My Mother Was Raped. I am the Child Born From That Rape.

Mom & me…I think my first birthday.

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” ~ Maya Angelou

Listen to This Story. Read by Bonnie Smith

I’ve read this quote out loud to myself many times. And each time, I pause. I pause because I don’t know how to get the words out that explain why without crying. I have felt these words so strongly, for a long time. As I work through the courage to share this publicly, I remind myself that there is a bigger purpose. First, my own healing. To make peace with who I am, rather, the biological part of me that is not my Mother. Second, to work towards finding peace with what my Mom endured. She was able to. I have not —yet. Third, to celebrate my Mom’s life. Lastly, to let others know they aren’t alone. If my story can help even one person, one child, one parent, then I will be grateful for God and my family for giving me this courage to finally help myself by taking another weight off of my shoulders. There is still more to do, but that is ok. I’ve decided it’s time.

My Mother was raped. I am the child that was born from that rape.

There are very few people that know this truth about me. And up until last year, did I find out that my younger sister knew…after so many years of what I thought was protecting her. A long time ago she inquired, dancing lightly around the fact that our Dad was not my biological father. Even some of her friends had inquired with her. I remember telling her “that is Mom’s story to share with you. Not mine”. I didn’t want her to carry the same hurt that I had. But last year, around this same time, we were having breakfast after visiting my Mom at the cemetery, and we started talking about our parents and the apartment we grew up in. She said something and I looked at her and I knew. I asked her “you know, don’t you?” and she shook her head yes. The wave of emotion that came over me was intense, but in the same breath, I felt this immense amount of pressure lifted.

Growing up, I was just “Bonnie”. I had a lot of my Mom’s features and although my Dad had sandy blond hair and blue eyes, I never had any questions. However, as I got older, I did start to question. Where did I come from? Was I adopted? Why was I the only one who looked like me? Why aren’t there a lot of baby pictures of me? My Mother told me when I was about 13 years old. I remember exactly where I was, my Mom holding me while we sat together on our tan and light blue plaid couch. We were in our very first apartment away from my Dad. Just my Mom, my sisters and me. It was the year my Mom filed for divorce. Unbeknownst to me at the time, there was a court order of protection against my Dad, for all of us. You see, sexual assault and domestic violence intersect. It was domestic violence that laid the foundation for my existence. And then sexual assault that solidified it.

For years, I’ve stared into the mirror when this fact rears its ugly head, and I’ve asked myself, who are you? The features that aren’t my Mom’s, are they his? The things I don’t like about myself, do they come from him? In my mind, he is a monster. It’s taken a lot for me to understand that although I may share some of his features, he is not a part of me, my life, or who I am today. But it is still very hard and I’m still unpacking so much.

For years, people have asked me “what are you?”, “what is your background?”. They knew my Mom, they knew I had white sisters. When I was in grade school and high school, the assumption was that my Dad was Black or Latino. Then they would see my Dad and the questions would continue. “Did your Mom have an affair?”, “Is that your stepdad?”. For those who didn’t know my family well, I just lied. I’ve been questioned about my racial identity my entire life. In college and even until this day, I’ve been mistaken for or asked if I’m: Italian, Indian (straight hair Bonnie), French Moroccan, Ethiopian, Columbian, Egyptian, Portuguese and Puerto Rican.

Let me be clear. Growing up I never questioned who I was, as an individual. Fortunately, my Mother raised me amongst people from all different ethnic, religious and socioeconomic backgrounds. I never allowed anyone to put me into a box or make me feel like I had to “choose” a side. But I hated lying. I hated not knowing what the other half of me was. I wondered what “he” looked like. I hated that his blood was a part of me and that he very well could possibly be a horrible human being.

I hated going to the doctor and always being reminded of it when asked about my family’s health history. I hated my Dad for the physical and mental abuse he put my Mother through that led her to being raped. There are so many things I grapple with…to this day. Fear. Intimacy. Sadness. Anxiety. Trust. Shame. Fear was/is the biggest one. It still influences some of my decisions, some of my behaviors. Behaviors that might seem “too much” or “overly cautious” to some, but to me it’s protection. It’s awareness. It’s survival. I don’t know why, but it was easier for me to talk about my Mom being a survivor of domestic violence. Maybe it’s because if I said she was also a rape survivor it meant it was automatically associated with my life and I would be subject to further questioning. And I wanted to bury it. But then $79.99 DNA tests became available and affordable to everyone.

In my 20’s I shared my secret with my doctor. She told me about a genealogist, but back then it was too expensive. When 23andMe and AncestryDNA became popular I couldn’t believe it. My entire life I thought I would never come close to knowing who “he” was or confirming what my ethnic makeup was. For a long time, I struggled with whether or not to take the test because I knew that it may open Pandora’s box. Then, a couple of years ago I just said * — — it. I have to know. I want to know.

My husband was out of the country on a work trip and I was by myself in a hotel room in NYC. It was early. I was meeting my team in a couple of hours for a client presentation that would secure a large piece of business for the year. I checked my email and the results had come in. I knew it was a mistake to look, but I knew if I didn’t, that’s all I would be thinking about and I had to be focused on the meeting and “winning”. I thought I could handle seeing the results. I couldn’t. I broke down. My face and neck were covered in red blotches and I couldn’t get myself together. I can’t remember how I made it through that meeting or that day rather. I finally knew. But it was only the beginning. I was so scared of what I may find beyond 50% of my DNA makeup that wasn’t my Mother. What if someone showed up as a close relative or sibling? And then, about a year later someone messaged me. It took me a year to engage with them.

I became obsessed with finding out who he was. Eventually, I did. One day, in my living room, putting many pieces of information together. There it was, staring me in the face—I had connected all of the dots. It was another awaking, emotional moment.

In a strange way, this phase (I don’t know what else to call it) has been a part of my healing process. I have no desire to know him or want any part of him or his family in my life. But I still struggle with all of the emotions and realities of how I came to be and the life that made me who I am today.

• I’m still working on forgiving my Father. Despite all of his demons, I did love him. He never once made me feel like I wasn’t his daughter. He never once treated me differently than my sisters. Neither did his parents, my grandparents who I loved dearly. Aside from a spanking (it was the 80’s) he never laid a hand on me.
• My Mom always told me I was her blessing. In my 30’s, I went through another episode. She consoled me and told me that she had made peace with it a long time ago. I shared with her that I hadn’t. She was always there for me, no matter what. She let me be me, all the time with only love, pride and support. I miss her so much.
• As I work through my fears and my “secret” and how much it has impacted my relationships throughout my life, I’m also realizing as an adult, that my Mom made peace with it because I was still hers. That man wasn’t a part of her life. He wasn’t the one who was supposed to protect her. He wasn’t the one who had hurt her the most. The trauma my Mom endured is still hard for me to accept. Especially, because I think that no matter how freaking amazing and strong she was and how insanely resilient she was, it ultimately broke her down in other ways later in her life…and I wish there was more I could’ve done to stop it.

This month, October, is a month I will never forget. My Mom, my life, left our lives. My sister revealed she knew about me, and I realized I couldn’t protect her from the truth. I also realized she is 10x stronger than I’ll ever be. It’s taken 27 years for me to have the courage to share my truth publicly, outside of close friends and my immediate family. October is also Domestic Violence Awareness Month.

I said earlier that sexual assault and domestic violence survivors intersect, unfortunately, more than I think anyone truly understands. Physical abuse is one thing. The long-lasting emotional trauma and distress is an entirely other thing. It’s mental, financial, verbal and more. It puts people in fight or flight mode, sometimes for their entire lives. I’m still healing. My Mother, I believe, was still healing, although she would never let anyone know it because she always put us first.

To expand upon my bigger purpose of why…

1. My vision was for my Mother to be sitting beside me. I wanted others to be able to hear her voice; know that there is strength, light and independence they could absolutely achieve, for them, and their kids. I know she is here with me in spirit.
2. I implore people to stop judging and shaming victims and survivors. Understand this violence knows no race, creed or gender and that all of our situations are different. Most victims are just focused on not getting killed or keeping their children safe. Can you imagine that?
3. To victims, to survivors: I’d like to say that “we”, your children love you, are proud of you and want nothing more than for you to have a safe, easy, happy and healthy life. As adults, when we can help, we only want the world for you. Please, please if you can, seek professional mental health care. It is ok not to do everything yourself. I know you don’t want to burden your kids or other people, or you just don’t want anyone in your business, but your life, your physical and mental health matters so much too.
4. How do we help heal generational trauma? I don’t have all the answers, but for me, I would like to start by putting a stop to all of the family secrets and advocate for family or individual therapy as soon as possible.
5. If you google children of rape, you’ll get stories of war crimes or a few articles of adult children, most of them several years old. It’s as if we don’t exist. We do. I’m living proof. We shouldn’t feel ashamed of who we are. We may share physical features, but DNA is not the only thing that will shape who you are and who you are inherently meant to be; a brave, loved individual.
6. I’ve asked God why? Why is this my life? Why did that have to happen to my Mom? Sometimes I still can’t believe this story is mine. But at the end of the day, I’m proud of who I am and what I’ve been able to achieve despite everything. Emotional healing, positive, supportive friendships, financial independence, a strong family…and career success. I want to provide the access and opportunity that I was so fortunate to come by, to other low-income, marginalized kids and women, who have gone through (or are going through) my same experiences.
7. A friend and I got into a conversation about abortion. She told me that one of the reasons she felt so strongly about her pro-life stance was because of my story. I told her, I hear you, but I need you to understand, and know, that I am that child. And for my Mother, that was her choice. To me, thank God she had a choice. And I still believe, no matter what, it was her choice. I would want a choice.
8. Every 9 seconds in the U.S. a woman is assaulted or beaten. Covid has brought on an onset of even more violence. We need to change laws to protect all people —women, men, LGBTQ+ and children. If you’re looking for ways to help, here are 3 ways you can take action right now:

• Donate to WINGS, the largest domestic violence agency in Illinois. In addition to providing a pathway to independence for adults and children who are escaping from domestic violence and abuse, they provide 33 safe housing options in and around the Chicagoland area.
• Donate to organizations such as Joyful Heart Foundation and Resilience. Specifically, help end the backlog of untested rape kits at Endthebacklog.org.
• Write to your senators and congresspeople to reauthorize the Violence Against Women Act.

To my Mom, my sisters, my husband, and my friends—and all of you who have played a major role in my life, you know who you are. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for being there for me, for not questioning my ethnic origin, for seeing and welcoming me for me, simply just as Bonnie.