A Time To Heal …
Last week, Peggikaye sent me an email … and it broke my heart. Here’s what she wrote:
“I almost admitted on my pearlsanddream blog that I was a victim of sexual abuse. I know I’ve come close to it a couple of times. But boy, if someone reads between the lines, I think they’d probably see it between todays’, and some of my April postings. gulp.”
I could see how badly she needed to stop trying to pretend that everything was OK … stop hiding. She needed to not let it rule her anymore … to get rid of it.
Easier said … than done.
I wrote back and I asked her: “would it help you if we both blogged about having been sexually abused on the same day, and referred to each other?”
And so … here we are — both Peggikaye and I, and were going to come out of hiding and share some difficult truths with you. Once you’ve blogged about it … there’s no going back. No more hiding. No more sidestepping important issues. No more being afraid of reaching out to help another person who’s hurting in a way that you understand only too well …
Peggikaye and I wrote this post together, and we’re going to crosspost it on both of our blogs.
Moof speaks:
We were three little girls who enjoyed each others’ company almost every Sunday afternoon. We weren’t related, we weren’t neighbors or schoolmates. We had all met through “Uncle Orvie.” And Sunday afternoons was when we all got to play at Uncle Orvie’s house until supper time, when we would get to go to any restaurant we wanted … and order anything we wanted. It was a kid’s paradise!
There were a few uncomfortable things about our playtime though … stuff that I knew I would never have the courage to tell my mother about. But Uncle Orvie said that there was nothing wrong with three little girls sitting on his lap naked. And there was nothing wrong with “tickling babies.” Well, that had always insulted me a bit … I wasn’t a baby. I was older than Donna and Leah, although I had to admit that it wasn’t by much.
With passing time, the three of us girls began to be more uncomfortable with the things that Uncle Orvie regularly did to us. One Sunday afternoon, feeling as if we were doing something wrong, we hid in a back room, and for the first time, began to express how uneasy we were all becoming with our little routine.
Donna scrunched up her face, and finally said: “I’m going to tell Mum.”
“No!” hissed Leah. “We won’t get to come play over any more.”
I imagined myself saying something to my own mother … it would be a while coming.
Not long afterward, Donna and Leah did, indeed, stop coming. I knew there was something wrong as soon as I walked into the apartment. Uncle Orvie was alone, and he was sobbing. I never knew what happened to the girls, but he took me onto his lap, fully clothed, and cried, and cried … apologizing to me over and over. My child’s mind understood … and I also understood that Donna must have told her Mum after all …
Uncle Orvie promised to respect me, and begged me to not leave him completely alone. I wasn’t quite old enough yet to understand how serious what he’d been doing to us was, and I didn’t hate him - and I don’t now. I’d never seen an old man cry before, and it made me cry, too. And so the two of us sat there together, crying. My little hand patted his almost bald head as I tried to comfort him, and he tried to reassure me.
Some time went by, and he began to break his promise. By then, I was somewhat older, and he had to use different means to approach me. I was getting a little old for an offer of all the onion rings I could eat to make me comply with something I now knew full well was wrong. Feeling guilty because I was leaving him alone for longer and longer stretches, I began to try to put him out of my mind - and life. Lonely, he began to pay more frequent visits to my home.
My poor sainted mother would feed him cookies and tea, sit and visit with him … struggle with her broken English to speak to this fellow who was inexplicably so kind to her. Her biggest worry where Uncle Orvie was concerned was that he didn’t understand any French, and that he would think she was “ignorant” because of her English.
I would come home from school and hear him in the kitchen with my Mother, and I would leave, and go hide in the woods behind the house until I saw him climb into his old Chevy and drive out of the yard.
One day in the late summer of the year I was 13, I noticed that my mother was very agitated when I entered the house. Someone had called - Uncle Orvie had been rushed to the hospital. He was very sick, and needed an emergency operation. He could even die! To this day, I hope I never again feel what I felt when what she was saying to me began to sink in. It was as if a weight had lifted from me … and to my horror, I realized that I was happy that he was sick - relieved that he might die. A rush of shame and guilt flooded over me … I was so stunned by my own reaction that any hope of maintaining some semblance of composure fragmented … and so did I. My mother had expected me to be upset … but she hadn’t expected me to have a complete meltdown.
Haltingly, so ashamed, I told her what had happened … all those years. The color drained from her face, and all she could do was ask: “Pourquoi que tu m’las pas dis?” “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I went away to school not long after that … my choice. Ironically, it was through a fund that Uncle Orvie had given my mother for me. I don’t remember seeing him again.
My mother taught me a lot about love and forgiveness after that time. Uncle Orvie survived the surgery, and lived for a short while longer. He still visited my mother, and she was still kind to him. Knowing what she knew, she still served him tea and cookies … and when he’d leave, she’d sit on the rocking chair in the kitchen and say her beads over and over. My mother was a good woman.
I did eventually forgive Uncle Orvie completely … not sure I ever completely forgave myself, though. There has remained with me the realization that even young children who deliberately continue to place themselves in situations of abuse - are complicit in some ways. Not a popular thought pattern in these litigious times, but self-honesty forces me to admit it. I may have started out innocent as a fawn, but when I chose to stay once I realized that what he was doing was wrong … I was wrong also.
And now, Peggikaye … it’s your turn …
Peggikaye speaks:
“Have you ever been molested?”
I was angry that the question had been asked, again. It was the third part of the evaluation in the eating disorder clinic.
“NO! Not molested, not touched, not raped! I am not one of those people who’s disorder developed because of that! Mine started because my step dad committed suicide and I missed him.”
I was 36 years old. I was angry that they kept asking the question, wasn’t one no enough?
A couple years into therapy, the question would get asked again.
“Peggi, are you SURE you’ve never been molested, a victim of incest or otherwise raped? You fit the profile to a T. Your body image, your issues with touch, your type of eating disorder … you just do. Are you sure?”
“No, and I didn’t forget either, I have clear memories of childhood!”
This conversation played probably 4 or 5 times through the years.
Then last August, I took a class in my church “Love them by their fruits, know them by their roots” seemed to be the theme of the class ..but it was about trusting others.
Everyone shared …and everyone had some connection with molestation. Either they had been …or were related to someone. Easy, my uncle. But, God wouldn’t let the subject go … and I became angry with God as he brought it to my attention over and over and over again. Finally, one rainy Saturday afternoon … I yelled at God …”FINE! THIS IS NOT MY ISSUE! Either tell me what you’re telling me, or leave me alone!”
Immediately, memories I had clearly had, but had discounted as not mattering came flooding to my mind. I started to cry as I yelled to God that it wasn’t fair. “It’s not my issue! Those didn’t count! It is not my issue!”
For 2 hours I sat in a bathtub and cried as I came to the realization, my nightmares that I’d refused to tell anyone about … were not just bad times …but they did in deed ‘count’. They may not have been a family member, but they counted. Childhood molestation was, in fact, my issue.
My first time of being a victim was as far from the normal as I could imagine. It wasn’t a family member. It wasn’t even an adult. It wasn’t even a male. It was one of my ‘best friends’. On a 6th grade trip, in an unsupervised hotel room …violently and ruthlessly … she did to me, what had probably been done to her by who knows who.
My life changed and who I had been was left in San Francisco. My trust for others, my ability to be touched and feel safe ..was forever gone. This is from something that I’d written on it.
“She continued to pull my hair and to threaten me if I make a noise, kissing me when I’d start to gag … she finally said “pretend we’re married, I’m the husband you’re the wife” I started to cry and she got mad and pulled my hair again.
“we ARE GOING TO DO THIS!” she hissed at me …
“if you wake up L and M, I will tell them you are doing it to me! Tomorrow, I will tell the whole school what you did!”
I was terrified. She wound up, putting her hands everywhere … she called it ‘girl sex’ …
When she finally was done, she’d put her hands in herself too …and she let go of me and called me a baby. I went into the bathroom and threw up all over the bathroom floor. That woke up L and M. C then acted as if she was woken up too. Because I’d been crying, they thought I was crying from throwing up.
They sent C after the adult in the next room. She helped me get into a shower, and changed. Then put me back to bed …with C … who quietly in ear shot of the adult …”it’s ok, it’s all going to be ok” When the teacher left she re iterated her threat that I had better not tell anyone, or she’d tell them it had been me doing it to her.
The next day C bought me every souvenir in San Francisco you could imagine … as she begged me to not tell … please don’t tell. Please, please don’t tell …she was sorry … please don’t tell …
I didn’t … until October of 2005. I’ve only talked about it a little with my psychiatrist and therapist, and about the details … I haven’t verbalized it out loud…they only know what happened because I wrote it out for them. I still can’t verbally tell.
The second time was a friends father who ’simply’ groped me. It was so much more, and it lasted for quite a while. But, he wasn’t my father, or relative …and it was never rape or sex. The fact that it was blatant, sometimes came with threats or begging … I didn’t think it ‘counted’ either. I found out when I was 18 that his daughter was not as ‘lucky’ as I was, she didn’t get off with only being groped. He, was a pastor of a church … so how could it count?
The third event was as an adult, so I didn’t think that one counted either. I was 22 ..and I knew the man. I was dating him. The violence aside … it couldn’t have mattered ..or counted …because I knew him.
I am trying to find my voice to get these things out. I know now that they mattered, that they counted. I know now that they forever changed who I am. I know now, that there are things about me that would have soared had they not been violently squashed out. Those things are fighting so hard to come back to the surface and if I don’t voice the pain… it will continue to be kept down.
I keep trying to tell myself that when I am healed, I will give it a voice … that’s what I tend to do … write about things after I get some handle on it, some healing …but I think, the pain is demanding a voice to bring healing.
May 31st, 2006 at 10:17 pm
Breaking the silence is the hardest thing you ever do. The pain becomes real. It’s no longer just a sick feeling in your stomach. It’s not a bad dream. It’s a hell you endure alone and in shame. You felt somehow, I must have caused it. You did not. My dear sister. Sharing is part of the healing. I’m not there yet. Forgiving was hard. I personally feel only with God help and love does the brokeness begin to heal. I’m crying my eyes out right now so if there is typo I’m sorry. You are not alone. God bless you for sharing.
June 1st, 2006 at 12:59 am
Moof there is no blame. Even knowing it wasn’t right there is no reason to feel guilt or blame yourself. You didn’t want to leave him alone and you felt for him there is no shame in careing. You and Pk are two of the bravest women I know. Never feel shame. Know that we care about you both and that you have courage beyond most, for shareing so private a part of yourself.
June 1st, 2006 at 7:52 am
Moof and PeggyKaye,
I am so sorry for what happened to you both. The pain, the shame, the guilt, the sadness…for all of it makes my heart ache for both of you. Moof, first of all, even though you felt it was wrong, you were still a child. An innocent child who trusted this adult. It was TOTALLY his fault. I don’t think you should take one ounce of the blame for any of it. I think it is good that you chose to forgive him. Harboring hate in your heart would probably have impeded your healing process.
Peggykaye, I have never personally been molested. But, I have several friends who indeed were. I feel that they, like you, still struggle with it to this day. The nightmares, eating disorders….I am glad you are getting help for it and I wish you all the best. I hope you find the peace you need to get past the horrible things that have happened to you.
I had a friend who was molested by her step father for over ten years. She has told me stories about the incidents that would happen several times a week. Stories that would make your toes curl. She told her mother when she was 22…her mother believed her, but chose to STAY WITH THIS MAN anyway! I never understood that. She admitted to knowing the molestation was going on, but she FAILED to protect her daughter. This woman now lives with the nightmares, an eating problem, and cannot seem to find a decent man who doesn’t abuse her. It is sad. She is now in her 40’s, and has been in therapy, but I fear she may never get over it. That is the damage that child molestation inflicts upon others.
June 1st, 2006 at 9:59 am
*Moof* first, thank you. Second, I must agree, it is never, ever our fault. I know that I blame myself frequently, and I can give you a dozen reasons why I think it is, but the reality is … it’s not. It’s theirs. Period.
No matter how much compassion you feel for the person who hurt you .. it doesn’t leave any resposibility in you. It is his.
I cannot get mad at C .. my heart only breaks. Maybe it’s the 41 year old in me, the mother in me. The horrors that must have been inflicted on her in order for her to have inflicted such pain on me. But the fact is, I did nothing to deserve what she did to me …even though I allowed myself to be friends with her. She did it to me. You’re not at fault, and you had a right to be relieved he was not going to be there anymore. You also had a right to be sorry for him. Both those feelings CAN co exist. But, you are not at fault.
You, my dear, dear friend, are in my prayers. I’m so glad we ‘met’. Thank you so much for your support in this. I literally could not have done it without you.
June 1st, 2006 at 10:26 am
Peggikaye and Moof, I recognize your bravery in telling your story.
I am also a victim of sexual abuse. Going to someone like a psychiatrist is something I have in mind but not in the near future. I have not talked to anyone about this, and I do not think telling anyone in my circle of people is a good idea. Let me tell you a bit about my experience. The fact is, I do not remember exactly how old I was, and how it started. I was a little boy, and the only thing I remember is that I kept coming back to their place to have sex either with him or his brother. As a child, this experience made me feel good. At that moment, the only thing I could digest is “if it feels good, it must be good” . These two young men are not my relative but they are neighbors. They are family friends that have found a way to release their sexual needs to me. They are not violent, it was gentle. There was an unavoidable situation, we left the house and transferred to another place. With that, it was the end of it. I don’t remember having a reason why did I kept quiet about this, but I just did. Now, 22,I remember I grew up having sexual attraction to the same sex. I sometimes think ungodly thoughts with the some boy or guy I am physically attracted to. The bad thing is, I also grew up, and slowly realise I am a victim of sexual abuse, and this attraction with the same sex is against my belief(my chosen religion). It wasn’t right for me to have this history, it wasn’t my fault, I was a child, but I’m living out the results. That’s the hard part.
I searched for a blog that has topic for sexual abuse. That’s how I found yours. What I’ve learned is, life may be short or long. But it is life, I have to live with it with a smile.
June 1st, 2006 at 1:11 pm
i can only imagine how hard it is to share those stories, but i hope you and others gain strength and peace from the telling.
June 1st, 2006 at 3:06 pm
Such a terrible thing.
I don’t understand where the guilt comes from. Is it because trust in an adult was violated? Or because you kept it from your parents? Or do you blame yourselves for what happened? And if so, why? There is no sin in being naive.
I am not finding fault in how you feel, but this is definitely one of those times when you have every right to forgive yourselves.
I don’t know if it helps, but this post brings to mind one of my all time favorite quotes, from Eleanor Roosevelt (who is one of my personal heroes): “No one can make you feel inferior without your permission.”
June 1st, 2006 at 7:11 pm
God Bless You Moof…
God Bless You All.
June 1st, 2006 at 8:18 pm
Wanda … you said: “I’m not there yet.” … I think you are. You said far more in that comment than you realize. Why not just go ahead and let it go? Why continue to hang on to it and let it fester? Don’t you think you and Peggikaye could help each other a bit?
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Wolfbaby - thank you for your email. My advice to you is in my reply. And thank you very much for the kind words in your comment. They are appreciated.
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Pattie, you are an absolute angel. Thank you for your beautiful and heartfelt comment. This is what I was talking about when I mentioned that I was going to do a post with another person this week. It seems like almost everyone I know has had some bad experience in childhood which stole their innocence away. Hanging on to it in bitterness or in shame is really pointless, and damaging. We can only hurt ourselves. The sooner you can move on and put it behind you in a real way, the sooner the damage you’re doing to yourself stops. Sometimes, I think we do ourselves far more harm than others are capable of inflicting on us.
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Peggikaye … I’m happy that we did this. There may still be some bad moments, but they won’t be from a feeling of needing to hide anymore. Confront whatever faces you … and don’t let it get away until you’ve put it in its place. Thank you, dear heart.
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Q … it sounds like you’re having a rather hard time living your life with “a smile.” Why are you putting off getting someone to help you? The longer you hang on to it, the more damage you’re doing to yourself. Sometimes, we become so used to hiding, that we feel our very lives depend on the lie we’re living. You don’t need to do that. I hope that you stop putting off the decision to get help.
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Dr. Charles, thank you for visiting me and leaving a comment. I believe that “strength and peace in the telling” is what it’s all about. Thank you.
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Dr. Hebert … you ask a lot of questions, and they all have answers. At first, I was going to just pretend you hadn’t asked any questions, and thank you for your comment, but I think that it would be wrong of me to do that.
That post was not difficult for me to write, because it’s an issue I dealt with and put behind me a long, long time ago. What has been far more difficult for me has been reading the comments left for me here. First of all, I’m taken aback by how many people are struggling with these issues, living in fear of being discovered years and years later - keeping the pain going like some sort of litany.
What does that is guilt. And fear. I can’t answer for another person, but I can try to explain what caused my own guilt. First of all, I felt guilt - and more - when that wash of hatred flooded over me upon hearing of my abuser’s imminent demise. That, Dr. Hebert, came from me - not from him. We can not hate another person without damaging ourselves. It took me quite a while to get on top of the damage I did to myself because of the hatred I had been hiding and harboring quietly inside for all of those years. He had only touched my body … my hatred however, had been hiding in a far more intimate place - my soul.
With the love and sorrowful acceptance of my parents, I was able to get over what Mr. Walker had done to me … but the guilt, that was because of what I’d let myself do in the privacy of my heart. We learn to hate at the cost of losing an innocence that’s far more costly than anything anyone else can do to us - or take away from us.
And that, my friend, is where my real guilt came from. I still had to work out my own complicity in what I had allowed to happen … but that guilt was more easily faced and overcome.
Thank you for taking the time to comment - and as usual, thank you even more for the fact that you always challenge me to be real.
June 1st, 2006 at 8:37 pm
Moof,
Thanks giving your friend a safe place to tell her story. And I’m enormously happy that you’ve been able to “put this behind” you, if by that you mean you’ve beaten this demon into submission. I hope so, anyway. I wonder often if it’s possible to be cured of the ill effects of abuse.
Hope springs eternal,
Flea
June 1st, 2006 at 9:17 pm
TJ … thank you for your wishes … I missed you in there the first time around!
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Dr. Flea - thank you for stopping in and commenting. This is a pet subject for me … and I hope you don’t mind if I pick up on your rhetorical question and answer it …
Yes, people can truly be cured of the “ills of abuse.” In fact, they can be cured of many of their “ills” — but they have to want to be.
We need to be able to separate what we’re inflicting on ourselves from what other people are inflicting upon us. Once we realize which pain is coming from where - it’s a lot easier to let go of. By the time I graduated from HS, I was able to think of that fellow without hating him anymore … because the hatred was where the new pain was. He was no longer there, no longer abusing me - that was over. The pain of being abused was a memory … and it only hurt when I replayed it. When I let myself feel hatred, it hurt that much more - the hurt had a new dimension … a very damaging dimension.
I eventually learned to stop hurting myself by replaying the images in my mind, and by continuing to nurse a hugely negative emotion. Those negatives were things I was doing to myself.
That whole experience taught me a great deal about myself, and about where other people leave off, and I begin. Some people continue to hurt from this sort of thing for years after it ends because they continue to torture themselves with it, and they hang on to hatred and anger for the person who abused them. When the abuse stops … the victim will willingly continue to live the pain - punishing themselves endlessly for things they’re not guilty of. Once they can stop doing that, they can heal.
Thanks for the chance to elaborate.
June 1st, 2006 at 9:25 pm
Moof & Peggikaye, thank you for your bravery in sharing your stories in such a public forum. I hope this helps you to heal. Even without knowing you I am proud of you.
June 2nd, 2006 at 2:04 am
Moof, I’ve never commented on your site before but I wanted to tell you how good of a person I think you are. Not only have you shared something so personal with us, you have also, by doing so, told others that it is ok to open up and talk about these things. Healing comes from sharing. Emotional Pain is like a cancer that will just fester and eventually erupt into something hugh if not allowed an opening to heal. You are about the best friend a person could hope to have.
I’m happy that the internet has brought you and PK together.
June 2nd, 2006 at 7:48 am
The more we can talk about the traumas in our lives, the more we will heal. This is such an important post. And thank you both for sharing your stories.
June 2nd, 2006 at 9:47 am
Wow… what a powerful post. How brave you both are for sharing and how beautifully written.
It is amazing how another persons actions can affect your entire life. It can be positive or negative. I hope that by sharing this you both find peace… and I hope that it will inspire another person to stand up and say No this isnt right and it does count!!
I have wondered if I was abused as a child… I have an entire year that I dont remember where I slept as a kid… I didnt have a bedroom as we lived with my Aunt at the time… who knows…
Thank you for sharing.
June 2nd, 2006 at 10:07 am
Dearest Moof,
It’s been a while that I haven’t check what you’ve been up to. It’s a shock to me that these terrible experiences should have existed long ago and haunted you. My dear Moof, but the blame should never ever be on you. I could imagine the weird and damnshit feeling for a girl to come across unwanted touch or even just verbal abuse. It’s like being infected with something very dirty, and could not easily be cleaned and erased by taking repeated showers. The hatred or spite which sprang up is natural - would be too natural for me. But to this point I think to learn to confront these feelings, to detach them from oneself, and to refuse to be harmed by them endlessly is much more a rare but important lesson. I believe you did it. God gave you courage to heal both yourself and Peggikaye. Wanda is right (I don’t know her), sharing is part of the healing. Moof, I pray that you feel better, you are blessed.
June 2nd, 2006 at 6:18 pm
I have no words to offer for anyone so instead I offer my prayers for all.
God Bless ya
June 2nd, 2006 at 9:58 pm
Kate *hugs*
June 3rd, 2006 at 1:39 am
Thanks you 2 for sharing your stories. You have probably helped more people than you realize.
Dribear
June 3rd, 2006 at 6:06 pm
Mama Mia - thank you for stopping and in and leaving a comment, and thank you for your very kind words.
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Cathy, thank you for takign the time to leave me a comment. We never know how what we write affects people unless we hear from them.
When you try to hide, you have two worries - the worry of what you’re hiding, and the worry of not being discovered … it’s self perpetuating. Being open is just a beginning, but a necessary one. Thank you.
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Thank you for stopping in and commenting Deb! And I agree with you … talking can be healing.
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Kate, thank you for stopping in and leaving a comment. Along with you, I hope that this inspires others to open up and speak out.
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Ingrid! It’s so good to see you! I’ve missed you. Thank you, dear heart, for those words - which I can feel come straight from your heart. I went to your blog, and I’m so sorry that you’ve lost another one of your little babies. It must be so hard for you to do the work you’re doing … *comfort*
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Fug, my dear friend, your words are always fine … and your prayers are always appreciated. HUGS!
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Dr. Ibear, thanks for your kind words. I really hope you’re right … there’s so much of that hidden out there, and it needs a voice.
June 5th, 2006 at 12:25 am
((hugs)) to you both! Okay, I’m sitting here crying, I’m so angry . . . Please keep writing–people need to hear the stories. Change doesn’t happen by being quiet . . . I’m learning this lesson also.
June 5th, 2006 at 11:02 am
I am simply in awe of the voice you both have found to express these difficult memories. I wish you both peace and love. kt
June 5th, 2006 at 11:06 am
You are inspiring others by showing the weight of abuse (of any kind) through the years, and the value of owning it and venting it. I am impressed beyond words.
Hh
June 5th, 2006 at 2:08 pm
Powerful stuff from you both, and commendations to you both for having the courage. My first wife confessed to mathe shortly after we separated that her grandfather had regularly groped her from age 11 to 13. Her mother knew. Did nothing. I asked my wife why she had never told me. She said she was too ashamed. But it did explain some of the problems we had. Tragic is the legacy of abuse.
June 6th, 2006 at 6:17 pm
Difficult Patient - thank you for dropping in and leaving a comment. I want to say that I agree with you wholeheartedly: “Change doesn’t happen by being quiet” …
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Kt … thank you for visiting and leaving us a message. May the peace and love you’ve offered return to you one hundred fold.
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Hannah … thank you so much for your visit and your kind comment. You’re quite right - there’s tremendous value in facing and being open about this sort of thing. It’s freeing not only for yourself, but also for many others.
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Ian - I’m always happy to see you. Thank you for dropping in and commenting. I’m so sorry about your wife. That could have contributed substantially to the relational problems in your marriage … as I’m sure it will go on to contribute to more relational problems in her future if she doesn’t deal with the issue. Tragedy is a very good word.
June 7th, 2006 at 1:43 pm
Moof,
I admire your incredible strength to take responsibility for your feelings and reactions and where you begin and where others begin. I’ve enjoyed your kindness on other boards, and now it means all the more.
June 13th, 2006 at 11:34 pm
Amka, thank you for visiting and leaving a comment. I like the way you put that - “where you begin and where others begin.” That’s an important concept!
Thank you so much for your very kind words.
June 17th, 2006 at 10:27 pm
I never could put some of the guilty feelings and the realization that I might be responsible for the abuse in words before. I know it isn’t a popular view and for some reason I don’t put it on other kids just myself at the time. Again not sure why.
Thank you for posting this. I’ve been thinking of a few of the incidents in my past these last couple of months more and more. I used to avoid talking about them and now I am forcing myself to slowly. From a song by Oh Susanna
I am hoping my life will be released with the truth
June 21st, 2006 at 2:58 am
As an example of how this can be generational, I submit my mother. She was raped as a four or five year old by a man working on the farm for her father. Her mother didn’t believe her, apparently, and just thought she was talking dirty. (at 4 or 5, in the 30s?).
Beside all my mom’s own problems with this, it has affected all of us in that we had to experience her hatred and paranoia about our husbands and other men of trust. I recently found out from my sister that my mom spent all the time I was raising my children convinced that their father, my husband was abusing them. BUT, in a typical passive-agressive way she did nothing, though she supposedly thought he was. Hm. When my daughter married and had a baby, she went around saying that my daughter’s husband was doing the same. All her children’s family friends of the male gender have been her suspects. On and on it goes. I’m mightily tired of it.
On top of all this I remember seeing blood in my crotch when I was five and no one seemed interested at the time that I can remember. I had a couple of confabulated reasons for it, but now realize thats what they were. Was she as careless as her own mother? I’ll never know.
June 21st, 2006 at 9:42 am
Michelle - thank you for your comment. I don’t believe that any of us were “responsible” for the abuse, but I do believe that some of us who were old enough to understand and allowed it continue may have been complicit in its continuation.
Accepting that, forgiving ourselves, and moving on is important in fully healing from the entire experience. The new emphasis on “victimhood” is really harmful … to everyone involved.
Having been abused as a child is not some sort of genetic disorder which will have to be borne forever … it’s an external damage a person can recover from, and overcome. Yes, it leaves bad memories … but those memories don’t have to become the way we define ourselves.
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Pbird … thank you for visiting and leaving a comment. I’m so sorry that you all have been through such horrible ordeals.
I believe you that it can be “generational” … I believe that anything can be … especially when it’s not dealt with, and it’s allowed to continue to torment us.
Pbird, it’s so important to try to forgive your Mom, she’s ill. There was no one there for her … to help her heal, and now she’s scarred all of you.
Try to forgive her, PBird … to not carry the legacy of agony on even further. If your Mom had Alzheimer’s, or some sort of malignancy that caused her to act like that, it would be easier for you to remember that her actions aren’t really from her heart, but from her illness.
In generational problems … someone, at some time, needs to break the cycle. You recognize what the problem is … you have a chance to break the cycle.
If you need to talk, you’re welcome to email me.
June 22nd, 2006 at 2:45 am
I appreciate your answer. I know it is the only thing I can do. I know she can’t really help it.
August 28th, 2006 at 10:03 pm
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