The Shadow Outside the Sanctuary

I was brought up to be a God-fearing child.

Devotion was a routine. I visited the temple twice a day—once in the morning before school, and once in the evening, after the sun had set.

Back then, streetlights were a luxury. The few that existed were either poorly lit or broken, leaving the roads in shadows. Because of this darkness, my sister was never allowed to go to the temple alone after sunset. She was female, and society knew she needed protection.

But I was assigned male at birth. The world assumed I was strong. The world assumed I was safe. So, there were no restrictions for me.

Exposed in the Light

In the part of the world where I grew up, tradition dictates that males must remove their shirts before entering the temple. To enter the presence of God, you must be bare.

For me, already struggling with body shame, this was a daily ordeal. But I did it. I was in 7th grade, and I just wanted to pray.

Little did I know that some people do not come to pray. They come to prey.

There was a man watching me. He must have been noticing me for a while—a young kid, shirtless, entering alone. He saw the vulnerability that everyone else ignored.

The Dark Corner

One evening, as I was exiting the temple, he made his move.

He came up behind me and steered me into a dark corner, right outside the temple walls. He was much stronger than me. I was paralyzed. He threatened to harm me if I made a noise. He threatened to harm me if I told anyone.

Out of fear, I did not fight back. I couldn't. He assaulted me in the shadows of a holy place, and I realized then that my "male" status offered me no protection at all.

I suspect he knew I was an easy target. He knew I was the quiet kid who walked alone.

The Silence

I went home that night and said nothing. His threats echoed in my head. "If you tell anyone..."

But my behavior changed instantly. I stopped going to the temple in the evenings. If I absolutely had to go, I made sure I was never alone.

To my parents, it might have looked like I was losing my devotion. But it wasn't a choice. It was a trauma response. I wasn't losing my faith in God; I had lost my faith in safety.

I learned that night that the mask I wore wasn't just to hide my identity. It was to hide my terror.

(Next: The Trap of Trust)