How Would My Rape Shape My Kids' Lives?

Years ago, when I was 18 and traveling in a foreign country, I was raped and left to die. I now have two daughters, one 15, one 17--almost the age I was then. I have vanquished most of the demons that have haunted me since that awful day, but recently I came face to face with a new one: how could I tell my kids?

I remember how I felt during the years leading up to the rape--invulnerable, tough, fearless. I traveled overseas because I wanted to push past the boundaries of my small New Jersey town. I left my first boyfriend at home--I remember how thrilling it was a few months before to discover love and sex. I had just finished my freshman year at college. Life was impossibly wonderful.

Then, one week into my trip, two men dragged me into a field, beat me with a club and took turns raping me.

How could I possibly make sense of that experience for my daughters? Right now they rule their world. They head out to the wilderness every summer to climb mountains and raft rivers. One daughter wants to fight for social justice, the other one wants to play in the WNBA. Yes, they'd both be able to follow those dreams even if they heard my story. But I imagined that if my daughters found out I had experienced such a terrifying moment, they'd know they could, too. They would see that the world can be a treacherous place.

Of course, all our children learned that a couple of years ago, on September 11. And my girls had already dealt with the deaths of their grandmother and their beloved aunt. But a mother's rape has to feel terribly personal, terribly close. Moms are the tough guys in a kid's life. My kids have seen me confront a mean third-grade teacher without fear, watched me face off against a bear in the Sierras, counted on me to hold them till the shaking stopped during the last earthquake. What would happen if they knew that their protector couldn't protect herself?

I want my daughters to have healthy relationships with men. I want them to love sex. I want them to be proud of their beautiful bodies. I want them to be daring and wild. Could I tell them, "This terrible thing happened to me when I was your age," and somehow enable them to tuck that information into a corner of their psyche, then go out and have a hell of a good time?