I opened my laptop to check my grocery list. My two older children were running around down-stairs. My baby daughter was with me. My husband, Jacob, a carpenter and a Southern Seminary graduate student, had already left.
My gaze went to a Facebook trending story: “A Blind Eye to Sex Abuse: How USA Gymnastics Failed to Report Cases,” from The Indianapolis Star.
No. The article outlined how USA Gymnastics had systematically buried reports of sexual misconduct in a filing cabinet—complaints about 54 member coaches over 10 years. I felt sick. An institution responsible for the mental and physical well-being of thousands of girls protected the coaches who had abused them. I thought of the human cost of such a betrayal, the darkness that would follow those little girls. I wanted to break down and sob.
I thought back to being 15 and sitting on the exam table in Dr. Larry Nassar’s Michigan State University office. I remembered his cheery demeanor. The way he called me kiddo. I’d trusted him because USA Gymnastics trusted him. Nobody would have believed me then, I thought. They protected their coaches, so they would have absolutely protected him. Mine would have been just another name buried in the filing cabinet.
Then it struck me. The Indianapolis Star had reported this story. That meant someone had blown the whistle on how USAG handled sex abuse and been believed. The public was paying attention. I steadied my breath. Was God calling me to come forward? Was this finally my chance?
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