Gloom & Doom vs Sunshine & Roses

When I previewed my previous blog entry, I took one look at the picture I had chosen (a pensive girl) and thought, "Gee, that's really depressing."  I removed the picture.  I realized that by  writing openly about the realities of childhood sexual abuse, you could get the impression that every minute of my childhood was full of fear and dread.  And it really wasn't.  The human spirit (and body, I guess) won't let us stay in that place for long. We protect ourselves by hiding the reality away, out of mind and sight, and we find ways to laugh, wonder, imagine, and create.  We find ways to be children.

My brothers and sisters and I went on adventures, climbed trees, and had secrets.  We ran and laughed and fought, like all kids do.  As we got older, we learned things from our parents.  I learned about carburetor's and spark plugs, growing carrots and rhubarb, ironing and hanging clothes, and making bread.  We had friends, favorite clothes, dreaded chores, and foods we either loved or hated.  Yes, the "bad" stuff was there but, in between, there was "good" stuff as well.

I had been thinking about this for some time and was planning to write about it here on my blog.  But, what motivated me to actually begin writing, was a dream I had last night. In the dream, I was at some kind of gathering, like a family reunion, and I was having a really bad time.  I wanted to shut out all of the people and the commotion, so I curled up on the couch and put a blanket over my head (something I've been doing in "real life" some lately).  My siblings were attentive and wanted to understand what was going on, and even my psychologist was there.  I wanted to to tell them how I felt and that there was nothing to fear, but I couldn't express my feelings. I wasn't afraid or despairing, I was just so very, profoundly, sad.  At the end of the dream, someone touched my hand, soothingly, and I immediately had an image of that touch on my vulva.

I woke up fine, not upset, but thinking about the dream and how I might write about it.  I realized what a great counterpoint the dream was to my earlier thoughts.  As a child, I survived by shutting out the fear and pain and, by doing so, I was able to have times of joy and laughter.  As an adult, having looked the monsters in the eye, I no longer need to hide from the the traumas of past events, and I feel pretty safe and content.  But, as my dream shows, the core of the trauma, the reality of it, is still deep within me.  The bittersweet truth is that I will always carry, within myself, both the horror and the joy of my childhood.   

Today I'm very comfortable with my psychological and emotional status, and I'm grateful that I had the help and encouragement to be at peace with myself.  I know I'll learn and change and grow for the rest of my life.  I also know that my past, and all that I've lived through, has made me who I am today.  It's given me depth and compassion and helped to form my own personal style, perspective, and magic.

Life is such an amazing gift.  In spite of all the struggles and traumas, I'm glad to be alive, and I'm very glad to be me!  If you've had similar insights, or if my experience resonates with you, I'd love to hear your comments.

Finally Believing That it Wasn't My Fault

During the time when the minister was actively abusing me, two of my best friends confided that our new pastor had approached them sexually. The three of us were church buddies who shared all of our secrets.  Both girls said they had rebuffed the man's advances, but had not told anybody else about the incidents. When asked, I lied and said that he hadn't approached me, but I felt awful! Why hadn't I fended him off like my friends had done?  What was wrong with me?  Of course, we were little kids and had no real power over the adult abuser, but apparently they were able to do what I could not.  That may have been the beginning of me blaming myself for the horrors that followed.

When my father took up the abuse, this conviction was reinforced.  I felt powerless.  Apparently, everyone wanted to use me for sex, and I couldn't stop it.  I didn't even try to say "no" to my dad.  Years later, as a young adult, I was raped at knife-point in an empty lot near where my husband worked.   Even then, I didn't put up much of a fight.

    

I've read stories from other survivors who were also victimized repeatedly as young people.  I wonder if they also thought, as I did, "Why does this keep happening to me"?  "Do I have a target on my back"?  "Do I carry an invisible sign that says, 'rape me, abuse me, beat me, demean me'"? I suspect that we have all wondered, "WHY ME?  I MUST BE DOING SOMETHING TO MAKE THIS HAPPEN!"

I recently got a great new perspective on this topic from this quote (which I lifted from the very excellent website, TAALK):

In her book The Socially Skilled Child Molester, Dr. Carla van Dam states that “Child molesters [also] gravitate to those people who are most likely to be too polite to fend them off, too shy and anxious to tell them to leave, too dependent to be assertive, and too impressed by rank, power, status or money to do the right thing. Child molesters deliberately associate with adults who cannot address these issues. They seek out adults who worry about hurting people’s feelings. They charm adults who do not believe it could happen.”

When I read this and other passages from the book, I realized that I had been set up!  My parents fit this profile perfectly!  Dad wanted desperately to be revered as an intelligent and godly man, and Mom wanted desperately to be accepted by Dad and so reinforced his empirical rule. Our family was the perfect target for sexual predators!  We children were to be deferential to all adults.  We were not to say "no", not to ask "why", and never to disobey!  We were not to express our own preferences.  In our family we drank our coffee black, we ate our eggs sunny-side up, and we liked our steaks medium rare. If someone dared to show individual opinions or tastes, they knew that the punishment would be a lifetime of shunning and ridicule.

Enter the pedophile.  And then enter the empirical  and deluded father. And then enter the rapist.  It wasn't that I had a target on my back.  I didn't have a certain look, a precocious manner, a fatal flaw.  I wasn't too pretty, too sexy, too clever.  I was the perfect compliant child.  I was smart enough to know the rules and to play them to perfection.  And, in doing so, I became the perfect target.

My previous post was about anger.  I feel anger as I write this.  I also feel grateful that I had the skills and found the people who were willing to help me escape, to be safe, to grow, to mature, and to heal.  I now know, in a deeper and more liberating way that, truly, IT WAS NOT MY FAULT! 

Parents, civic and church leaders, and helping professionals might find "The Socially Skilled Child Molester," helpful.  I know that that there are many other great resources as well, and I'd love to have you share ones you have found with me in the "comments" section.

The TAALK website is also a great source.  The more we know and the more we share, the more able we will be to stop the epidemic of childhood sexual abuse.

Looking in the Mirror

While watching a show on TV this evening I was reminded of a conversation I had with my therapist a few years ago.  I made some off-hand remark about being old and he, in typical fashion, asked if I was afraid of aging.  I told him no, I wasn't afraid of getting old - in fact, I planned to live to a ripe old age as my relatives have been wont to do.  I told him, however, that when I looked in the mirror and saw myself as a "mature" woman instead of a young and beautiful girl, I invariably felt ugly and unlovable.  I said that, as a child and young woman, I had  come to believe that my only value was in my beauty and youth. If I wasn't young and attractive, I was of no value at all - I was nothing. 

It was, and is today, still jarring to see my reflection in the mirror. 

I know that being "selected" by my father and the minister, being used by them to satisfy their own needs, is what brought my young mind to these conclusions.  What I wonder about now is, why have I held so doggedly to those "lies" all these years, after so much introspection, therapy, and healing.  I know the truth -that I am innately beautiful just being myself - so, why is it so hard to let the old ideas go and embrace the truth?

Am I afraid? 

I don't think so. 

I think I'm just "comfortable."  I know that sounds silly but don't we always tend to stay with what we know?  I know that it will take effort to change my perceptions of myself.  Every day I must look in the mirror and make peace with what I see - admire my attributes, forgive my shortcomings, and claim MY SELF.  It's the same with other feelings and perceptions (lies) that were fed to me as truth by my abusers.  It takes work to move away from them and toward the truth.

So, am I lazy?

I don't think so,

In order to survive as a child, I withdrew inside myself and made the best of a bad situation.  I didn't fight, I didn't think, I didn't feel.  So now, I have to learn how to fight.  I have to use my mind and my energy and my emotions to notice and challenge the lies that I took to be truths.  I'm not afraid and I'm not lazy.  But, now and then, I have to shake myself out of my comfort zone and break down the lies and learn to live in my own truth.

I write these feelings as an encouragement to myself, and also as an encouragement to others. I suspect that these struggles are common to all survivors of abuse and trauma.  Fighting for the truth my be difficult at times, but it's sooooo much better than being lost in the lies.  Hang in there with me - we're not alone - and it's worth it!

Eyes Wide Open

Have you ever noticed how some people close their eyes when they speak?  I can't imagine myself ever doing that. However, I do often close my eyes while waiting in medical offices, sitting through boring lectures, listening to music, or planning my day.  It always feels safe, quiet, and restful in this private internal darkness. I've been aware of  this tendency for some time, but I've only recently decided to explore it more deeply, thanks in part to the example set by the writers at OvecomingSexualAbuse.com.

I think that feeling safer with closed eyes stems from the initial trauma  (as well as the daily threat) of the sexual abuse I suffered as a child.  When the situation was too frightening and I found myself helpless to make it stop,  I tried to shut it out.  I closed my eyes.  It seemed to make the horror less real if I couldn't see it (him).  I felt safer with my eyes closed. As an adult, I think that closing my eyes now and then to find a peaceful place is fine.  It can be restful, centering, and calming. 

On the other hand, if I find myself trying to "shut out" or "close my eyes" to difficult thoughts and emotions through food, sleep, compulsive behavior, or other methods, I know that I need to take notice.  I'm fooling myself and not helping my healing process.  I'm reminded of the child who hides his head behind a sofa thinking that you can't see him (because he can't see you), when in fact his body is in plain view.  The thoughts and emotions are still there in plain view, whether I "close my eyes" to  them or not.  And, if I don't look at them, they can weigh me down and continue to have power over me. 

Many of us have held the believe that, because this life is full of danger, it is safer to peer out at it with our hands metaphorically over our eyes.  We want to be safe from the horrors of  suffering, death, abuse, disease, poverty, and war.  But, if you think about it, with our hands over our eyes (or with our eyes closed) we are actually less able to see approaching danger.  I've come to believe that it's much safer to have our eyes WIDE open, taking everything in. That way we can not only see approaching danger, but we can also more clearly see the life and beauty we've been missing all around us.

There's TELLING...and Then There's TELLING

You might wonder how in the world telling your intimate memories of traumatic events could make such a difference.  Here's how I see it. 

I think there comes a time for every "victim" when they come to believe that they will never, ever be able to tell what happened to them.  They've lived with the secrets for so long and feel so isolated that they give up.  The decision to remain silent is then reinforced if their supposed rescuer betrays them, if they tell and are not believed, if the abuser is vindicated or ignored, or if someone implies that they should have or could have rescued themselves. 

Oh, they might reveal the bare facts of the trauma.  Over the years, I told lots of people something like, "Yeah, I was sexually abused as a child.  A minister molested me for several years and then my father continued it at home."  Short and sweet.  In each case, I was absolutely certain that nobody would care, nobody would understand, and that it would only make people uncomfortable and lower their opinion of me. 

Real healing comes from finding a safe listener (ideally a professional) who is committed to hearing your whole story without judgement. That includes how you felt, what you saw and heard, what you thought about - all of your fears, worries, horrors, humors, anecdotes, and lies.  It's amazing what a relief it was to finally share that part of my life with a doctor who encouraged me, sympathized with me, and challenged my self recriminations.

Why Would ANYONE Want to Talk About THIS?

Most people don't want to get anywhere near this subject.  So, who does??  Here are some that I've seen.

1. Victims who want to be heard and understood (often full of anger, despair, sadness and confusion). 
2. Recovering victims who tell about their healing process and encourage others to share their experiences.
3. Victims and advocates who use strong emotional appeals to bring the subject to the attention of the public. 
4. Professionals providing resources and information to the public, to victims,  and even to abusers.

So, why am I doing this? 

First, I think I have an obligation, after all I have experienced, to do my part to help others to heal and the public to understand.

Second, I believe that abusers count on the cloak of secrecy that surrounds child sexual abuse and that talking publicly about it can make it more difficult for them to succeed. 

And third, I learned some nifty things about the nature of secrets during my own therapeutic process that I think could be helpful, not only for abuse victims, but for all who have suffered traumas.

Soon I'll be posting my story in slide show form on YouTube and here.  So, stay tooned!