Taking Hard Steps

I am at a place in my life where I have to take some hard steps.  They include looking at the man that my father was.  My perception of him has been built around a little girl's struggle to survive.  I know the horror of it.  I remember more than I have ever said.  Some memories never faded.  My sanity insisted that I hold onto all the good that I could.
The hard steps are not fun.  Today I took a few steps.  I hated every minute of it.  Thank God for the safety net in my life.  I was faced with unpleasant alternatives until I did take that first hard step.  Stubbornness ran in and stood firm for awhile.
Now that the first couple of steps have been made, I am not sure exactly what I feel.  Vulnerable is the first word that comes to mind.  It is not easy to say that my father raped me.  It is even harder to call him a rapist.  The little girl part of me wants to scream.  No one is suppose to say anything bad about my daddy!
Why am I trying to protect him?  Am I just trying to protect that little girl image of him?  Can I face the truth?
Taking hard steps.  The man that I adored most of my life, is a rapist.  I always knew he was violent.  This is even more personal.  I was one of his victims.