From the start
My name’s Emila. When I was four years old, I was taken from my mother, who was terrible with drugs and other things. I was separated from my siblings, and I have no idea what happened to them. I know when we were taken, there were six of us kids. I only know that my sister and I were placed together, so I have no idea what happened to the four older boys.
The family that had taken my sister and me in decided to send me back into the system, saying I was too traumatized and damaged. I just missed my brothers because they had taken care of me for so long, especially my oldest brother Tucker.
So many nights Tucker would sit next to me and rub his fingers through my hair to calm me down and help me fall asleep. He was the reason we ate, as he would go out and beg for money while my other brothers watched over us. I knew that Tucker took a lot of abuse and the brunt of it, but he always made sure to take care of us and make us feel as safe as possible. Part of me wonders what he's like today, whether he has a family of his own, and what kind of man he is.
I wasn't sure if I'd ever get to see my brothers again, and that scared me so bad not knowing. My whole life was spent being cared for by them, so now having adults care for me was strange and scared me to my core. I cried every night for them, and I think that is something that especially bothered the foster mom because she knew I remembered my family from before, unlike my little sister, who was just a baby.
But they adopted my baby sister, so I have no idea what happened to her, and I haven’t seen her since I was five years old. It breaks my heart not knowing where any of my siblings are or if they are even okay.
I ended up being adopted by a family that was very active in a religious cult and had 26 kids by my mom, but my dad had multiple wives, so he had 78 children between all his wives, and as a child, I did everything I could to please them and make sure that they loved me to the best of my ability. Between all of us kids, we grew up running the fields, as we weren’t allowed to watch TV, listen to the radio, or have any outside interactions.
In our faith, the girls don’t get to choose who they marry, and they usually get married at around 15 or 16 years old within the church, and the man is usually older. The man who is interested in you will go to the head of the church and tell them they have a calling: to marry you, and the head of the church will contact your father. Mothers and women really don’t have a say and usually follow what the men say.
When I was 13 years old, I had a friend I always loved hanging out with and visiting. One day I was visiting her on her family farm. Her parents had called her inside to eat, so I started to make my way home. Her older brother, who was seventeen years older than us and had two wives, called my name from behind the barn, and I thought he wanted to show me something, so I went to him.
I walked over to see what he wanted to show me, and he slammed me into the barn hard, holding my arms above my head while he hiked up my skirt and ripped my underwear to the side while I cried out at the assault. It was scary and horrible, and it hurt so bad I didn't understand what was happening to me. I walked home in pain with blood dripping down my legs. I didn’t tell anyone and kept my mouth shut, as I was scared because I had never done anything like that before; it was forbidden, and I was a good girl.
I was so scared to speak of it that I didn't know whether I should tell someone or not. When I got home, I ran upstairs, turned on the shower while sitting in the bathtub, letting the water run over me. I think I blacked out or something because the next thing I knew, my sister was knocking on the door, telling me my mother was looking for me.
When you grow up in a home as I did, you don't question why, or you can face punishment, so I got out of the shower, got dressed, and went downstairs to see what my mother wanted, but I also knew she wanted me to do our daily cooking.
A few months later, I ended up starting to feel extremely sick and having other problems, so my mother ended up taking me to one of the nurses who was a member of our church. I found out I was pregnant and had to come clean not only to my father and mother but also to the rest of the church elders as well. I was looked at like I should be ashamed of myself for having inappropriate contact with a male without being married.
I ended up having a baby girl and named her Oakley, but her father never faced any punishment and is still a very active member within the church. He was able to see her, and I had to deal with being around him and him being active in our lives.
My parents would invite Oakley's father over for dinner often, and he would always do whatever he could to make me submit to him with anything he wanted, and if I didn't, I would get the talk from my parents later that night. I was always told to obey, so I didn't know any different. It wasn't like I could just tell him no and do the things myself, as that would make me look like the bad person.
There were a few other times he forced himself on me, and each time I cried during the entire assault, but I knew I couldn't fight back as my body was meant to be used by him and I was meant to just take it. The pain of the things he would do was so intense that sometimes I struggled to walk the next day.
One day after his assault, my sister saw me walking strangely, and she asked me what happened. I told her everything he did to me and everything that happened while crying that I was hurting so badly. She sat with me and cried with me for over an hour until we were told we had to get the housework done. He never failed to show up and make sure that I knew he was there.
Oakley's dad would show up just to watch me clean and boss me around. One day I didn't get done what he wanted me to get done, so he took me to the paddle closet and paddled me so hard my butt was bruised and then sexually assaulted me. During the paddling, he would always tell me I was meant to be his and that I was to obey him.
I never understood why my family would be okay with their daughter being treated like this, but I knew I wasn't the first, as I had older sisters who were married off and had heard some of their stories about things their husbands had done to them. Women are meant as property, not for freedom.
I had always fought through thoughts on how to get out ever since I had gotten pregnant. I had come up with at least fifteen different ideas on ways to escape and safely get out of this situation, but it would include me leaving all my family, friends, and community I grew up with. I'm sure for some that would be easy, but for me it was a mess because I had Oakley to think about, her safety, and how to survive with a baby and no job. I needed to make sure she had food and clothing, so there was no way of escaping without having a solid plan and a place to go because I wasn't about to put my daughter in more danger.
Things may be bad for me, but they aren't bad for Oakley; she isn't really abused other than basic paddlings when she does something wrong, and she is being taught her place as a girl, and even though for most people that sounds like a bad situation, in our community it's the best that she can be in, but I know that will all change with age, and she will start getting treated worse and worse as she gets older. I've got to find an escape eventually.
