“She got raped.”

Those were the words I remember using when talking to a friend in a bar about 10 years ago. “Oh my god! Where was she?” she asked me while taking the first drink of her beer. “Walking to her car down town, BY HERSELF.” I answered, shaking my head and wondering how she could be so stupid. The thought never occurring to me that I was victim blaming. That I was contributing to rape culture. That I was being a part of the problem.

For most women there’s a time in our life before we realize the world treats us differently. For me that time was up until around fifth grade, which is when I swear I went to bed one night with a flat chest and woke up the next morning needing a bra. From that moment on, I’ve had what’s considered large breasts, settling in now at a 36DD. I remember being told to cover up and not wear things that were low cut. I was warned about the dangers of giving boys “the wrong idea” and how “putting them out there isn’t lady-like.” I wondered what it meant to give someone the wrong idea about the size of my breasts. Wrong idea how, exactly? Like they would think less of me because of the number sewed on to the inside of my bra? Of course, I found out incredibly fast because as it turns out fifth grade boys aren’t exactly the most subtle of creatures and I experienced everything they could come up with. Bra snapping, being at the pool and having one try to un-tie my top, lewd comments that I honestly didn’t even understand until I went home and asked my mom. She looked at me with her lips pressed into a thin line and said, “You’re developing into a woman, you have to be more careful now.”

And from the ripe age of 12, I felt dirty. Boobs are everywhere you look, used to sell everything from food to cars to alcohol and apparently that was just fine. But when it came to me, the “early bloomer,” I felt incredibly self conscious and unsure about what was OK to wear and what wasn’t. A V-neck wasn’t OK, certain round-topped collars weren’t OK, and a two-piece could only be worn if it came with a high-necked halter. I’d look in the mirror and feel like something was wrong with me. I didn’t realize I was being sexualized and it was absolutely destroying my confidence.

Since then my boob journey has been all over the place. For a while I was obsessed with them because with big breasts meant attention and even though I realize now how misplaced it was, there were quite a few years where I wanted it. When we’re told as young women to “cover ourselves up” because we can give boys the “wrong impression” we are essentially being told we’re sexual creatures, whether we like it or not, and that men will prey on us. Think about the weight of that statement. We accept men preying on women as an inevitability.

I was raised in a home with four sisters and no brothers so my experience with young men was what I encountered socially. I was always taught a zone defense. Go out in groups. Don’t walk to your car alone at night, ASK A MAN TO WALK WITH YOU. Don’t wear anything too revealing. Carry pepper spray. Hold your keys with the largest one between your first and second finger so that it can be used as a weapon if you get attacked. I can’t tell you how many times I ran to my car after getting out of work late, pulling my jacket around me and keeping my head down.

Then I had a little boy. And as the little boy has started to grow up, I have started to see our society through fresh eyes. I will not raise my son to tolerate a world where someone says the words “she got raped” instead of the words “someone raped her.” I don’t want him looking at a woman in an outfit she feels beautiful in and thinking that she’s “asking for it” because it shows off her body. I don’t want the word “slut” to ever cross his mind, let alone come out of his mouth. I will teach him that no matter how far something goes sexually she has the right to say no at any time and if that happens you have to stop immediately. I want him to know she can’t consent if she’s drunk, and the number of partners she’s had is none of your business. I want to raise a man who will not tolerate listening to other men use derogatory words when discussing women and who will intervene if he sees anyone trying to take advantage of a woman. I will raise a feminist.

And it starts now by teaching consent as soon as we can. My son doesn’t have to hug anyone, even family members, if he doesn’t want to. I knock on the bathroom and bedroom doors when it’s closed and he’s in there alone. I bring up sex occasionally and never laugh or make him feel like he’s being inappropriate when he asks a question. I try to use every teachable opportunity from seeing something on TV to walking past a lingerie store at the mall to point out how it’s OK to wear what you want, even if other people don’t like it. And it’s hard you guys. It’s hard to promote a healthy view of women when I don’t always have a healthy view of myself. But it’s a life long journey of discovering who we are as women and how we’re seen as objects in this world and doing everything in our power to change it.

Starting with our kids.

So God Made a Mother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A MOTHER available now!

Order Now

Check out our new Keepsake Companion Journal that pairs with our So God Made a Mother book!

Order Now
So God Made a Mother's Story Keepsake Journal

Amber Shoemaker

Amber is a full time mom, partner, daughter and sister. You can find her home with her boys or waiting for a doctor somewhere. She likes to read, write, and travel whenever she can.

This Time In the Passenger Seat is Precious

In: Kids, Motherhood, Teen
Teen driver with parent in passenger seat

When you’re parenting preteens and teens, it sometimes feels like you are an unpaid Uber driver. It can be a thankless job. During busy seasons, I spend 80 percent of my evenings driving, parking, dropping off, picking up, sitting in traffic, running errands, waiting in drive-thru lines. I say things like buckle your seat belt, turn that music down a little bit, take your trash inside, stop yelling—we are in the car, keep your hands to yourself, don’t make me turn this car around, get your feet off the back of the seat, this car is not a trash can,...

Keep Reading

So God Made My Daughter a Wrestler

In: Kids, Motherhood
Young female wrestler wearing mouth guard and wrestling singlet

God made my girl a wrestler. Gosh, those are words I would never have thought I would say or be so insanely proud to share with you. But I am. I know with 100 percent certainty and overwhelming pride that God made my girl a wrestler. But it’s been a journey. Probably one that started in the spring of 2010 when I was pregnant with my first baby and having the 20-week anatomy ultrasound. I remember hearing the word “girl” and squealing. I was over the moon excited—all I could think about were hair bows and cute outfits. And so...

Keep Reading

A Big Family Can Mean Big Feelings

In: Faith, Kids, Motherhood
Family with many kids holding hands on beach

I’m a mother of six. Some are biological, and some are adopted. I homeschool most of them. I’m a “trauma momma” with my own mental health struggles. My husband and I together are raising children who have their own mental illnesses and special needs. Not all of them, but many of them. I battle thoughts of anxiety and OCD daily. I exercise, eat decently, take meds and supplements, yet I still have to go to battle. The new year has started slow and steady. Our younger kids who are going to public school are doing great in their classes and...

Keep Reading

You May Be a Big Brother, but You’ll Always Be My Baby

In: Kids, Motherhood
Mother with young son, color photo

It seems like yesterday we were bringing you home from the hospital. Back then, we were new parents, clueless but full of love—a love that words can hardly explain. I can vividly recall holding you in my arms, rocking you in the cutest nursery, and singing sweet lullabies, just like yesterday. I can picture those times when you were teeny-tiny, doing tummy time, and how proud I was of you for lifting your head. And oh, the happiness on your face when “Baby Shark” played over and over—that song always made you smile! We made sure to capture your growth...

Keep Reading

“It Looks and Tastes Like Candy.” Mom Shares Warning about THC Gummies All Parents Need to Hear

In: Kids, Living, Teen
Hand holding bottle of THC gummies

What Aimee Larsen first thought was a stomach bug turned out to be something much more terrifying for her young son. Her 9-year-old woke up one day last week seeming “lethargic, barely able to stand or speak,” his mom shared in a Facebook post. At first, she assumed he had a virus, but something about his behavior just didn’t seem right. She called an ambulance and asked her older sons if their brother might have gotten into something, like cough syrup or another over-the-counter medicine. Their answer? “Yeah, THC gummies.” THC gummies are an edible form of cannabis that contain...

Keep Reading

My Child with Special Needs Made His Own Way in His Own Time

In: Kids, Motherhood
Mother holding child's hand walking across street

I want to tell you the story of a little boy who came to live with me when he was three years old. Some of you may find this story familiar in your own life. Your little boy or girl may have grown inside you and shares your DNA or maybe they came into your life much older than three. This little boy, this special child, my precious gift has special needs. Just five short years ago, he was a bit mean and angry, he said few understandable words, and there was a lot about this world he didn’t understand. Unless...

Keep Reading

Dear Daughter as You Grow into Yourself

In: Kids, Motherhood, Tween
Girl in hat and dress-up clothes, color photo

My daughter, I watched you stand in front of the mirror, turning your body left and right. Your skirt was too big and your top on backward. Your bright blue eyeshadow reached your eyebrows and bold red blush went up to your ears. You didn’t care. I watched you marvel at your body, feeling completely at ease in your skin. You turned and admired yourself with pride. You don’t see imperfections. You don’t see things you are lacking. You see goodness. You see strength. RELATED: Daughter, When You Look in the Mirror, This is What I Hope You See I’m...

Keep Reading

Organized Sports Aren’t Everything

In: Kids, Motherhood
Young girl with Alpaca, color photo

Today I watched my little girl walk an alpaca. His name is Captain. Captain is her favorite. He’s my favorite too. I met his owner on Instagram of all places. She thought I was in college; I thought she was a middle-aged woman. Turns out, she is in high school, and I am a middle-aged woman. This random meeting led to a blessing. We call it “llama lessons.” We take llama lessons every other week. It’s an hour away on the cutest hobby farm. Our “teacher” is Flora, who boards her llamas at the alpaca farm. She wants to teach...

Keep Reading

I Had to Learn to Say “I’m Sorry” to My Kids

In: Kids, Motherhood, Teen, Tween
Mom hugs tween daughter

My two oldest kiddos are at the front end of their teen years. I remember that time in my own life. I was loud, somewhat dramatic, I let my hormones control me, and I never—ever—apologized. This last part was because no one ever really taught me the value of apology or relationship repair. Now, I could do some parent blaming here but let’s be real, if you were a kid whose formative years were scattered between the late ’80s and early ’90s, did you get apologies from your parents? If so, count that blessing! Most parents were still living with...

Keep Reading

5 Things Your Child’s Kindergarten Teacher Wants You To Know

In: Kids, Motherhood
Child raising hand in kindergarten class

I am a teacher. I have committed my life to teaching children. Of course, before I began this career, I had visions of standing in front of a group of eager-eyed children and elaborating on history, science, and math lessons. I couldn’t wait to see the “lightbulb” moments when students finally understood a reading passage or wrote their first paper. And then I had my first day. Children are not cut out of a textbook (shocking, I know) but as a young 23-year-old, it knocked me right off my feet. I was thrown into the lion’s den, better known as...

Keep Reading