The Cornflake Girl -Iowa
A story about sexual assault trauma and how it changed the trajectory of my life for the better.
I grew up in Iowa during the 80s and 90s in a middle-class family. We had what we needed because my parents worked really hard to make sure we had a great childhood. I remember all our family vacations and the awesome holidays we celebrated. There were snowy days and delicious home-cooked meals. We spent tons of time playing outside until it got dark. I’ve got two younger sisters, and my parents are still together. I adored my grandparents, who I’d see every weekend, along with my awesome aunts, uncles, and cousins. It felt like a Hallmark movie – at least at first.
I was a reserved child with only a handful of close friends, and it’s often surprising to others today that I once struggled with introversion. My shyness stemmed from a deep-seated lack of confidence and self-worth. My relationship with my mother was complex; she was just 18 when I was born, and we often clashed. In her youth, she didn’t exhibit the nurturing qualities I longed for, leaving me to seek her attention in any way I could. From around the age of 7, I remember running away, hoping desperately that she would miss me and worry about my absence. I craved that affirmation, feeling an intense need for her love. I would cry myself to sleep, contemplating ways to earn her affection, throwing tantrums, screaming at the top of my lungs, and even holding my breath. Yet, despite my efforts, I found that my actions unintentionally created a greater distance between us, leaving me feeling even more isolated in my yearning for connection.
My dad and I were super close, like two peas in a pod. He’s been my mentor and one of the coolest people I’ve ever known. He showed us girls what it means to be a great husband. He loves my mom no matter what (still does), and he always looks at her like she’s the most beautiful woman ever. Plus, he was an awesome dad! We went to see movies together, played in the snow building forts, rode bikes, and went fishing. He even taught me how to wash a car by hand and play basketball. Honestly, I couldn’t have asked for a better dad.
My sisters and I were like a reality show waiting to happen, with a 3 and 7-year gap between us. Being the first-born, I felt the weight of expectations—mostly my own, because my middle sister was basically my mom’s mini-me and they were identical twins. She had it all: cuteness, a blonde halo, tiny stature, and a social battery that could power a small city. The moment she arrived, I knew competing was futile, so I decided my best strategy was to make her life hilariously miserable. One fateful day, left alone in the house, I proposed a contest: who could zip down the long, steep staircase to the basement the fastest. She, always ready for a challenge, leaped at the chance. When I yelled “Go!” we both took off. She vaulted down, rolling like a tumbleweed, and didn’t stop until she reached the bottom—meanwhile, I casually strolled down, stepped over her body, and declared, “I win!” A few bruises later, and I was left with enough material for a memoir about our sibling rivalry.
My grandparents were such a huge part of my life. My grandma was my total rock. I loved her so much and knew I was definitely her favorite grandkid. She was the best! We used to chat on the phone every day, and I’d crash at their place a lot on the weekends. Sunday dinners were the best, I can still smell that roast, carrots, and potatoes cooking. Her house smelled like pure coziness. She was all about those game shows, soap operas, the National Enquirer, and any juicy gossip. Honestly, she was a saint! My grandpa, though? Total chauvinist, like a lot of guys from his time. He’d come home from work, and she’d prepare a drink and dinner, then serve it to him while he lounged in his recliner with his TV tray. She didn’t sit down and eat until he was finished. She was not retired, she also worked a full time job and she did the laundry, including ironing the bath towels, dusted, swept, vacuumed, and ironed his clothes. I never heard her complain as this is what a woman’s role was then.
My grandpa was definitely a character—everything had to be just so, and he had a temper that could really flare up. Grandma put up with a lot from him over the years, but deep down, they really loved each other. He was super proud and adored his grandkids like we were the best kids ever. He totally spoiled us, always loading us up with the best junk food. It was like a daily trip to the store just for the latest and most outrageous treats. I can still taste those malted milkshakes he’d whip up for us, and grandma always made sure we had those powdered sugar donuts for breakfast. Both of them had pretty unhealthy habits, lounging in their living room chairs glued to the TV for hours on end. Sadly, their sedentary lifestyle caught up with them. Grandma passed away at 72 from liver issues and diabetes—never touched a drink in her life, but I think all that processed food and sitting around really damaged her body. Grandpa made it into his 80s, but he ended up with dementia.
I was always pretty quiet and shy. I felt super out of place with the other kids at school. It was like I didn’t fit in at all. I totally envied those cool girls who always looked on point. They had a ton of friends and were nailing it in school. It seemed like they didn’t have a care in the world.
When I was in junior high, I met someone who profoundly impacted my life. His name was Chad, and we shared a deep spiritual connection. He was my opposite—loud, hilarious, and very handsome. He was also gay, which added an extra layer of difficulty to his life growing up in Iowa in the early nineties. During that time, being a gay kid was particularly challenging; the environment was far from supportive, and while things have improved, it’s still not easy today. Back then, Chad faced constant harassment and ridicule, and I felt an overwhelming sense of protection for him. Anger bubbled inside me as I watched other kids make him feel lesser than he was. My heart ached every time someone chose to belittle him, and in those moments, I realized I needed to escape this town. I understood that neither Chad nor I truly belonged there. In fact, I didn’t want to fit in with those people any longer. We both dreamed of living vibrant lives far away, often plotting our escape to Los Angeles. I cherished the hours we spent on the phone together, detailing our plans, even though deep down, we both knew it was a dream that might never materialize.
We maintained a close friendship throughout high school. We often chose to skip classes to travel to Omaha, Nebraska. At that time, it was known for having the finest malls and shopping. We would leave school before the first period; I had devised a method to avoid getting caught when skipping school. We would visit the front office and sign out on a sheet designated for students leaving for medical or other appointments. If an excuse note was not submitted, the school announced student names over the intercom the next day. We were informed to come to the principal’s office to meet with the principal.. I discovered that if I did not go to the office, they never called again. I am not entirely certain how I came to that conclusion.
There was a small tight-knit group of us friends in high school. We loved each other more than anything- we were ride or die. We remained inseparable throughout our high school years. They were my everything. They got me through the hardest time of my life, which is in the next part of my story.
The universe has a way of mapping things out, often taking us on the wildest routes to get there. These experiences I am going to tell you about have really shaped who I am. They have changed the course of my life. I’ve waited 32 years to tell my story and it is not an easy one to tell. Nonetheless, sharing is important. I hope it will give strength to another girl or woman going through something similar or experiencing trauma.
Stay tuned for the next chapter.