Jumpin' Off the Edge

I have a secret. It has been a secret for 44 years. Oh, I told a few people. However, when I told them, I brushed it off because I didn’t see it as any big deal. I mentioned it in passing to my parents when I was 16. Throughout the next 30 years, I told people here and there. Each time, brushing it off. Long ago, I packed the memories and feelings that went along with the secret in the deep, dark recesses of my mind. Little did I know the impact the secret would have on my life. In hopes of taking back what is mine, I am telling. I was a victim of sexual abuse. When I was five, a young man pulled my nightgown up, laid on top of me, and told me, “It’s ok. It’s what people do when they love each other.” While no physical penetration took place, his words penetrated my subconscious. From that moment on, love equated danger. I told no one. There were a couple of other instances of what I now know to be sexual abuse with different perpetrators. The last one was a date

To Do List Move into apartment Hang pictures Buy table and chairs Fix tub drain Fix motorcycle  In the past when I needed to do anything on the list above, I let somebody else do it for me. When I was young, it began with my father. After I got married, it was my husband. I don’t know where I got the message that a man needed to take care of things for me. This week, MANdie took care of things. I know there are people out there who would have helped me with anything on the list, but the sense of satisfaction when I took a shower and wasn’t standing in water up to my knees was so much more rewarding than if a friend came to rescue me. Originally, I asked friends to help me with the move. My impatience made me do it myself. Everyone who could help was working during the day. I had the key. I wanted to be in my own space. Within an hour, I had my girls and my car packed with my first load. We three girls lugged it all upstairs. We did it a few more t

I crashed today. As I sat on the side of the road looking at my bend up rear brake peg trying to figure out who to call, I couldn’t help but enjoy the sunshine. I finally called a mobile bike shop before getting comfortable to text a couple friends. The intent was to keep the crash my little secret. I learned that when one is sitting on the side of the road waiting for the rescue chariot to arrive, someone I know will inevitably recognize me and stop. As embarrassing as it was to admit I crashed, the opportunity to talk to him about what caused it was invaluable. After that it was easy to tell a couple of other biker friends. The really awesome part? The caring and support that came as a result of me admitting what happened. In the half hour I waited, the people I told checked on me repeatedly. I am fine. My bike is fine. I moved today. For the past six months, I have been living with a friend and her family.  They welcomed me into their home and treated me as if I

After moving out, I made the decision to buy a bike instead of finding my own place to live. Right away. I moved in with a friend and her family. People who don’t ride questioned my decision. I have had my bike for a month now and know it was the right choice. For the friendship Layla and I are forming has taught me much already. 1.      I can find my way on my own. It started the night I brought her home was my first time riding solo. My friend was not in front of me guiding the way, pointing out hazards, or checking to see how I was doing each time we stopped. 2.      I have strength. The first time I dropped Layla was in a parking lot after riding on 95 and passing two campers.  It is fair to say my nerves were a bit shot. That day friends were with me and helped me pick her up. Last week, I dropped her again when doing a slow turn on a bit of a hill in a parking lot. It wasn’t easy, but I picked her up all by myself. And then she wouldn’t start… 3