This has proven to be a lonely path

It Happened …

It happened to me beginning around the age 6.  My molester was my older sister who was 8 at the time. I came from a dysfunctional home. I loved school and learning. I dreaded time off school because I knew that I would miss school, and have to be home. I enjoyed playing with my dolls and dollhouse, taking walks and playing with my best friend. Those happy joys were soon to be robbed of me, and I have struggled since then to find my joy again. I have two older sisters, who had recently entered adulthood, so they were in a different stage of life. My parents’ relationship was rocky and my father was in and out of my life. My mother was an emotionally and physically absent mother. She consumed her time with work, school board meetings, gambling, and denial to avoid the reality at home. She was also a victim of physical abuse at the hand of said sister. When my father was home, he was violent and unpredictable. I was literally left alone, many nights, with just my older, molesting sister. I had no one.

It Was …

As far back as I can remember, my sister was physically abusive towards me. Being beat by her was almost a daily occurrence. Black eyes, broken bones, and fear like you’ve never experienced were my norm. She definitely dominated me and controlled me and she knew it. The power she had over me was her ticket in. She knew that I was so scared of her; she could do whatever she wanted to me, with little to no objection. Once this power was in play, the sexual abuse began. I was so afraid to tell for a few reasons. One, she was so physically aggressive; I knew that if I did not do exactly as expected, I would be beat. My nose was broken on several occasions (so much so, that I had to have reconstructive surgery as an adult to repair it.). Lysol cans gave me black eyes, metal poles gave me knots in my head and fists gave me bruises all over my body. She didn’t have to tell me to keep quiet, I knew she would beat me if I walked wrong; why would I even question telling her to stop? I lived in fear that the next beating would kill me. Two, isolation was a strong tactic. I was alone; who could I talk to about this? I knew I didn’t like the way she made me feel when she was molesting me, but it was as if I didn’t know any different, oddly enough. Was this normal behavior? There really are no words that can explain how it messed with my thinking. Lastly, the things she said to me, about me made me feel insignificant. “You’re so fucking dumb, you’re so fucking fat and ugly; you will do what I say or I will fucking beat you!” I believed it. I was fat and ugly. I was dumb and there was no way that anyone would believe me.

It Made Me Feel...

I became so isolated and withdrawn. After years of abuse, I developed an eating disorder. I remember entering the 7^th grade and size 0 pants were big on me. I stepped on the scale and weighed 79 pounds. I was anorexic. Food was the only thing that I could control in my life. At the time I didn’t realize it, but this was the beginning of body issues for me. I felt ugly, ashamed, and dirty. Maybe I would be prettier if I was skinnier? Maybe I could control the abuse by being skinnier? Being molested caused me to be skeptical of friends and break my boundaries in order to please people. I just wanted to be loved so desperately that I would do almost anything. My self-respect was non-existent. School became a joke to me and my grades began to slip. I envisioned killing myself and wondered if anyone would even care. I ran away a few times, and eventually moved in with an aunt and uncle at the age of 14. My last night at home I had been attacked and beaten, again, and I could not handle it anymore. I grabbed a black trash bag, filled it with what I could, and left.

I Told… 

I told my husband first. I was 20 years old. I remember laying in bed crying and had my back to him. I could not even look him in the face for fear that he would never want to touch me again. We were still in the newlywed stage of marriage and I was having panic attacks when it came time to be intimate. His touch made me cringe. It made me want to punch him, throw something at him, yell, scream and cry. Something that was supposed to be good, made me feel so dirty. His unwavering, relentless, supportive, patient, and understanding ways have been my foundation. Next I told my oldest sister. She believed me without hesitation and apologized. She told me she loved me and never ever questioned what happened.

Then came telling the rest of my family. My mother refused to believe me, and as a result we have not spoken in years. She continues to support my molesting sister, financially and emotionally. My grandmother said “because she didn’t penetrate you with a penis (because she is a female) it wasn’t abuse and it was just kids being kids.” She also supports my molester, financially and emotionally. We also have no contact. My father refuses to accept it. Not one person reported it. In fact, my abuse has caused a great rift in my family. One side is those who wish to look the other way and pretend that nothing happened -they want to talk about holidays, birthdays and the latest update on the weather. Then there is my side, where I am, with my husband, children, and a very few family members who embrace my truth as theirs, love me unconditionally, respect what happened and support my process.

Telling was one of the hardest things. Would they think less of me? Believe me? But the most damaging and hurtful part is the lack of support, lack of outrage over what happened to me, lack of compassion, lack of understanding the severity of the situation and its impact on me, and the broken relationships that developed once I spoke my truth. There is a definite sadness knowing that once I spoke up, it divided my family. This has proven to be a lonely path.

I Survived…

First, Jesus is my saving grace. Without understanding who God is, what He has done for me, the price He paid for my life, I would be an addict, in a mental hospital or dead. I have contemplated suicide more than I would like to admit. I experimented with drugs as a coping mechanism. I came to know the Lord in 2003, roughly around the time I first began to speak about my abuse. His grace and love has taught me that I have value, purpose, and forgiveness. Next, my husband has been an incredible source of support while I go through this process. He has never once judged me, made me feel less than when our intimacy needs to be set on the back burner and is beyond patient when I need to grieve. Talking about it. Shedding light on a dark and evil situation, gives me strength. Lastly, I ended up adopting two of my sister’s children. CPS took them due to physical (and sexual abuse). My husband and I fostered them until we were able to adopt. Seeing the recovery process needed for the children has sparked a fire deep down in my soul. I get to be the support for them that I desperately needed and craved as a child. I get to guide them to a better future. I get to show them there is hope! I get the opportunity to make a difference. I am coming for it loud and without hesitation. We will break this cycle!!

I Dream… 

I believe there needs to be stricter punishments for sexual abusers. My sister was never prosecuted for the abuse done to me. Nor was she prosecuted for the abuse she inflicted upon her children (because the DA said they were too young to testify). We found out the hard way, the rules of the law, would not uphold the victims, rather the abuser. She has been allowed to have more children, in her custody, after already having six removed from her care. Part of that comes from the enabling family members, part of it are the inept laws. I continue to talk about it, and reach out for help. I’ve learned it’s a lonely road, but I absolutely will not quit.

I dream of a day when abuse victims get to come out of hiding with no fear of judgment and nothing but support. And that our truth is not questioned nor watered down. Therapy has helped, whereas other times I feel I need to walk alone with my thoughts. Fostering/Adopting children, who I know for certain, were in the same environment as I, is therapeutic. It makes my inner broken child feel loved.

I Want…

I would like other survivors to know that they are not alone. We are a special group of people who get the feelings of anxiousness, depression, rejection and confusion. We understand why there needs to be boundaries, and why we need to talk about it. We are stronger than we give ourselves credit for, because we are willing to face all odds with courage and bravery. I support you; I believe you and I love you!

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