Butterfly Girl

As much as my Little struggled at the beginning of the school year, she has flourished in the last half.

She can read. She can write. She can draw. She’s even obsessing over her first trend, and challenging her peer’s social cliques. She’s standing up for herself and she’s standing up for others. She wanted to be a doctor when the school year began, and now she’s expanded her desire to become a doctor at a university hospital so she can teach other people how to be good doctors too. She’s lost six teeth, and gained many friends.

She’s also a little bit scared as the school year comes to a close. Her teacher is transferring to another school and the anticipation of starting all over again next year with out the security of a familiar face is weighing heavy on her sensitive soul. She knew she wouldn’t be in her teacher’s class beyond this year, but she was looking forward to seeing her down the hall anyway.

She also (FINALLY) over came her fear of the Bad Man in recent weeks. I was worried with the anniversary of the break in and the change in the weather that she might relapse into her night terrors, but she sailed through unfazed this year which helped keep me calm as well.

We’ve also reconnected over the past month or so. I felt like we were growing apart since my schedule changed and Hubs took over most of the evening responsibilities. I hardly ever get to see Little during the week aside from sending her off to the bus, and she runs to her Daddy for everything. The past two weeks or so we’ve had the opportunity to go shopping together and just do fun Girl Time activities. She’s enjoyed it. So much in fact that she couldn’t wait to give me this wonderful Mother’s Day card:

That’s right. As much as I’ve struggled with this momming thing, and as much as I doubt myself my Little still thinks I’m the “bestst” all the naysayers be damned. 🥰💕🥰


My comments have gone off the chain this year in regards to my Sexual Assault Awareness Month posts. Which is weird since I haven’t really posted as much as I have in years passed and instead focused on promoting my books elsewhere.

One in particular got my attention more than others. A lot of them were the standard victim blaming. “What happened to me was my fault.” “I’m just making everything up for attention.” “You just regret sleeping with him” “He never abused you” blah blah blah. Typical victim blaming that often appears with Mens Rights Activists, or others who disagree with the so called “feminist agenda.” I’ve heard it all before. I’m used to it. Everyone has a right to their opinion, as well as the ability to disagree with mine. It’s whatever.

The one that stood out among the rest was the one accusing me of participating in continuing advocacy as some sort of diabolical revenge plot directed at my rapist. It didn’t upset me so much as it just really, really, REALLY confused me. Now if they had said something along the lines of: “your book is an act of revenge” okay. It’s not true, but books have been published in anger before so I get that logic and how people may feel that way. Again, difference of opinion, it’s whatever.

But that’s not what the accusation was. The accusation was that somehow by transcending from the victim mentality to that of a survivor, and using my gift as an author and experience in recovery to advocate and support fellow victims/survivors of sexually based crimes that I’m some how making my rapist’s life miserable and it’s all because I want some sort of revenge. Even typing that out made my brain ache because it doesn’t make any sense.

Okay… first of all, if I was out for revenge when I published my memoir I would have used his real name. That’s the difference between an autobiography and a memoir. Autobiographies have to be iron clad, and 110% factual a+b=c with no room for interpretation. Memoirs are personal stories, anecdotes, experiences and opinions. Legally speaking I could publish his name and there wouldn’t be shit he could do about it. Much in the same way that reporting the crime so long after the fact I was unable to receive any sort of justice being my word against his, if he chose to bring a law suit against me it wouldn’t get anywhere. I still could have used his name if I wanted revenge.

Even here. My blog, is protected by the 1st Amendment. I can publish names if I wanted to, but I don’t. It’s childish, petty, and ridiculous. Yes, in my younger days I’ve been guilty of calling people out, but I’ve grown past that. I have way better things to write about than using this space to call people out by name. I’d much rather focus on concepts, ideas, and my own feelings than the specifics of who’s to blame for my trauma at this point in my life. It really doesn’t matter what my rapist’s name is, what matters is that he raped me and has since caused a whole host of bullshit in my life allowing me the opportunities to publish my books and advocate on behalf of others. Which I will continue to do for as long as I’m able, despite his best efforts to stop me.

If that’s making his life miserable in some way, it’s only because he can’t control me anymore not because I’m hellbent on something as shallow as revenge. I am hellbent, but I’m hellbent on standing up for change and making the world a better place for my children. And you know what? It’s working. Advocacy on behalf of victims of sexually based crimes IS working. I’m watching the fruits of our labors come to fruition right now as my niece is taking on the system in regards to her own assault and actually seeing results. She will have her day in court. Whether she actually sees justice is yet to be determined, but she will have her day in court. That’s a lot farther than many other women could even hope to get before the rise of MeToo and TimesUp.

I’m not vain enough to believe it was my specific story that inspired this local tide of change. Hell, the family didn’t even tell me because they were worried about me having a PTSD episode so I know it’s not my specific story that’s contributed to any of this. I’m only one of millions and those millions are making progress. Slow, often painful, but progress. That’s why I continue to participate in Sexual Assault Awareness Month, RedMyLips, DenimDay, and other opportunities. That’s why I continue to promote my books, and do all the PR bullshit. It’s working. Me as an individual, hell, I’m just a tiny ripple in an ocean. But eventually when we get enough ripples, we’ll have a Tsunami.


A few years ago I wrote about why I didn’t report the rape and sexual abuse that defined my young adulthood until much later. A big part of it was because my rapist’s father was a high ranking military official at a local base and I was terrified that he might use his political connections to make my life hell.

I compared myself to Emily Doe and Brock Turner in reference to Mr. Turner’s (Brock’s father) involvement with the case and the infamous letter he wrote to the judge on his son’s behalf. I mentioned that I wasn’t sure if my rapist’s father had any involvement in our particular case, but I hoped that he possessed more integrity than Mr. Turner.

This year in the midst of digging around in other military records I pulled up the public information on my rapist’s father as well to satisfy my own curiosity. A big part of the entire fiasco of entering a relationship with my rapist after the fact was his consistent dishonesty. As I’ve spent time fact checking various stories he shared with me during the publication process of my memoir, I’ve found that 90% of everything my rapist ever told me was complete bullshit. Which isn’t entirely surprising considering the level of abuse I endured at his hands during our short lived relationship. His lies were a simple, yet effective way to control me. He held me emotionally hostage for many years even after our relationship ended. Both with fear that he would harm himself in retaliation for me speaking out about the abuse or that he would “teach me a lesson” and come after me.

Now all I really have to judge his father’s integrity are military service records, awards, achievements etc. versus the word of his son who has proven himself to be a pathological liar. I never interacted with his father enough to really make a solid assessment of his character. Up until recently I based most of my presumptions on what his son told me.

Bah HA HA HA HA! Thank God for the military recording every time you breathe, because what his son told me conflicts with everything he has ever done in his public military career. Of course I can’t speak for his home life, but given the fact that he never really pursued the more political ranks, never spoke of his various (damn impressive) achievements, and pretty much keeps to himself like every other Average Joe, I’m going to say that aside from the same love and loyalty to his children he has boat loads more integrity than Mr. Turner ever will.

Would he help his son out of various legal debacles? Sure. He’s a loving father. He would certainly offer any legal resources he has to give his son the best chance to survive the circus of the legal system.

Would he manipulate the system, play politics, bribe, blackmail, etc etc etc as his son lead me to believe? No. I sincerely don’t believe he would now or really ever has. I think in instances where his son needed “help from his dad” it was merely a convenient cover story for his son to go find less than legal means (or another woman) to bail his own ass out.

Coming to that conclusion makes me a little sad that I didn’t think to research more before publishing my memoir. Not that Dad really plays a large part in it all, but the way I wrote him was written through the false pretenses his son filled my head with. Thankfully I took the time to change all the major identifying details so only a handful of people know who he really is, but… I still feel foolish anyway. Sorry, Dad! My bad. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Summer Nights

Working late at night doesn’t leave a whole lot of options for socializing after work, but once or twice a week a few co workers and I go out for an hour or two and relax after we close the restaurant. We’ve gone to a bar or two, and more recently we’ve switched it up to late night diners and such.

This week I returned to a nostalgic piece of my young adulthood. It’s not the first time I’ve been back to a late night Waffle House meal with friends, but it is the most recent.

Our local Waffle House is basically aesthetically perfect. It’s in a quite empty plaza parking lot next to a junk yard on the West and train yard slightly South, snuggly nestled up directly under a bill board advertising a local drug rehabilitation program. And all of this is situated across the street from a rundown Walmart. Lol. Which is honestly really out of place for the rest of the neighborhood, but it is what it is.

I sat in the parking lot with my windows down just enjoying the warm night air, listening to the sounds of trains moving around and watching a light on the billboard flicker. It was comforting in a way and brought back happy memories of carefree Summer nights wasted driving around aimlessly or haunting diners and other 24hr establishments simply because we could.

I think that’s really the only thing I miss about my days before becoming a parent. Well that and sleeping naked lol. I’m glad I’ve found a nice balance between responsibilities and my youthful adventurous spirit. It makes coming home to the demands of three tiny humans much less draining, and my secondish shift schedule fits much better into my natural circadian rhythm.

It’s nice to enjoy my Summer Waffles again without sacrificing the life I’ve built here with Hubs. It took a while to find my balance between the two, but I think I’ve finally got it. I can’t wait until the weather stays consistently warmer and I can break out my flip flops and sun dresses. It’s going to be a good year this year. I’m excited. 😊

SAAM 2019: Thank You Mr. President?

Rebecca MacCeile

April 2017

“In April 2017 President Trump made a declaration about April being Sexual Assault Awareness Month (SAAM). To be clear, I was staunchly opposed to him being in office with so many allegations of sexual assault against him. Yet, SAAM and the National Sexual Violence Resource Center were trending for the first time that I could recall in all of my years of involvement with the project.

I was offended by the blatant hypocrisy, and obvious insincerity. I was also kind of excited that SAAM was trending, simply for the sake of awareness. I’m not going to call it a silver lining, because that’s unfair to the victims. Not just victims who made allegations against the President, but any victim who hasn’t reached a place where they can comfortably be bombarded with discussions of sexual assault in the media.

I don’t know what I would do if my assailant…

View original post 295 more words

My Baby Did a Thing

Yesterday was my Littlest Little’s last occupational therapy appointment. All things considered it was a joyous and positive experience. He’s grown so much over the past 10 months and he really didn’t need to go anymore, but he really loved going and he really loved his therapist. So much so that as we were getting ready to leave the house I explained to him that it was his last appointment and we would have to say goodbye to Ms Becky. He looked at me and got tears in his eyes as the realization sank in. He went from mega excited to go to his appointment, to very quiet and upset.

Gosh if that didn’t make ME all weepy and upset for him even though I understood going into it that it wouldn’t last forever. I also understand that this is an amazing thing for him to be flourishing and the therapist to be confident that he will continue to do so without her help. And it still crushed my Champ’s spirit and smashed his little heart into a billion pieces.

Uuuuuuuugh… if I’m this upset when he has to say goodbye to a therapist, what the hell am I going to do when the first girl breaks his heart?!

He handled it fairly well overall. He was upset, didn’t really want to say goodbye or leave the session, and he had a mild meltdown at bedtime but nothing like the epic meltdowns that inspired us to seek treatment in the first place. He’s growing up, and maturing. *sigh* My Baby did a thing.

Scrub the Decks!

Do you ever have one of those days where one thing after another just piles up on top of you and just brings out the Hulk Smash? Yep. Yesterday was one of those days.

It started with the news of a coworker who has been trying for years to conceive both finally receiving a positive pregnancy test and then subsequently losing the pregnancy a few weeks later. It was a very private affair, only a handful of people knew about it and it was absolutely devastating to find out about the loss. I cried and pulled out a few of my quotes and special moments that have helped me grieve my own pregnancy losses to share with her.

That was emotionally draining; then I headed off to work itself. Pulling out of the driveway I noticed my neighbors celebrating their son’s birthday with a cookout and piñata. They moved here from Mexico (LEGALLY I might add. They’re fully law abiding, naturalized, and on their way to citizenship) several years ago settling first in Georgia and eventually moving up here to Indiana to be closer to family. Their son was turning eight years old and like most other 8yr old boys he is very into all things Marvel and Avengers right now. So the theme of the party was Avengers and the piñata happened to be a likeness of Captain America.

SOME ASSHAT IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD CALLED THE POLICE AND COMPLAINED OF ANTI-AMERICAN ACTIVITIES. The local detective was just pulling up to the house as I was leaving and when I returned an hour or so later the party had all moved inside and the piñata was gone. Like… seriously? SERIOUSLY?? The kid was BORN HERE. He’s just as much an American as anyone else in the neighborhood and just because his parents came from Mexico and speak Spanish doesn’t mean celebrating with a piñata makes them evil anti-American criminals.

I, being spiteful as I can be when irritated, want to hang a bunch of Captain America piñatas from my front tree for everything my family celebrates and leave them there indefinitely. Hubs, the more rational of our partnership, has discouraged this idea but dammit if the desire isn’t there. Do you want to fuel legitimate anti American activity Racist Neighbor? BECAUSE IGNORANT BULLSHIT LIKE THIS IS HOW YOU FUEL LEGITIMATE ANTI AMERICAN ACTIVITY.

But the icing on my emotionally charged rage cake was learning that my niece was assaulted. That I can’t go into any amount of detail about pending the ongoing investigation, but it tipped me right over the edge passed Hulk Smash and straight into Calm Rage, one of the few perks to my PTSD. I was hyperaware, and physically tense but otherwise completely composed.

Yep. That was basically me for the duration of the evening. I Rage Cleaned the house, ran two miles, and flew through two chapters of homework before my adrenaline wore off and I passed out in an emotionally exhausted lump where I have remained for the duration except for getting Little on the bus and feeding the boys breakfast.

S.A.A.M. 2019

Here we are, April 2019. For those that don’t know April is the month set aside by the National Sexual Violence Resource Center to bring awareness to sexually based crimes. For the past several years I’ve participated in SAAM here on my blog sharing different articles I found interesting, and adding my own two cents here and there on the topics often brought to the surface during SAAM.

This year, I’m going to do something a bit different. Instead of writing my own posts I’m going to share this wonderful little booklet here with you all.

This is a peek inside Turquoise Boot Straps: A Survivor’s Thoughts by Rebecca MacCeile; available now on Amazon in both Kindle and paperback format. Check it out!


* 1 in 5 women and 1 in 71 men will be raped at some point in their lives.
* In the United Stares 1 in 3 women and 1 in 6 men experienced some form of contact sexual violence in their lifetime.
* 51.1% of female victims of rape reported being raped by an intimate partner and 40.8% by an acquaintance.
* 52.4% of male victims report being raped by an acquaintance and 15.1% by a stranger.
* 49.5% of multiracial women and over 45% of American Indian/Alaska Native women were subjected to some form of contact sexual violence in their lifetime.
* 91% of victims of rape and sexual assault are female, and 9% are male 
* 1 in 8 out of 10 cases of rape, the victim knew the perpetrator.
* 8% of rapes occur while the victim is at work.

The problem of sexual violence runs rampant, and yet rape is the most under-reported crime; 63% of sexual assaults are not reported to police. Of the remaining 37% reported less than 10% are found to be false claims. The facts are clear, and still the culture that would rather victims of sexually based crimes remain silent prevails.

Join Rebecca MacCeile as she throws off the shackles of silence and raises her voice. Turquoise Boot Straps: A Survivor’s Thoughts provides a glimpse into her journey of self-discovery while tackling many controversial topics at the height of the MeToo era.


Rebecca MacCeile is a loving wife and mom to three rambunctious kids, twin boys and a girl. She has been an avid blogger, blogging about her life and the challenges of marriage since 2011, motherhood since 2012, and the recovery process she went through after being diagnosed with PTSD in 2013.


Candy Apple Butterscotch: A Memoirh

Novelties: A Collection of Unfinished Short Stories

You can find the most up to date information about Rebecca and her upcoming projects online at: www.rebeccasbookshop.com


“This is one of those books that really hits home if you’ve had a terrible relationship. Not like a bad breakup over something stupid…but the kind where you’re totally convinced that this horrible person is your soulmate.”

“The accounts of the trauma are laid out in such a way that you know what’s happening and are able to imagine it but you aren’t bombarded with intense graphic imagery, which I appreciate as a survivor myself. Would definitely recommend!”

“This amazingly written gem takes you inside the author’s world and keeps you there, making you feel like a discreet “bug on the wall.” I could not put it down.”


It’s been a big month for my Littlest Little. He’s being discharged from his occupational therapy program after meeting and exceeding all of his goals, he’s enrolled in a private preschool to begin his academic career in the fall, we’re in the process of setting up his 504 with said preschool which is more than willing to work with his sensory needs, and he’s really begin to take an interest in all things airplanes.

The last thing is fairly typical of a three and a half year old boy, but it’s slightly more significant for my Champ. Maybe not him so much as it is for me. lol. Ages ago I had the pleasure of meeting one of the pilots who flew a record breaking flight in the SR-71 among others. We didn’t get to know one another very well, but the few short times we spent together left me with several amusing anecdotes and his endearing quirks inspired me to make Champ his namesake. Although more than just his quirks that come from a lifetime of military service, what really stuck with me all these years later was his humility.

I honestly had zero idea of the scope of his aviation accomplishments until fairly recently. I knew he flew the SR-71 and I knew that he held one of the records, but beyond that I was pretty oblivious. Of course coming from a military family myself, everyone had their war stories. My uncles who served long tenures also accomplished notable feats, and my grandfather was a POW of WWII. Anyone in my life with an extensive military career was a hero by civilian standards. The Pilot never offered any of his stories, and I never asked.

In fact the few times we spoke he merely offered wise advice and inquired about my own career. He reconfigured and upgraded an old PC for me, noticed I was driving with a headlight out, and offered to replace it for me. Just the most random, mundane, Midwestern Suburban neighborly things to do. There was never any of the “back in my day…” moments even when he was offering advice. At the time it never really struck me as unusual, but after looking through the public information on the SR-71 program in an effort to teach my son why he shares a name with a random person he’ll likely never meet I’m even more impressed with such small insignificant favors and tasks the Pilot willingly did for me without complaint.

That’s how you know you’re in the presence of true greatness, and I hope to instill the same values in Champ as he grows older. He’s already very excited about everything to do with “his” plane. It’ll be neat to see what he does with the inspiration as he gets older and grows into his personality.

Bad Man

This song shuffled into my playlist last night and brought tears to my eyes. I’m a little emotionally fragile at the moment on the heels of a visit to Ohio, but even listening to it today made me a bit weepy.

I think it’s a beautiful portrait of the grim acceptance and grief that comes with falling in love with someone with questionable morals. The song speaks of someone involved in a life of crime. It’s something I don’t think you can really understand if you haven’t experienced it.

Sure there are a myriad of psychological reasons people stay with criminal partners. Cognitive dissonance, adrenaline addiction, codependency… but that’s not what I got from this song. This isn’t a psychological lack of awareness, or denial. This is acceptance.

In a way it reminds me of how I came to terms with my ex’s behaviors during our time together. The most consistent criminal things he ever did during our time together were some small scams, and a few instances of petty theft. His violent side was expressed in the ways he abused me, but to my knowledge he never participated in any other violent crimes while we were together. Before we were together is an entirely different story but it’s lost to the juvenile court system, sealed records, and years of his compulsive dishonesty.

Still, even in the small ways he chose to dodge the law it was evident that he has a skewed moral compass. It was something I accepted about him fairly soon into our short lived relationship. I knew the end of our relationship wasn’t going to be easy, smooth or peaceful by any stretch of imagination and I dreaded it’s inevitable arrival.

As the years wore on and our heated emotions regarding the break up and relationship in general dragged along I wasn’t surprised to see the small glimpses of his true colors expressed in small acts of vandalism or heated emails. Everyone else has been relatively shocked by his behavior but to me it’s “Just Ex” that’s who he’s always been most people just never see that side of him as he does his damnedest to put on a morally superior facade.

I’ve always known, and I loved him anyway with grim acceptance and grief that lingers even though we’ve since parted ways.