It Happened …
I was sexually abused as a child. At age 4 or 5, my private parts were touched on a camping trip, in an RV, in the dark, where my entire family and his family were all sleeping. This is the first time I remember. As I got a little older, 5/6/7, my hand was grabbed and wrapped around a hard penis by the same person (now teenager) who was 6.5 years old than me. My hand may as well have been his. He would move it back and forth and bounce me on his knee (too hard on my genitals), in my own house with my parents and siblings home. His cheeks would turn bright red and he would ejaculate every time, on my hand and in his shorts. He’d walk out right after. I remember one time he did it with my siblings on the same bed, as we were all watching a movie – our parents conversing in the kitchen. I had no idea what it was. I just knew it was wrong and I was scared. It happened from age 4 or 5 to age 9/10/11/12. I cannot say for sure what age it ended, because as hard as I’ve tried, I cannot remember. My life as a child during the abuse seemed happy from the outside. I was always smiling. I had a very loving and supportive family. It’s not to say I was never happy because I was, but the smile covered a lot of pain. I played T-ball and softball growing up. At times, it seemed we lived at the ballpark – which I loved. I also played soccer and basketball. I loved sports. I had friends over and stayed over at friends’ houses. I loved playing outside in the sprinkler with my friends and siblings. I loved playing outside with my siblings and our dogs. Playing mud football when it rained with friends and family. My brother would teach me how to do a lay-up and dribble the basketball. I helped my dad work on his boat in the shop and mow the yard. I seemed to be a happy child. I waited and helped my mom after school when she was a teacher. I loved being able to help. I do remember being happy for everyone, but there is much I don’t remember about my childhood because my brain was busy surviving and repressing the secret abuse. Where I remember being sad, angry, scared, alone was always by myself, in my room. I journaled a lot and would then tear up all the pages and throw them in the trash. I loved to sing to Lee Ann Rhymes’ Greatest Hits album and belt it in my room. I wet the bed until I was probably 9 years old. I would cry alone at night, scared to death. I would walk to my parents’ bedroom door almost every night crying, wanting to tell them I was scared. Sometimes I did, but many times I didn’t. I would cry and pray desperately asking God to help me. This always helped me fall asleep because I felt I wasn’t all alone. I would usually fall asleep praying.
It Was …
It was our neighbor. The offender lived in our neighborhood right down the street. My parents were friends with his parents. My brother and the offender were best friends and played basketball together at our house almost every day. The offender ended up being the best man in my brother’s wedding. Something I felt so guilty for, for a long time. As I know my brother would never have done that, had he known. The offender would even ‘come check on me’ when my parents were at a church meeting and my siblings were at after school practice. He could walk right in the house, no questions asked. He was very charming with my parents. There are two times I remember vividly where I fought to get away from him. One time I definitely succeeded and that was the last time he ever touched me. If my dad hadn’t been in the living room, who knows how that would have ended. He was forcing me on top of him, holding me down, and I somehow got out of his grip. I fought hard. I remember like it was yesterday reaching for that door handle. I still have dreams of trying to reach for something but I just can’t grab it. The other time I fought him (that I remember), I was icing cupcakes at the counter with no one home. He snuck in the garage door and came up behind me with his hard penis on my back. He was indeed a teenager, possibly an adult at this time, much taller and bigger than me. He was forcing my hand inside his pants. I was scared to death. I still can’t remember how it ended but I remember some sort of fight. I did have a knife in my hand, so part of me thinks I swung it around and ran to the back bathroom to lock myself in. Me running as fast as I could and slamming the door while locking it is something that has always played in my head. Of course sometimes it was typical running away from my siblings. I was the youngest, but other times I believe I was running from him. My mind tells me I won the cupcake story, but the other part still wonders if I gave up because he was too strong. He was sneaky like that- quietly opening the door without warning when I was home alone as child- which is I why I have lived most of my life scared and paranoid. I am startled extremely easily, to this day. At age 27, I still cannot watch scary movies without major anxiety. I remember little of what he would say to me. I must have blocked it out, or he didn’t say anything because I literally remember nothing of what he ever said to me. The factors which contributed to not disclosing the abuse were his relationship with my family and the fear of him harming me worse than he already was. When it first started, I was so young I believe he acted like it was a game hence the bouncing me on his knee. He was grooming me year by year, stripping every ounce of dignity I had.
It Made Me Feel...
It changed me, though I wouldn’t know much different because it started so young. I felt helpless and ashamed. I never felt good about myself, and I never felt like I was enough. I was anxious, depressed, scared, and paranoid as a child and it only got worse as I got older. As a teenager I remember wanting to run my truck off the road too many times. Looking in my rearview thinking someone was following me. I would sneak into the living room as a child at night to use the back massager as a vibrator. I remember in kindergarten I would take a few strands of my hair and push it upwards, all over my head, during nap time. It created horrible and painful knots in my hair. My mom would massage my back as a child and teenager asking me if everything was ok. It’s like she knew I had so much pain inside but I couldn’t let it out. I didn’t know how. After enough time passing and not telling, the shame and guilt grew stronger and stronger, and the more I thought I didn’t have to bring anyone else into this mess. I could handle it on my own. I became less and less mentally stable and more physically pained as I got into high school. In college, I could hardly function and drowned out the pain with alcohol. I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia in March 2011. I couldn’t work or go to school for a time, and I was denied disability. I eventually graduated from the University of Houston with a Bachelor of Arts in Health Communication. I finished one class at a time my last 2 semesters after receiving professional help. I could have died more than once from binge drinking alcohol. My boyfriend/partner saved me once as I was puking on my back, in my sleep. My self-worth and self-esteem went down the drain as long as I can remember. I was always worried about my looks and people liking me. I was raped at a party at 15 years old where I was left naked for everyone to see and my phone was stolen along with any hope I had left. It is true that once you’re abused, you are usually abused again before speaking up or receiving help. I honestly don’t know how I survived after that, but I did. I did what I had to, which was block it out and move on. It worked for a time. You come to find out that repressing and surviving mean you miss and forget a lot. Meaning, I missed a lot in school and I’m missing lots of memories. I got by but I would forget much of what I learned. There are things I am still learning that most kids learn in grades K-6. This is something we don’t talk about enough. Thankfully I do still have many happy memories with family and friends growing up.
I Told…
It took 15 years to tell my family. Just in writing that sentence, it still stings. The guilt and shame still rise up just writing those words. The difference now is, it goes away because I know it is not my fault. They believed me right away and supported me fully. I am very blessed, as many survivors are not believed or supported. Come to find out – my sister (3 years older than me) was sexually abused by the same offender, during the same time. She had attempted suicide and stayed in 2 or 3 psychiatric units during college. She told our family about the sexual abuse, but it still took me a year or more to do the same. I had thought she was weak for telling. This is how brainwashed you are. When I was 20 years old, I finally told my sister that he had sexually abused me too. For the first time, I didn’t feel alone in it. She would bring up her experiences and I would actually remember more of my experiences. She said he would come in while she was in the shower. In that moment, I knew why I had been so scared in the shower my entire life. I still couldn’t remember, but like I said earlier, there is a lot I blocked out to survive and cannot remember. Once I told my sister, she encouraged me to tell. I still wasn’t ready but I eventually told my boyfriend (who I am still with), and then I told my mom over the phone. After telling my mom, she relayed the message to the rest of my family. It was too hard for me. Their responses were different but all supportive. They were shocked, angry, sad, hurt, but mostly, they were proud of me. Telling does not feel good at first. It feels horrible. It feels like a mistake. I instantly wanted to take it back. And talk about PTSD symptoms… you relive it after repressing it all, and it is not fun. You are telling people the secret and it will affect them. Your secret now affects others. What is most difficult about this, is they are people that you love. You do not want to see those you love hurting, especially because of something you are sharing with them. Something that happened to you. Something that isn’t usually talked about. SShhhh. What I felt later while receiving professional help, was relief and liberation. Slowly the guilt and shame started to dwindle, and I knew I did the right thing. It wasn’t me who sexually abused me as an innocent child. It was him. I wasn’t to blame for not telling or telling 15 years later. The offender was to blame. I learned this and came to truly believe this and still do, but it does take time and a willingness to heal, or at least a willingness not to die.
I Survived…
I survived! The first step to healing is telling. The longer we carry this weight alone, the longer we will suffer alone. It doesn’t have to be a relative. It can be a friend, therapist, or anyone you trust that will support you and believe you. When I became suicidal and was dealing with major depression/panic/behavioral issues/ptsd symptoms/agoraphobia – I was seeing a psychiatrist, Dr. Stockwell in Houston, who truly saved me. He believed in me and told me I would get better. He told me I was different and that I would not only survive but thrive. He recommended an intensive outpatient program called the PRISM program. This program focused mainly on DBT (dialectical behavior therapy). DBT skills including mindfulness helped me so much and continue to. There were other forms of psychotherapy implemented as well. The program consisted of group therapy with one individual session per week. I can’t remember how long it lasted, but at least 8 weeks. It began the healing process and set me up with the tools I needed. In group, we could relate to one another and realize we weren’t the only ones feeling this way or dealing with these issues. I made lasting friends I still keep in touch with or see to this day. It felt like family. Bob was my favorite there. He inspired me to start doing hot yoga which then inspired me to get my yoga teacher certification. I am now a certified yoga teacher. Daily yoga, DBT skills, meditation, and a cleaner diet have continued to heal me. I continued individual therapy with a licensed social worker and counselor for years. Toni helped me to become more comfortable with myself and my body. She helped with the intimacy issues and with self-esteem. She helped me work through the abuse in writing letters and through other methods. I began to identify as a survivor rather than a victim. Referring to myself as a survivor took the power away from the offender and gave it back to me. I had been his victim but I am not his victim anymore. This is necessary in healing. I come back to forgiveness again and again because it is something I have truly struggled with. It is different for everyone, so do not feel that you have to forgive now or at all. It is your own process and it takes time. We all have unique experiences and different methods of healing. For me, I would like to forgive. I have in some sense, but it is something I come back to. I never got a “sorry” and I realize I may never get that apology or acknowledgment. It is a process and it is ok, wherever you are. Healing takes time. It’s also ok not to be ok. Patience is a virtue. We do our best and that is enough. Connecting with and accepting myself where I am has catapulted me forward. Self-love and positive self-talk have helped me heal. It’s extremely tough not to engage in the negative self-talk constantly going on in our heads. We were made to think we were worthless or not good enough and this is the chatter we hear from ourselves. We are not worthless, we are warriors. We deserve love, especially from ourselves. Talk to yourself as you would a family member or friend. Hold yourself as you would console someone else. You deserve your loving kindness more than anyone else. Do not forget this. Medication also helped me survive for over 6 years though I currently take no medication and haven’t for the last year and a half. I am currently looking to get back into individual therapy and find a support group. We need ongoing support. The journey in receiving help and support is never over.
I Dream…
I dream of more effective laws in place to bring justice to victims and survivors. I dream of easier access to help and support for survivors. I dream that we will stop sssshhh’ing what is hard to hear or difficult to talk about. The truth can be hard to hear at times, but the truth will set you free. I dream of a society that welcomes uneasy truths. A society that values speaking out and doing the right thing. A culture not driven by sexism and abuse of power, but a culture that rises together to help one another. I dream of more respectable men like my dad, brother, partner, and friends I’m so lucky to have- supporting and believing women. I dream of a world where no child has to endure what I did. I dream of a world where all children are valued and respected, so that we can be valued and respected as adults. Talk to your kids. Make sure they are comfortable talking to you. Make sure they know where it is ok to be touched and where it is not. Make sure they know the names of their genitals and the names of both male and female genitals. Make sure they know to come straight to you if someone touches them in a private place, even if the person tells them not to or threatens them. I am sharing this story, as hard as it may be, because I want to support victims and survivors. I support Erin’s Law, created by a woman who was also sexually abused as a child. She is working to implement these policies in schools where children will be taught how to speak up if they are being abused. I thank her for all she and many others have worked so hard to do, including this campaign. I support the campaign I am writing this for to help spread awareness and let others know they are not alone. I dream of a people who realize it is not strangers abusing our kids, but those close to us. Those with access, those you trust. It is not to say to be paranoid or question those you trust, or that there are not good and trustworthy people, but to be aware. The awareness is what will save lives. I dream of living in a society that does not shame victims and survivors, but empowers them. The movement that has started, this campaign included, is the shift we need. Fuel it. Rise up. “They say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one.” Band together. The time is now.
I Want…
I want other survivors to know that you are not alone. I am walking in these shoes with you. I share your pain. I share your tears. I share your anger. If you are scared to tell, it is ok. I was scared too. Remember, it will be hard at first but it gets better. It is worth telling. It is worth not carrying that responsibility and weight on your shoulders because it is NOT YOUR FAULT. It is not your responsibility to carry. It was never your fault and it still isn’t your fault. It is the fault of the offender. Rise up! Rise up out of the murky waters, out of the depths of despair. Rise up. Rise up for me, for you, for all of us. Speak your truth. Fear is the only thing between us and our freedom. Free yourself. You have the power. It has been there all along. The offender does not control you anymore. You control you. Tap into that space. You are powerful. You are free. You are a warrior and a survivor. You are no longer a victim. Most of all, thank and honor yourself for not giving up. For somehow still standing when you felt your face was glued to the floor. I did it. I’m alive and grateful. I try to live from a space gratitude and acceptance. A non-judgmental stance. Accept where you are, for you are right where you need to be. Just keep getting up. I believe in you. It gets better. It gets easier. Do not lose hope. Do not give up.
To those affected by the abuse –parents, siblings, friends, family – it is not your fault and it was never your fault. Believe us. Support us. Love us. To all who have supported us and believed us – my partner, family, and friends – THANK YOU! Without you all, I could not have done it. We need you all. None of us can do it alone.
To those not affected by abuse – practice empathy. Just because something hasn’t happened to you does not mean it hasn’t’ happened to others. Because something doesn’t affect you doesn’t mean it doesn’t affect others. Put yourself in our shoes. Please try to understand this is an epidemic and we need your help. Please help spread awareness and help save lives. I have nothing to gain from making this up. This is my life. This is not some fiction. It is easy to judge and say what you would have done, had something like this happened to you, until it actually happens to you or someone you love. I hope we can battle ignorance with education. Knowledge is power. I hope we will stop shaming victims and survivors, as no one deserves this. We can all make a difference, no matter how small we think it is. Namaste
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