A Long Overdue Chat

Hello friend. It’s time for a long-overdue chat. While it’s nice to see so many people outraged over the whole Epstein saga, you’re missing the bigger picture. It’s not the filthy rich you need to be worried about around your kids. Sure, they’re horrible humans who deserve to rot in prison, but you’re ignoring the people hiding in plain sight. 

The disgusting, vile behavior you’re seeing play out in the Epstein files isn’t anything new. It’s just newsworthy because the people involved are wealthy and in positions of power. But they’re the minority. The chances of your child encountering an Epstein or Trump are quite low. The names included in the files are only a small percentage of the predators living in the US. 

The true evil lurking around your children is the cute guy you had a pleasant chat with at the grocery store while picking out a turkey. It’s the old guy living across the street, whom you find adorable because he always gets your kids a little something for Christmas. It’s your coworker who talked you into joining a pickleball league. It’s your best friend who helps you make it through the holiday family drama. 

The true predators among us are normal, everyday folks. Wolves in sheep’s clothing. People you interact with daily, who you’d never suspect of doing anything nefarious behind closed doors. 

My name is Cadaline, I’m 45 years old, and I’m here to tell you what it was like growing up in a traditional, conservative household. I’ve never told my full story before because I was raised to remain silent. Raised to live in fear. Raised to be compliant. It’s a vicious cycle, grooming generation after generation. 

When I was diagnosed with CPTSD six years ago, the psychiatrists recommended I not talk about my childhood. It’s that bad. I even had therapists tell me they weren’t qualified to handle my case because the trauma is so complex and has continued throughout my life. 

Here are a few highlights;

• My mother was a malicious narcissist with undiagnosed mental health issues.

• My father was absent. He pretty much disappeared after the divorce. 

• My grandfather was a pedophile. The abuse started when I was 4.

• My mother knew about it and enabled it. 

• When I was around 7 or 8, my grandfather shot a guy, pleaded temporary insanity, and was sentenced to a psychiatric prison.

• My family’s response was to blame his actions on the devil and rally behind him in full support. My mom even forced us to get dressed in our Sunday best to visit him in the asylum regularly. But if anyone asked, Papa wasn’t in prison; he was sick and in the hospital. 

The abuse didn’t end because he was locked up, though. They conditioned me to be the perfect victim for every single predator I’ve crossed paths with. The neighborhood pedo at the end of the street, a good friend of my older brother’s, a group of guys I thought were friends, the list goes on… 

Throughout everything, I put on a happy face, got straight A’s, graduated with honors, and didn’t tell a soul about any of it. My family isn’t wealthy. There’s no one in a position of immense power to intimidate me into silence or pay me off. No. The people who twisted my brain into believing I’m broken were my own family. People who claimed to be Christians and went to church. My mom used to make fudge and cookies every year for Christmas and distribute goody bags around the neighborhood. Even if I had spoken up, no one would’ve believed me. Because we’ve built a society so eager to sweep anything unpleasant under the rug, we’re willing to victim-blame and shame children. 

If this little chat made you uncomfortable, good.