The Jubilee Year: The Significance of May 11th

This is going to be a very hard post to write, and there’s a part of me that’s a little nervous to be sharing this much in a public space. But it’s been seven years, and in the Bible, the seventh year is a Jubilee year– a time for slaves to be freed, for the people to rest, and for the land to renew. It’s time that I told my story– my whole story.

As a forewarning, this does involve familial sex abuse, and if you are under 12, you probably shouldn’t read this article without parental permission.

Thank you. <3

***

May 11th, 2019.

A girl sits in the passenger seat of a car, staring out the window across the Halifax River in Florida. The car is parked by the water under the causeway bridge; it’s early morning, and the sun is just starting to rise over the Atlantic. She’d been here, once before, on a special outing with her grandfather; like then, the outing for coffee had felt special, but as time went on, there’d been the sense that something was off.

Her mother, who’d woken her up at five am for this outing, sits very quietly on the driver’s side, watching the water.

“Has Grandpa ever done anything to make you… uncomfortable?” she asks, quite out of the blue.

And the girl goes rigid. She stares out the window, drinking the coffee, keeping a stony face even though inside, she’s screaming. Terrified.

They’d had the safety talks. The conversations about what touch and behaviors were appropriate and what weren’t. She was aware that for the last almost three years since her grandfather moved in, he’d been touching her in ways he shouldn’t. Doing things he shouldn’t. Telling her to stay quiet, because if they found out, he’d go away to prison.

The girl loves her grandfather. Grandpa talked to her about horses. He loved the ocean and dolphins. He took her special places. Bought her horse magazines. Her parents loved her, but they were busy– busy with Grandma being sick, busy with the house being under construction, busy with finishing college and her mom being sick. They didn’t listen to her. Grandpa did.

Besides, he was Mommy’s daddy. He was supposed to be safe.

“Allie?”

The girl resolves to stay quiet. He’d already started touching her less. Maybe he’d stop as she got older. Maybe he didn’t have to leave. Maybe if she just kept quiet–

The girl realized she was shaking.

And before her mother can ask another question, she starts crying. Sobbing, even.

“Yes.”

…

That morning on the Halifax, underneath the causeway, changed everything. We went back home, my mom called my dad, who collected my siblings into the car, pajamas and all. We spent the morning at Denny’s while my grandfather was arrested. I talked to the police, who were very kind and gentle to a scared little girl who felt like a traitor. I don’t remember the name of the cop, but he showed me a picture of his horse.

We didn’t come back to our house for almost three months. Between construction and trying to heal from being violated in a place, out of all places, should be safe, it took a lot of time to come back.

I don’t blame my parents. We had safety talks. My mother did everything “right”. She never expected her own father to be a predator when they welcomed him into their home. To his credit, my grandfather pleaded guilty to all charges and ended up in prison on three life sentences. I thankfully did not have to testify in court. But I would later find out that his behaviors toward me were spreading to my little sisters– it had been my little sisters speaking up that had brought my mother to taking me on that drive, asking me that question outside of the house.

It’s now been seven years since that day on that beach. I’ve been through traditional therapy twice– still attending now. We moved a year later, halfway across the country.

But May is still haunted with those memories. In some ways, May 11th was the worst day of my life. Yes, I was being freed– but I didn’t have any other “cozy” grandparents besides Grandpa. I felt like a betrayer. I felt like it was my fault.

I just wanted to forget and move on, but I couldn’t.

As time has gone on, I’ve remembered some things and forgotten others. I don’t try to control the memories I do or don’t have. I had to work to reclaim the things tainted by evil– horses, the ocean, dolphins, yes, even the month of May.

I was ten years old when I first wanted to start a website. I remember talking to my grandfather about it. I wanted to create a horse website for horseless girls like me. I drew it out and wrote my articles by hand.

Those dreams got shoved into a box for a while.

When they got pulled out in 2023, I knew that I wanted to reclaim that little ten year old’s dream. I wanted to reclaim my horses– and I would do it on the date that my world fell apart and back into place at once.

My website would be launched May 11th.

And on May 11th 2023… I did. Three years ago I started my journey into building my platform as a writer, and I achieved that dream.

Now that it’s been seven years since 2019 (my “jubilee year”, in Biblical terms…), I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on those years. Reflect on how I’ve healed and grown. There’s still some sticky spots and challenges, still some anxieties.

But one of the things that always stuck out to me was God’s faithfulness. My relationship with Him took some rocky paths, but one of the things that always stuck out to me was the fact that I didn’t feel abandoned by him. I’m sure there were moments of questioning. But it was in the months after that day that I saw a million small acts of His kindness. We saw dolphins in the Halifax as we were driving away, and looking back, I remember smiling despite myself. Feeling thankful for the dolphins despite the fact my whole world shattered. God guided us to a new church (actually, a Messianic Synagogue) that gave me a safe place to grow closer to him, with people who loved on my family and a grandfatherly-like Rabbi whose Maine accent still puts a smile to my face today.

God made sure I didn’t feel abandoned. He didn’t speak out loud, but He knew me, and He knew what comforted me, and there are a lot of memories from afterwards where He sent things as comforts, from my first guinea pig to getting to stay in a house full of lizards. He walked with me as I navigated middle school and trauma-based anxiety and high school and trying to keep my trauma from taking over the rest of my life.

I’m still here. He’s still here. And I’m still untangling the knots from what happened. But that’s okay. Healing isn’t linear. And the best part has been watching how I could use my story– through my characters, sharing it with people, using what happened to me as a fuel to help others that have been hurt the same way.

It’s been seven years. And I want to start my jubilee year strong by sharing my story here. To tell you that… I get it. I know what it’s like to be betrayed by those you love. I know the shame that comes with SA.

But Jesus has scars too. He’s not ashamed of you for yours. He still loves you. He still calls you beloved. And while He might have allowed it to happen, it was never His will for the world to be like this.

You are loved.

You are seen.

You are wanted.

He loves broken things, because in Him all the broken things can be fixed and be made new.

So this is why I write the broken things. The unsaid stories. The messy tales. Characters with scars.

Because I lived through those things. And I want to write stories of hope for broken people to feel seen. Fiction helped me heal in a lot of ways– and I want to use my gifts to show that God still cares about broken people.

Here’s to the jubilee year. A celebration of freedom.

May God use me for His Glory. Not mine.