In the fall of 1989, a couple of friends and I took a much-needed road trip to a cabin in Indiana. We all had children at home. Two of us were pregnant at the time and looking forward to long, uninterrupted talks by the fire. After a good nights' sleep, we put on the coffeepot first thing the next morning and started talking. By late afternoon, the conversation was still going, and we were still in our bathrobes.
All of us have life experiences that go untold. Maybe it was the safety of the cabin, the fact that the phone never rang, that allowed one of my friends to talk about her childhood so vulnerably. She told us a story that was sobering and terrifying.
I was seven months into my pregnancy, carrying my first daughter. Listening to this woman's story, I felt for the first time a very real fear for what might happen, what could happen, to my child despite all of my efforts to keep her safe.
A little bit of evil goes a long way.
A big dose is devastating.