I unabashedly admit that while my husband is deployed, I watch 19 Kids & Counting.

I don’t know what it is.  I wear pants, dated my husband for years before marrying him and have cable TV.  It’s not exactly like I identify with them.

But the sheer management it must take to handle that many children fascinates me, I guess.

And the fact that my husband rolls his eyes at yet another ridiculous reality TV show when he is home means that while he’s gone, it gets to be my guilty pleasure.

I have watched it faithfully when he’s gone and have for years.

And so, when the bottom fell out after the family admitted their eldest son molested minors, including his sisters, I was a little heartbroken.

I had DVR-d that family’s show; I had watched it.  A few low deployment moments I even teared up at what I thought were genuinely sweet moments.

And then, as news stations reported it last week, I felt oddly saddened I had done all that and basically supported a family who would cover up such an act.

I have daughters. The thought of letting them live in a home with someone who abused them makes me shake with anger and sadness. The thought of neglecting help for my troubled son revolts me.

And the thought that I devoted such precious spare time during a deployment to the family who had done such a thing? Well, it was hard to take.

Sexual abuse touches close to home for me.  I have very close friends who have and still struggle as abuse victims.  I think our country is loath to acknowledge what victims suffer through, and I think so often the desire to hide or not talk about abuse hurts victims further and lets abusers get away with it.

I think, in the military, all of these truths about sexual abuse can and have been amplified.

And I think it’s searing to realize we all watched these girls on television who were somewhat coerced into covering up their truth and what we now know was the aftermath of that truth.

I am now ashamed to admit that I watched such a family, even enjoyed it.  I feel like I let down the victims who live in that house and on that show, though they will never know me and my bowl of ice cream and a snuggly blanket replacing my husband while I perched on the couch to see them get married or have a new baby.

I hope they are healing.  I hope this coming to light helps them more than it hurts old wounds.  I hope they know how sorry I am.

And now, I move onto another deployment guilty pleasure. 

And this time, I think I’m done with reality TV for a while.