate. We hug and kiss, and little kids are cuddled in adults’ arms for comfort, love, and protection. I remember the sheer strength of my dad’s strong arms, lifting me and swirling me up in the air. I never, even for a moment, doubted that these strong arms would always be there for me to land safely. I giggled and screamed with excitement, not with fear. I trusted my dad also when, one day, he said that I was a big girl now and that he would show me his love in a special new way. He said it would be our special love secret. I immediately liked it very much. The touch and the kisses all came with lavished gifts, candies, and words of love. And I responded with love as well. I loved my dad, and it was good to see how our love game made him so happy. 

My mom was a dentist, working long hours, but my dad was with me. For our extended family and friends, we were still the affectionate family we have always been. 

Years passed as I grew older, and so did my beauty. The boys in school were falling heads over hills for me. They competed to impress me, and I loved the attention. Very early, they began to touch me the same way my dad did. And it felt equally pleasant. I loved them back, reciprocating the pleasure they showered me with. 

I went through middle school, constantly hearing derogatory remarks hurled at me. “They are just jealous that boys like me,” I concluded and became more determined, clinging to the only way I knew to get attention, affection, and love. 

The day I fell in love changed my life forever. It was different for me, but not for him. I wanted more of him, but it was not mutual. He only spoke to me when away from prying eyes. In public, he pretended not to know me. Pain pierced my heart. There was a grievous irony projected over my very young life: Knowing how to “love” didn’t secure the winning of my first true love. But I was a survivor. I had to shut my heart down to drown the pain. I forced myself to move on, trying to fill the longing inside with more infamous sexual experiences. Sex became just the good food that satisfied my sexual appetites, which, on their term, drowned the pain inside. 

Task: How can you help Lila heal from the childhood sexual trauma? 

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