Miss Sara is 8. this means she's pretty much old enough to go out and play in the neighbourhood without an adult hovering, to walk herself to school or camp, to do the various first steps towards complete independence of her parents. She's also the age I was when I was first raped.

It's a bittersweet feeling. On one hand I realize that I had no say, no control, no power because she really doesn't and I was no different. On the other it's so very crystal clear to me that she's vulnerable. So young, so pretty, so naive. Everything you want a child to be, but it strikes a core of fear in me that is as much a part of me as my soul.

There's this fight in me all the time now; the wise part of me that says I can't watch her every minute and she needs to learn how to live her life, on her own and then there's the part of me that wants to ensure in every way possible that she never faces that kind of pain and work I have done to become something resembling a whole person.

Because it ruins a life. To have your innocence taken from you, so young, means you never know what it's like to be free. Honestly, completely free. I watch Sara now and I see a child I don't remember ever being. Confident that she's loved, confident that the world around her will take care of her as she learns from it, confident in her immortality.

I knew I was mortal, that I would die, that I had no control over my death far far too young. I don't fear it now, as a 28 year old adult and I find it's a gift that allows me to find beauty and grace in growing older. But a child has no need for that knowledge as it cripples their ability to take reasonable chances, to learn and grow 'normally'. A child that knows that death comes when it wants takes stupid risks. I took stupid risks.

I look at my daughter, at this light of innocence that glows within her and I want to keep it safe. I want her to discover the wonder that is life without the bitter seed of reality. Reality comes too soon for everyone, there's no need for her to taste it before its time.

I just don't know how. I know if I smother her with my presence, I will damage her all the same. I'll just do it with love rather than with the sadism my damage was dealt me. So where's my balance? Where's my center point between my terror of my history becoming a truth for her, and my calm self that knows that a child needs freedom to grow?

I just don't know.