Saying No to an Adult Felt Like a Sin

It Happened …

when I was four years old, and again at the hands of someone else in a different state when I was eleven.

It Was …

my father’s army buddy the first time. My dad let him and his family move in with us while the man was out of work. While his wife and my dad were at their jobs, my mom and I were left alone in the house with him.

He began “taking naps” with me. I didn’t like it, but at that age I didn’t like nap time anyway. Since he was an adult living with us he seemed to have the same authority over me my parents had. I don’t remember him ever telling me to keep it a secret; maybe he wouldn’t have had to, as I was too young to know it was wrong. It was overwhelming and it hurt, but I thought it was one more thing adults expected me to put up with, without talking back. Saying no to an adult felt like a sin.

When I was eleven, the second man was a frequent attendee of my father’s ministry. He groomed me by sitting with me, listening to me, treating me like I was a special little girl. Growing up in a rigid, verbally abusive household, I gratefully soaked up his attention. When one day he went too far, a panic attack unexpectedly jolted me out of my “freeze” response to the danger and I was able to run away from him. Afraid I would tell, he left me alone from then on.

It Made Me Feel…

like I was not a person. I was something filthy and shameful. I divorced my unacceptable parts and became a partial person, a “public relations” version of the personality I was born with. The rest of me went underground for years, hidden even from me.

It affected me in nearly every area of my life because it taught me lies I believed about my most basic self. My life choices were based on those wrong but deeply held beliefs.

I Told…

my older sister only recently. She was saddened, but, knowing our dad’s friend, not at all surprised.

When the full memory of the earliest violation resurfaced along with a part of myself I’d forgotten existed, I did not tell my dad. At that time, he was at the bedside of that very army buddy who was dying of cancer. I doubt I will ever trust my dad enough to tell him. I also told a handful of trusted friends, my husband, and my counselor. Telling my counselor everything was a deep relief. Hearing that my behavior throughout life was a natural reaction to the crimes committed against me was validating and healing.

I Survived…

by pursuing health and truth, and associating with healthier people. I cut ties with unhealthy people who didn’t respect my boundaries or whose self-defeating behaviors were not good influences. I held tight to the love of God even when I couldn’t feel it and could only believe in it logically.

I Dream…

of people prioritizing their own emotional/psychological health before they have children so those children will have parents capable of providing for all their needs, parents who are not still wounded children themselves. Of churches ending their willful blindness to the widespread epidemic of child abuse, and treating survivors with compassion instead of judgment.

I Want…

other survivors to know that health is possible. That the work it takes to grab hold of that health is worth it. That they are worth it. And that they are normal people who reacted normally to things that shouldn’t have happened to them.

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