Some days I miss my bunnies

Some days I miss my bunnies. When I was a child, I had a tall dresser with two small drawers and three large drawers. There were three adorable bunnies on the three large drawers. My sister and I used to jump off the dresser onto our beds (our hand-me-down beds, that didn’t have box-springs, rather a mattress made of springs that worked well as a trampoline…) until, inevitably, we would jump just wrong and the spring mattress and mattress would fall through the frame. Oops, dad loved that. (She says sarcastically.) Sigh, I loved those bunnies. In fact, when I moved back home from college and then back from Florida, I still used that dresser. (Part of that was just convenience, but, let’s face it, I loved those bunnies.) My family often poked fun at my dresser. I didn’t care, I would joke that they were my only friends. Wah wah, not at all true. But in the context of child abuse, it would make sense to hold onto something that was symbolic of my innocence. It was not until this past year, 16 years after I made certain he would never touch me again, was I ready to let those bunnies go. (Ok, so, they only made it into the next room, at least I’m not using it anymore. Baby steps.) I took another dresser, refinished it, it looks all grown up and it is awesome. I love it. The day I took the bunnies out of my room and brought the new “adult worthy” dresser into my room, I felt a shift. Like I had taken a huge step forward in letting go of the bunnies; realizing, I didn’t have to be stuck. I was holding on so tight to everything that happened in my childhood that it was holding me back. I couldn’t move forward…with a dresser with bunnies on it. Slowly, I’m noticing why I hold onto things, tokens, pictures, memories. My family is often amazed at the little details I remember from childhood, things I’ve held onto so tightly all these years. Remembering all those little details, all those little bunnies, leaves little room for the dark and not-so-adorable creatures of my childhood sexual abuse.

While I recognize the need to loosen my grip and feel safe enough to let those frightening memories come forward, it is incredibly difficult, and I try to let them through little by little. I also try to not lose my grip on all those adorable bunnies entirely. Despite the abuse, I had a great childhood. I was very blessed. I grew up in a loving, Christian family. We lived in a neighborhood full of kids our age. We went to a great parochial grade school. We never lacked anything we truly needed. Not everyone is so blessed.

My bunnies helped me survive. They protected me mentally until I was strong enough to face those other creatures from my childhood. Some may think it is silly, some might judge me for it and think it is ridiculous, but I don’t care. I’m learning not to judge myself for the way I survived all by myself for well over 16 years. I did what I had to do…and the bunnies helped me do it.

Some days, I miss my bunnies. Some days, I think it would be easier to bring them back to chase the creatures away so I can go on surviving. My bunnies helped me survive, but they can’t help me live. I need to look those creepy creature memories in the eyes and say, I beat you, and you can’t hurt me anymore. I need to stop surviving, and start living. So, the bunnies will stay peacefully in the other room, having done their duty. Every now and then, I’ll look at them and say “well done bunnies, thank you, but I’ve got it from here.”

“Be self controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.” (1 Peter 5:8)

I just can’t take days like today. As a CNA and nursing student, I’m often in situations that make me a bit uncomfortable given my past experiences. Normal days are no problem. Some days are a little trying.

Everyone has experience silly old men who forget themselves from time to time. Or the men and women who are sadly stricken with dementia who literally forget themselves and have huge lapses in judgment which cause them to do or say things that are totally wrong and out of character. Then there are the people who take advantage of the fact that they are alone with a female and that female is helping them bathe.

Today was terrible. I was helping a man bathe in bed when he became sexually inappropriate with me. Rather than assume that he is aware of what he was doing, I dodged several of his advances as I have in the past. But, today he was more persistent, more grotesque, more frightening. He repeatedly grabbed my shoulders and tried to pull me down towards him on the bed. He tried to grab various parts of my body that he shouldn’t be touching. Then he pulled back his covers and started to fondle with himself.

I remained professional, simply covering him up with his hands outside the blanket and called for another aide to help me get him dressed. He tried again to fondle himself; the aide simply stopped him and told him it was inappropriate.

I held it together long enough to talk to my bosses and tell them I felt uncomfortable caring for him after today. They completely understood and said I should not have had to endure that under any circumstances, let alone as a sexual abuse survivor.

I left the office and called my sister, sobbing hysterically, as I drove to church where my mom is the secretary. It was there where I proceeded to sob, gag, and dry heave, recounting the story for a third time.

I don’t know what to say about days like this. Partially, I feel victorious, because as an adult I was able to handle the situation appropriately. I told him repeatedly that he needed to stop and I got help. I remained calm in the room, I didn’t panic.  The other part of me feels like I overreacted and I’m too sensitive. But, in talking with coworkers and family members today, I’m reassured that I did not. One thing I know, I’m exhausted.

I hate feeling like I am not safe in my own body. I hate feeling like someone has the power to hurt me. I hate feeling trapped. I hate feeling scared. I hate feeling like an object of someone perversion.

I’m not feeling very peaceful today.

“Be self controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.” (1 Peter 5:8)

But, another reason to feel victorious…

The devil really seems to have my number when it comes to which buttons to push to get me worked up. He knows that days like today will cause me pain. He tries so hard to push me to the point where I curse God for allowing these things to happen. But I did not. I will not. Try as hard as he may, that bastard the devil with all his tricks and schemes will not shake my faith. I have a good and loving Lord who never leaves my side. “And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it.” 1 Corinthians 10:13b

 

“Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power.  Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes.  For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace.  In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.” Ephesians 6:10-17

 

See, Luther gets it…

A mighty fortress is our God, A trusty shield and weapon.

He helps us free from ever need That has us now o’ertaken.

The old evil foe Now means deadly woe

Deep guile and great might Are his dread arms in fight;

On earth is not his equal.

With might of ours can naught be done; Soon were our loss effected.

 But for us fights the valiant one Whom God himself elected.

You ask, “Who is this?” Jesus Christ it is,

The almighty Lord. And there’s no other God;

He holds he field forever.

Though devils all the world should fill, All eager to devour us,

We tremble not, we fear no ill; They shall not overpow’r us.

This world’s prince may still Scowl fierce as he will,

He can harm us none. He’s judged; the deed is done!

One little word can fell him.

The Word they still shall let remain, Nor any thanks have for it;

He’s by our side upon the plain With his good gifts and Spirit.

And do what they will—Hate, steal, hurt, or kill—

Though all may be gone, Our victory is won;

The kingdom’s ours forever!

 

 

Validation

I had to tell myself it wasn’t a big deal. I had to tell myself that I just needed to “lighten up”. I told myself that my family would make light of what happened to me because I was the sensitive child. So, I told myself that I was just being too sensitive.

I kept it all inside, knowing in my heart and soul that what was done to me was wrong and sinful. I kept it all inside, knowing in the rational portion of my brain that I needed to tell someone. I kept it all inside, in the victimized portion of my brain, grasping at anything to make the pain and torment go away.

I’ve been told not to judge myself for what I did to survive those years. Fine, I’ll try not to. But, realistically, this fear and irrational thought process caused me immense pain and suffering. I’m not saying my life would be all sunshine and roses if I had told my parents immediately. I very easily could have most of the same difficulties I have today. But, what I’m certain I would have been able to avoid is this feeling that I have overreacted. This feeling that, if people knew the details of what happened to me, they would roll their eyes and tell me to get over it. In fact, very few people actually know the details of what happened to me. I don’t feel the need to tell people. Yes, this is partially to protect myself from real or imagined ridicule. But when I’m being rational, when I look at all this clearly, I know what happened was wrong. I know it. He knows it. God knows it.

But sometimes I get tired and scared and tell myself to get over it. (Uh, right, if only it were that easy.) It is at those times that I go to this website, Definitions, Scope, and Effects of Child Sexual Abuse.

This website outlines what constitutes sexual abuse. What I experienced is there. Validation.

I want to post some excerpts from the website to bring to light some of the acts that are included, legally, under the umbrella of sexual abuse. Aside from these excerpts, this website is a valuable resource on the subject of sexual abuse. Some of it is graphic and may make you feel a little uncomfortable but this discomfort may benefit you or someone you love who is dealing with sexual abuse.

v  Sexual abuse is further defined to include:

v  "(A) the employment, use, persuasion, inducement, enticement, or coercion of any child to engage in, or assist any other person to engage in, any sexually explicit conduct or simulation of such conduct for the purpose of producing a visual depiction of such conduct; or

v  (B) the rape, molestation, prostitution, or other form of sexual exploitation of children, or incest with children;..."¹⁵

v  The penalties vary depending on:

v  the age of the child, crimes against younger children being regarded as worse;

v  the level of force, force making the crime more severe;

v  the relationship between victim and offender, an act against a relative or household member being considered more serious; and

v  the type of sexual act, acts of penetration receiving longer sentences.

v  Clinical Definitions

Although clinical definitions of sexual abuse are related to statutes, the guiding principle is whether the encounter has a traumatic impact on the child. Not all sexual encounters experienced by children do. Traumatic impact is generally affected by the meaning of the act(s) to the child, which may change as the child progresses through developmental stages. The sexual abuse may not be "traumatic" but still leave the child with cognitive distortions or problematic beliefs; that is, it is "ok" to touch others because it feels good.

 

v  Sexual Acts

The sexual acts that will be described in this section are abusive clinically when the factors discussed in the previous section are present as the examples illustrate. The sexual acts will be listed in order of severity and intrusiveness, the least severe and intrusive being discussed first.

v  Noncontact acts

Ø  Offender making sexual comments to the child*
- Example: A coach told a team member he had a fine body, and they should find a time to explore one another's bodies. He told the boy he has done this with other team members, and they had enjoyed it.

Ø  Offender exposing intimate parts to the child, sometimes accompanied by masturbation.
- Example: A grandfather required that his 6-year-old granddaughter kneel in front of him and watch while he masturbated naked.

Ø  Voyeurism (peeping).
- Example: A stepfather made a hole in the bathroom wall. He watched his stepdaughter when she was toileting (and instructed her to watch him).**

Ø  Offender showing child pornographic materials, such as pictures, books, or movies.
- Example: Mother and father had their 6- and 8-year-old daughters accompany them to viewings of adult pornographic movies at a neighbor's house.

v  Offender induces child to undress and/or masturbate self.
- Example: Neighbor paid a 13-year-old emotionally disturbed girl $5 to undress and parade naked in front of him.

v  Sexual contact***

Ø  Offender touching the child's intimate parts (genitals, buttocks, breasts).
- Example: A father put his hand in his 4-year-old daughter's panties and fondled her vagina while the two of them watched "Sesame Street."

Ø  Offender inducing the child to touch his/her intimate parts.
- Example: A mother encouraged her 10-year-old son to fondle her breasts while they were in bed together.

Ø  Frottage (rubbing genitals against the victim's body or clothing).
- Example: A father, lying in bed, had his clothed daughter sit on him and play "ride the horse."

v  Digital or object penetration

Ø  Offender placing finger(s) in child's vagina or anus.
- Example: A father used digital penetration with his daughter to "teach" her about sex.

Ø  Offender inducing child to place finger(s) in offender's vagina or anus.
- Example: An adolescent boy required a 10-year-old boy to put Vaseline on his finger and insert it into the adolescent's anus as initiation into a club.

Ø  Offender placing instrument in child's vagina or anus.
- Example: A psychotic mother placed a candle in her daughter's vagina.

Ø  Offender inducing child to place instrument in offender's vagina or anus.
- Example: A babysitter had a 6-year-old boy penetrate her vaginally with a mop handle.

v  Oral sex****

Ø  Tongue kissing
- Example: Several children who had attended the same day care center attempted to French kiss with their parents. They said that Miss Sally taught them to do this.

Ø  Breast sucking, kissing, licking, biting.
- Example: A mother required her 6-year-old daughter to suck her breasts (in the course of mutual genital fondling).**

Ø  Cunnilingus (licking, kissing, sucking, biting the vagina or placing the tongue in the vaginal opening).
- Example: A father's girlfriend who was high on cocaine made the father's son lick her vagina as she sat on the toilet.

Ø  Fellatio (licking, kissing, sucking, biting the penis).
- Example: An adolescent, who had been reading pornography, told his 7-year-old cousin to close her eyes and open her mouth. She did and he put his penis in her mouth.

Ø  Anilingus (licking, kissing the anal opening).
- Example: A mother overheard her son and a friend referring to their camp counselor as a "butt lick." The boys affirmed that the counselor had licked the anuses of two of their friends (and engaged in other sexual acts with them).** An investigation substantiated this account.

v  Penile penetration

Ø  Vaginal intercourse
- Example: A 7-year-old girl was placed in foster care by her father because she was incorrigible. She was observed numerous times "humping" her stuffed animals. In therapy she revealed that her father "humped" her. There was medical evidence of vaginal penetration.

Ø  Anal intercourse
- Example: Upon medical exam an 8-year-old boy was found to have evidence of chronic anal penetration. He reported that his father "put his dingdong in there" and allowed two of his friends to do likewise.

v  * When children are victims, sexual comments are usually made in person. However obscene remarks may be made on the telephone or in notes and letters.
** Activities in parenthesis are not illustrative of the sexual act being defined.
*** Sexual contact can be either above or beneath clothing.
**** The offender may inflict oral sex upon the child or require the child to perform it on him/her or both.

 

v  Finkelhor,⁴² whose conceptualization of the traumatogenic effects of sexual abuse is the most widely employed, divides sequelae into four general categories, each having varied psychological and behavioral effects.

Ø  Traumatic sexualization. Included in the psychological outcomes of traumatic sexualization are aversive feelings about sex, overvaluing sex, and sexual identity problems. Behavioral manifestations of traumatic sexualization constitute a range of hypersexual behaviors as well as avoidance of or negative sexual encounters.

Ø  Stigmatization. Common psychological manifestations of stigmatization are what Sgroi calls "damaged goods syndrome"⁴³ and feelings of guilt and responsibility for the abuse or the consequences of disclosure. These feelings are likely to be reflected in self-destructive behaviors such as substance abuse, risk-taking acts, self-mutilation, suicidal gestures and acts, and provocative behavior designed to elicit punishment.

Ø  Betrayal. Perhaps the most fundamental damage from sexual abuse is its undermining of trust in those people who are supposed to be protectors and nurturers. Other psychological impacts of betrayal include anger and borderline functioning. Behavior that reflects this trauma includes avoidance of investment in others, manipulating others, re-enacting the trauma through subsequent involvement in exploitive and damaging relationships, and engaging in angry and acting-out behaviors.

Ø  Powerlessness. The psychological impact of the trauma of powerlessness includes both a perception of vulnerability and victimization and a desire to control or prevail, often by identification with the aggressor. As with the trauma of betrayal, behavioral manifestations may involve aggression and exploitation of others. On the other hand, the vulnerability effect of powerlessness may be avoidant responses, such as dissociation and running away; behavioral manifestations of anxiety, including phobias, sleep problems, elimination problems, and eating problems; and revictimization.

 

Yes, this is difficult to read, but necessary and not just for me when I am having a bad day. I have had family members downplay what was done to me, perhaps unwittingly. When I’m feeling strong and rational, I know the truth of what happened. More importantly, God knows what happened. God, the judge of all, knows what happened. I do not wish for this family member to be damned. What gives me comfort, should strike fear in his heart. I hope it does. I don’t say that vindictively, I say that prayerfully. I pray every day that he repents of what he has done…because it was wrong and sinful.

 

 

 

The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.

When I was a kid, I had a dream that I awoke and no one was home, in fact, everyone was dead. I had another dream that my family and I were on a cruise and we were jumping on and off the ship, but I jumped off and didn’t get back on in time and I was left floating by myself with two barrels. I saw two men planning to blow up the boat and I could do nothing to stop it. This morning, I had a dream that my entire family was moving to Florida, but I was not going. My family was making me help them pack up our entire house and help them move, but I was going to be left here all alone.

            I’m sure a mental health professional could have fun analyzing these dreams and many more like them that I have had my whole life. But it doesn’t take a genius to look at them and see I have felt alone my whole life. I have felt alone and solely responsible for my life. I have also felt responsible for protecting my family from anything and everything in my power. This started the day I decided not to tell them what had been done to me. I don’t remember considering telling anyone until I was twelve. At that point, I distinctly remember thinking that my dad’s heart would explode and he may kill someone. I thought my mom would cry. And, my grandma was old; she didn’t need to be put through this.  Throughout the next fifteen years, I would grapple with trying to suppress these memories, but inevitably they would come boiling back up. I would then struggle with whether or not it was the right time to tell my family. It was never the right time, there was always an excuse. This was happening in school. That person was having surgery. This marriage broke up. That person died. This person was graduating school. This person had their own problems, why give them more? I never wanted to add to anyone’s pain. This was always my last barrier to opening up about my abuse. I would have the courage to face anything else, but I could not cause harm to my family. I wanted to protect them. So, I handled everything on my own.

And I have been handling everything on my own since.

It is very rare, and very frustrating, for me to ask anyone to help. I don’t need help; I can do it on my own. I also often take on tasks that I do not want just so I don’t have to bother anyone else with it. This is most evident in how I cared for my father when he was dying of lung cancer. I could handle it; they didn’t need to see that. I must protect them from seeing him like this.

Some people would call this personality trait “strength”; others would call it “stubbornness” or perhaps “controlling”. I suppose it depends on how you look at it. This trait can be very beneficial and very harmful. Taking everything on yourself is taking too much on yourself. But, sparing others pain and suffering or even inconvenience could, and should, be admired.

When these two angles are intertwined, it becomes a dangerous slope. I should’ve asked for help sooner.

I needed help. I sacrificed my mental health and many years of my life trying to handle everything on my own so that what he did to me would not have to hurt anyone else. I kept it all to myself. I was all alone. Unbeknownst to them, I had forced them to abandon me it my time of need by keeping them in the dark. Yes, these are harsh words, but it is a harsh reality. I have felt alone and helpless my entire life, because I was trying to protect those I love. It sucked. I’m tired. I had to realize the effect keeping this secret was having on my life, not just the effects of the abuse itself. I couldn’t do that to myself anymore. I had to repeatedly tell myself that revealing the molestation would not kill everyone in my family. No one would die of dehydration from crying. No one would have to be institutionalized. No one would have their lives ruined forever. Even my life hadn’t been ruined, although sometimes that is hard to see.

It took a lot of self talk and even more desperation to ask for the help of which I had deprived myself for so long. I still feel all alone at times.

I often asked God for help over the years. Help to keep from going insane. Help to live a “normal” life. Help to keep this secret. I often felt my prayers weren’t answered. I often felt alone and helpless. Looking back, I see how God answered my prayers and how I was too afraid and wounded to take that next step and ask for help. It is like that story of the guy in the flood who prays for help and God keeps sending help. Every time a helpful person arrives, the man says “it’s ok, God will save me. I’m waiting for God.”

I don’t want to sound like I am taking blaming myself for these years of internal turmoil. I am just recognizing that my defense mechanism became unhealthy and harmful. I needed time to deal with what happened to me. I was in shock; my brain didn’t know what to do. But, the longer I procrastinated, the more blurred the lines became. Then I shifted this defense into other aspects of my life. I am determined to do everything on my own, I don’t need help. But, in actuality, I do. I need to stop trying to do everything on my own and ask for help when it is needed. If I don’t, I will continue to feel abandoned and all alone.

God answered my prayers; I just didn’t take him up on the offer until recently. He helped me even when I denied the help he sent. I never lost my faith and I was never left entirely alone.

 ^“The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.” Deuteronomy 31:8

I am glad that I have finally stopped bearing this all myself. I am glad God opened my eyes and gave me the courage to take the help he was offering through church, family, friends, and faith. More importantly, I am thankful that even when I was bobbing in the ocean behind those barrels, God was with me. God was and is my barrel. God kept me afloat until I had the courage to swim to the boat. Now I am safely back on dry land with my family and friends who are willing to help me put my life back together. All I need do is ask…

 

 

Suspicion, Doubt, Fear, and Faith

I often look at life through gray-colored glasses. I wish they were rose colored; I’d be oblivious, but happier. Ignorance is bliss, right? The fact is, a large chunk of my physical and emotion security was ripped away from me when I was molested. Consequently, since then, I have looked at the world with suspicion, mistrust, dislike, envy, and fear. Sometimes, my hyperparanoia has served me well. However, on most occasions it has prevented me from living a full life. There have been countless opportunities missed in my life because I was not facing my abuse. I was hiding it away, too embarrassed to tell anyone.  In college I hid away from the world. On weekends when everyone else was out “being college students”, I was huddled alone in my dorm room, afraid to go outside. I was afraid that I might be physically hurt and emotional hurt again. In high school, it was even worse. Due to other family happenings, and the hormones that go along with being a teenager, my emotions were out of control. I was miserable, afraid and angry 90% of the time. I distrusted my closest friends and pushed everyone away with my out-of-control emotional outbursts. I knew it all along, but I could not control what was happening. With the onset of the interpersonal relationship building years came a whole slew of conflicting emotions-as if those years aren’t horrible enough to begin with. I longed to have a boyfriend. I longed to be accepted my classmates. I longed to have every experience that is a rite of passage for highschoolers and college students. With a couple exceptions, I feel like I missed out on nearly everything. Because, even when I was able to get up enough courage to spend time with friends, I wasn’t present. I had to be on my guard because someone was going to hurt me in some way. I tried to keep a straight face. I am so saddened when I think about the wonderful opportunities I missed as a result of unhealthy coping. A counselor would tell me not to judge myself because I did what I had to do to survive. Well, to that I say, I barely survived those years. I dropped out of college in my fourth semester because I couldn’t take it anymore. I was an absolute wreck. Life was a vicious cycle of debilitating anxiety, feverish work-out sessions, insomnia, and less than rejuvenating naps between the classes that I managed to attend. I left school and came home to loving parents who may have misunderstood the cause of my depression, chalking it up to genetics, but they understood the depression and anxiety and supported me. In the years that followed, I slowly got back pieces of myself, very slowly. I took a step back, started to focus on myself and tried to muddle through as best I could. There were times when I got angry with God for allowing these bad things to happen in my life. I would look at others who have not endured what I have and questioned why he was so easy on them. I doubted whether God would answer my prayers. What is the point of praying for something when we know that even though all things work for our good, horrible things may still happen because the world is sinful? I’m sure my parents prayed that God would keep my safe from harm, but I was harmed. Stupid Satan.

The fact is, I can look back at my life and say, “why me?” or “where was God during all of this?” or “what’s the point” or “WHY?!”…did I mention that I’d like to know why? But, what is the point of such questioning? Does the reason something happened negate the pain it caused? No. Does knowing the end game of a struggle God allows us to endure eliminate the struggle itself? No. Does knowing why God let this happen to you instead of someone else help you in anyway? No. Would you even want to think about it happening to someone else? No! And, where God was during all of this?

He was right by my side, holding me up. He sat next to me in my dorm room and kept me from the brink. He gave me strength to keep going. He did not allow me to lose my faith, even if it dwindled to the size of a mustard seed. He never left my side.

I wake up in the morning with gray colored glasses. Sometimes I don’t take them off for days. But occasionally, I take them off and see the world and opportunities in front of me. As I work through the abuse and its effects on my life, I am able to look at the world clearly with neither gray nor rose colored glasses. And, I am even finding ways to see the blessings in my struggles. Although, this may be true and although I do know that God works all things for my good. (Romans 8:28) And I know that struggles produce perseverance and perseverance produces character and character, hope. And, hope does not disappoint us. (Romans 5:4-5)  Although I know all this, I still mourn for those years I lost. I feel the pain and I give due weight to those hardships. And, I make a vow that I will not let any more opportunities be ripped from my hands; enough has slipped through my fingers already. Struggles produce perseverance and perseverance produces hope. I have hope that no matter how crappy life can seem and how alone I feel at times, God is with me and he is blessing me even in my weakness. I have hope that my struggles are “light and momentary” and when it comes times I will experience “an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.” (2 Cor. 4:17)

The Taco-Bell Turn

My sister and I have long lauded Taco-Bell as the cure of any hang-over. The term “Taco-Bell turn” refers to that moment of relief when your brain stops screaming, the intense tremors subside, your stomach agrees that the taco is delicious and decides to keep it inside instead of putting it in the toilet, and you actually feel like you may live to see tomorrow. This is a well documented phenomenon; we have all gone through those reckless college years.

There are many days when I feel like I just can’t take it anymore. I don’t want to get out of bed, I feel sick to my stomach. I just want to cry and cry, and break things. I can’t think straight. I’m so oppressed by the memories of abuse and the subsequent years I spent trying to forget while watching my life pass by without me. It is so literally overwhelming; I feel like I’m drowning. If tomorrow is going to be like today, I’d rather just sleep. Pessimism does not begin to describe this feeling, this complete, utter, total despondency. I trudge through the day just so I don’t entice questions from family and friends, because sometimes there just aren’t words to explain what is happening. How do you convey to someone what it is like to struggle daily with lost innocence and confusion, distrust and disgust, fear and blame, depression and anger? Surely no one can understand what it is like to look back and see so many years stolen from you. No one can understand how sad you are because you are so afraid of everything. No one can understand how it makes you feel when you don’t see any change; you face a life of sadness, anger, loneliness. You’re unable to enjoy life because you are afraid of everything and everyone.

I struggle with anxiety and depression, the cause of which is partly genetic and partly linked directly to the abuse and my subsequent coping and defense mechanisms. I take medicine, it takes the edge off. I’ve seen two different counselors; I didn’t stay with them long enough to see any real benefit. (Disclaimer: counseling is wonderful and effective, but you have to find the right counselor for you. Someone with whom you feel safe, someone who listens, someone who pushes you in a safe way, this is the right counselor for you. Keep looking until you find them.) Some days, NOTHING helps. Some days I am so beaten down, I can’t even pick up my head. I hate those days.

But, inevitably, and in His own time, God sends me my Taco-Bell Turn; something that changes my outlook, something that reminds me, that even though I’m struggling and in despair, God promises us that He works all things for our good. Jeremiah 29:11 “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” It is hard when you’re feeling like death warmed over to see this hope and future as even being possible. It is beyond frustrating to be left out of the loop when it comes to your own life. But, we know that God loves us and created us and sent His son to save us. Is He really going to let us down? No way. I will admit, at times my faith has been shaken, but I have never lost my faith. That is not due to me, I am not strong enough on my own to hold on to hope when I am weak, that is the Holy Spirit, strengthening my faith. He has such a tight grip on me; He will never let me go. Romans 8:18-39 sums all this up and always awakens me out of my abuse hangover.

“I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. The creation waits in eager expectation for the sons of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God.

We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies.  For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.

 In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God’s will.

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.  For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the likeness of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers. And those he predestined, he also called; those he called, he also justified; those he justified, he also glorified.

What, then, shall we say in response to this? If God is for us, who can be against us?  He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies.  Who is he that condemns? Christ Jesus, who died—more than that, who was raised to life—is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? As it is written:

“For your sake we face death all day long;
we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.”

 No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.  For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

 

Peace in Thankfulness

This has been a very difficult year for me. But, I have been blessed throughout. This Thanksgiving, I am truly thankful for many things. I am thankful that God has never left me, even though I have yelled at him and questioned his plans. I am thankful for my family. My immediate and extended family members are amazing Christians and their love and faith has strengthened me beyond measure. I am thankful for the friends who have supported me, pushed me, and loved me throughout all of this. I am so overwhelmed with gratitude. I remember you all in my prayers.

The following is my feeble attempt to share how I tripped and stumbled my way through confronting the man who abused me. I could not have done it without the support of the people mentioned here. Thank you from the bottom of my butt…it is a lot bigger than my heart. (Insert comic relief here.)

Sometime in 2009 I drunkenly disclosed the secret of my abuse to a friend over a pitcher of margaritas. I had never told another soul. As soon as I said it, I wanted to take it back, I wasn’t ready.

 Sometime in 2011, another friend disclosed to me that she had been sexually abused by a family member. The more she talked to me about it, the more difficult it became for me to suppress the emotions I had been hiding my whole life. In one of our conversations, I disclosed my abuse to her. I felt safe, because she knew where I was coming from.

Then I mentioned my abuse to another friend on a casual car ride on a shopping trip. I knew she’d be supportive and I knew she’d want to kick his ass, which was helpful. This was easier. I also blurted it out to my oldest best friend who lives states away. She’s beyond supportive and caring. It was awkward, but even easier, it was safe; I didn’t have to see her every day.

In July of 2011, I made an appointment with a counselor. I awkwardly tried to talk to her, but mostly, I fumble my words and cried. I was terrified. She was the first person who heard the details. She brought up pressing charges. When I left there, I was so worked up, I ran to my cousin. She listened, cried, hugged, and just let me projectile vomit the information at her. Hard, but not crippling. Exhausting, but not defeating. I can’t say I felt a weight lift. I was in a blur. I was struggling between moving forward and reverting to what I thought was safe, hiding it all inside.

These five friends kept my secret for several months. I was not ready to tell any family members who are directly linked to the family member whose actions scarred my life. I wanted to spare them the pain. In fact, that is one of the overriding reasons I never told anyone. I was trying to protect them.

But, as time went on, I needed my big sister. She is closer to me that anyone else in the world. We shared a room until she went away to college. We lived together for two years in Florida. She is my best friend and I needed her. I told her over the phone, not ideal. She listened intently. She wanted to know details; I gave her those I was ready to give. I could tell she was shaken. Nobody expects this from a family like ours. But, she is a valuable ally. She had been in therapy for unrelated reasons for years. She had inside information and more than a little bit of helpful advice.

That was difficult, but what happened in Spring and Summer of 2012 was far more difficult.

I waited for some time to tell my mom. My mom has been through a lot recently, most significantly my dad and a close friend dying from cancer almost exactly a year apart. And, as strong as she is, she has a bipolar disorder, and I didn’t want to stress her anymore.  I was convinced she would die. I don’t say that facetiously, I literally thought it would kill her.  I also didn’t want her blaming herself for anything. However, after we attended a family wedding in June 2012 and this relative was in attendance, I was shaken and I needed help. I needed her help to go to the doctor with me. My anxiety was through the roof and I needed to get it under control so I could think. The anxiety of seeing him after so long was indeed crippling. I was missing work and was becoming physically ill. It was very hard to tell her. But, I did, slowly and cautiously, and with one of those friends for support for both of us. Mom was upset, rightly so. She blamed herself for not protecting me. She was angry. She wanted me to tell family members I wasn’t ready to tell. I knew I would tell them eventually, but not now. I was already afraid it would kill her, I couldn’t kill more people. I allowed her to tell her sisters for her own support, just like I allowed my sister to tell her husband, people need support. And, it snowballed from there, soon practically the entire family knew. (…except my brothers. Man, I did not want them knowing.) It happens in a loving, caring family. And I appreciated the extra prayers. But it freaked me out.

This brings in the only male I told personally. A close friend from high school who happens to live here in town has always been there for me when shit hits the fan. I was so worked up about so many people finding out so quickly, I panicked, literally. I couldn’t think straight. I needed someone who “wasn’t going to get all emotional on me”. I needed someone with a clear head to help me decide what to do. He listened calmly, didn’t come near me at all (for which I was thankful, given the subject matter), and he gave me some tough advice. The advice is what I knew needed to be done, but I was terrified. Rightly so, but this friend reminded me that my fears and concerns were less than the benefits of confrontation.

I knew I wasn’t ready to do anything yet. I was already maxed out. Over the next few weeks more family members were brought into the loop including my brothers. (The family members were on the opposite side of the family, not directly linked to the abuser.)

After some time, careful deliberation, and a suddenly vast support system, I decided it was time to take action. Pressing charges were out of the option, but confrontation was not. My biggest fear for over 16 years was if, as a result of my silence, some other innocent children were being hurt. There are young children related to this man, he helps out in the church nursery, how could I not gather the strength to confront him and expose his secret. I decided, since I had no desire whatsoever to see him in person, to write him a letter. I feared for his soul and his faith, what if he isn’t repentant? I didn’t want him to go to hell. So, I mustered every ounce of strength I had one friday evening and wrote him a letter. I saved that letter for about a week. It felt like a lead weight. I had a few people read it to make sure my point came across clearly. I have my uncle read it to make certain my use of Scripture was correct and that my plea for his repentance was clear. Then, one day I was ready. I sent it.

I WAS TRIUMPHANT. I had overcome a huge hurdle. I was so proud of myself. I was on cloud 9. It was amazing. Every survivor should get to feel that at some point in their life. (More on the confrontation in a later post. This subject deserves much more emphasis that I’m able to provide here.)

It is here I realized, I did it myself, but I never could have gathered the strength if it weren’t for my support system. I am so thankful and in awe of God’s blessings of Christian love and support.

That first friend that heard my story during a margarita marathon, she’s my reliable friend. She always answers the phone, always willing to listen. She’s my subtle cheerleader, I’m not even sure she realizes she’s doing it, but she always backs me up and reaffirms my thoughts and actions.

The friend who herself had been sexually abused, she is my sympathetic friend. She is the only one who knows where I’m coming from. Although our experiences are different, we understood each other.

The next is my muscle. I’m relatively certain that if this friend ever met this guy she would rip him to shreds with her bare hands. I love it. She is all the angry that I find difficult to be.

My far away friend, she is my thoughtful caring friend. Even when we don’t talk often, she remembers what is going on in my life and never forgets to ask me how it is going. This means so much to me.

My cousin is my level headed supporter. She’s rational, clear-headed, caring, and her lips are sealed. She is non-judgmental and doesn’t push me. She gives advice when it is needed and listens when needed.

My sister is my other me. We are very alike, but different. She knows without me saying. She will listen to nothing but sobs on the phone. She’ll remind me to breathe. She’ll proofread my letters and emails. She’ll give me advice from her counseling. She’ll talk to my brother-in-law and, inevitably, I’ll have an email with a Bible passage in it to help me get over the latest hurdle. Sometimes I listen to her advice and sometimes I disagree with it, but it helps me in both instances. She is my best friend, my first phone call.

My mom is my mommy. I’m not ashamed to admit that there have been plenty of times when I’ve just collapsed and cried, something that little girl did not get to do. She knows me so well I don’t even need to say anything, she can just tell. I moved back home when my dad got sick and have stayed with her to help her out and to help me out while I finish nursing school. When I am frustrated about my situation, being 28 years old and back living with my mom, I remind myself that I need her, that little girl inside who is finally getting to freak out needs her mom. I am so thankful she is here.

My male friend, he is my emotionless rational friend. I don’t want this to be misconstrued as an insult. He is exactly what I needed. He has been there for me at a moment’s notice and took his life into his own hands with advice I did not want to hear, but desperately needed to hear. 

I have been blessed with not just this inner circle of support, but my entire family. They are my cheering section, my army. Even those directly connected to the abuser, they are so supportive in my healing. I am so truly blessed. Everything I was afraid of for so long turned out to be false. My family was not destroyed. No one accused me of lying. Everybody was worried, concerned, and willing to help in any way possible.

Because I realize not everyone who has been sexually abused is as lucky as I am, I thank God everyday for my family and my support system. I literally could not do this without them. Words cannot truly convey how much they mean to me. I was hoping to be able to capture it here, but I am failing miserably. The only way I can sum it all up is with Philipians 1:3-11 “I thank my God every time I remember you. In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now, being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. It is right for me to feel this way about all of you, since I have you in my heart; for whether I am in chains or defending and confirming the gospel, all of you share in God’s grace with me.  God can testify how I long for all of you with the affection of Christ Jesus. And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless until the day of Christ, filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ—to the glory and praise of God.”

 

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11

In the midst of struggling with childhood sexual abuse, it is so easy to shake an angry fist at God and ask “WHY?!!!” I know God works all things for our good. I know he promised that whatever happens we will prosper and have hope. But, sometimes it just sucks. There, I said it. Yes, I get angry and demand to know the endgame. I can’t imagine what good could come out of what happened to me and all the years that I suffered in silence. How in the world was that for my good? Well, that’s just the point, isn’t it? The good isn’t necessarily in this world, but in the next. The ultimate good may be the strengthening of our faith through struggles. I know I am ten times stronger than I was in my person and in my faith. And, I am thankful for that. When I get to heaven, all this will be a mere blurp in the history of me. What is 20 years compared to eternity? My hope, my joy, is that I know eventually I will be there and none of this will matter…and God will wipe away every tear from my eye. (Revelation 7:17) Aaah, peace.

So, how do we get through each day while we wait for Judgment Day? Some days it is too difficult to see how God is using his people. Today, I was blessed with a day where it became very evident to me. Today was a day when I was actually thankful for my struggles. A dear friend is hurting. She has battled severe anxiety from childhood. Tonight, she shared with me that she was having difficulty handling it and she needed to start seeing a doctor again. My heart broke for her; she is one of the sweetest, most selfless, most caring people I know. She doesn’t deserve this affliction. But, God will bless her through it somehow. For now, he has made sure we are close enough that she felt comfortable talking to me about it. She knows my history of anxiety and sometimes just knowing someone “gets it” helps. Because of everything I went through, I was able to give her some peace, some strength, some support.

Every so often, God gives us a stepping stone that gets us through the vast sea of crap that we deal with here on earth, away from home. Every so often, we see how God is working things for the good of those who love him. (Romans 8:28) Was this good for someone else today? Yea, but it was definitely a blessing for me to be able to help her.

To that friend and to anyone who is suffering and faltering, Romans 8:18-39

I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. The creation waits in eager expectation for the sons of God to be revealed.  For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God.

 We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies.  For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has?  But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.

In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God’s will.

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the likeness of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers. And those he predestined, he also called; those he called, he also justified; those he justified, he also glorified.

What, then, shall we say in response to this? If God is for us, who can be against us?  He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies.  Who is he that condemns? Christ Jesus, who died—more than that, who was raised to life—is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword?  As it is written:

“For your sake we face death all day long;
we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.”

 No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

The End, Amen