by Bethany Ruck

I grew up watching Disney movies, dreaming that one day I could be the heroine of the story or wed a handsome prince. I yearned to live out an epic romance, where I would be swept off my feet by a loving man. I wanted a guy to see me and think, “Wow! That’s the type of woman I’ve been searching for my entire life.” And I thought I knew just the way to achieve that.

I have naturally curly hair—the kind of curls that go “boing” when you pull them. Ever since I can remember, I’ve been flooded with compliments from people who were jealous of my spiral, blonde locks. But for just as long, I’ve despised my hair. I was different from the other kids, and always found myself wanting smooth and sleek hair. I spent the majority of my life angry at genetics, wondering why I had to be born with this curly mess of a head.

I thought of curly hair as something that should be reserved for little girls, like Shirley Temple, Little Orphan Annie, or Curly Sue. To me, a little girl was someone who couldn’t protect herself—a victim. As a little girl, I had no control over the sexual abuse I experienced. It was terrifying to know that I never had a choice in what was done to me. I was powerless to stop my abuser, because I was a defenseless little girl.

I didn’t want to be that little girl anymore. I thought that if I could shed that image, I would have the control I craved. I wanted to become a woman—in control of my life and my sexuality. I saw beautiful woman with their perfect Victoria’s Secret-esque blowouts and wanted what they had. With their smooth hair and every lock in its place, they seemed like women who had it all.

By the time I was in junior high, I began experimenting with different straightening methods. My efforts only resulted in having a slightly less curly ball of frizz—not the look I was going for. Until my senior year of high school, I was still attempting to tame the curls I was born with, but with no luck. My battle with nature always left me defeated and frizzy. I finally retreated with my tail between my legs. I wasn’t happy to have curly hair, but I decided I would no longer make attempts to fight it on a monthly basis.

When I was twenty-one, I finally happened upon a blow dryer that made all of my hair dreams come true. Sure, it took me an hour, but I could get silky-smooth hair with a simple blow out. I’ve been concealing my curly hair ever since.

Everything seemed to change for me after that. For the first time in my life I felt sexy. I would walk into a room with the song, “Man-Eater” playing in my head. I no longer saw myself as a cute girl, but as beautiful woman, the object of desire, someone in control.

I’ve been taking a look at my dating life with a magnifying glass lately—or rather, my lack of a dating life. The type of men who approached me were the charmers, the players—guys who were just looking for a one night stand. I could see right through them, but I couldn’t understand why I kept attracting that type of guy.

The person I really am is a fun, quirky girl who is wholesome. The image I was trying to put on contradicted that. I was attracting men based on my false identity. I was walking around with the image of a femme fatale because I pictured that as someone who was in control, and that’s what guys were picking up on. My hair changed my perception of myself, but it also changed others perceptions of me. Until I changed the image I had of myself, all I would get was men attracted to me for the wrong reasons. There was nothing wrong with a beautifully blown-out hairdo. There was something wrong with the false identity I put on. 

I didn’t want a casual affair; I wanted a romance. I began seeing myself for the woman I had become, despite what my hair looked like. I’m no longer a little girl. I’m strong and outspoken. I came to my own defense when I reported my father for sexually abusing me. I stood up to my family. I protected myself. Those actions require a confident, independent woman–which I had become. As I changed my perception of myself, my perception of curly hair began to change. I no longer saw it as the mark of a victim. Curly hair doesn’t mean I’m out of control. Regardless of what my hair looks like, I’m not defenseless. I’m empowered to do something about my life.

I finally gave up trying to be something I’m not and embraced my curls. I own my curly hair. Instead of feeling like a victim of genetics, I feel like the heroine of a Jane Austen novel, written just for me. I now see my curly hair as romantic, something that adds to my beauty. For the first time in a long time, I feel like myself. I’m comfortable in my skin (and in my hair). I have hair that matches my spunky personality. Instead of seeing myself as different like it’s a bad thing, I see myself as set apart. Others are seeing me that way too. Since changing my perception of myself, I’ve changed the men I’ve been attracting. Now that I’m presenting my real self, I’m ready for a real relationship.

Related Posts:
Dating After Sexual Abuse: Is This Love?
Me and My Shadow
How Can I be Myself if I Don’t Know Who That is?

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by Bethany Ruck

I was ten years old when I blurted out my dark secret to my mom: I fantasized about dying tragically. Before I could finish detailing exactly how I wanted my body to be found, she interrupted me with, “Bethany, don’t ever say that again!” So I shut my mouth.

I wanted to die in a catastrophic way. I wanted my body to be discovered bloody and dismembered in a ditch, with my intestines trailing behind me. Although I never talked about it again, for the rest of my childhood and into my adult life, I still pictured the ways I could die. On the subway, I imagined the door coming unhinged and decapitating me. Driving down the road, I imagined a horrible accident that would rip my body in two. I could see the shards of glass slicing though my vital organs and the impact crushing my body until I become something unrecognizable. Although I didn’t voice them aloud, the thoughts were still screaming.

It was terrifying. The fantasy became a fear. A part of me felt crazy for taking pleasure in thoughts of my own demise. I was ashamed that I would think that way and I thought something was seriously wrong with me. I knew these thoughts weren’t normal, so when they came up, I silenced them. I was already good at hiding secrets because of years of sexual abuse by my father. My dad told me to shut up about the abuse, my mom told me to shut up about my thoughts, I told myself to shut up about everything. But it didn’t stop the fantasies from blaring.

When I started to heal from my sexual abuse, I realized that maybe I should start listening to the voices inside my head instead of trying to silence them. What where they trying to tell me? What message was my death fantasy trying to send?

As I paid attention, I saw that it told me several things:

1. I wanted my death to reflect my life.

I wanted to expose the horror of what the sexual abuse did to me. I felt mutilated, shredded, torn, dirty, dead, impossible to put back together. I wanted my death to tell the truth– that I’m not the pretty girl with the pretty life. I am the disgusting mess left on the floor. I needed others to finally see the agony I suffered.

People’s memory of me would no longer be a curly-haired angel, but a ripped in two wreck of a human. The image would haunt them, just as the abuse haunted me. I always had a smile on my face. I was well mannered. I got good grades. But I felt like a fraud. On the inside I was dead and I wanted to show it.

2. I wanted to expose my abuser.

I was angry at my abuser-father for what he did. I wanted to embarrass him. I wanted to draw attention to his sin. I was so angry that I was willing to sacrifice myself to get the retribution I deserved. I wanted all to see the truth of who I am, or rather the truth of what my dad did to me.

Watching the movie, Se7en, I identified with the words of the sadistic killer, John Doe, “We see a deadly sin on every street corner, in every home, and we tolerate it. We tolerate it because it’s common, it’s trivial. We tolerate it morning, noon, and night. Well, not anymore. I’m setting the example. What I’ve done is going to be puzzled over and studied and followed… forever.”

I felt like my abuse was so obvious, yet no one did anything about it. There was a deadly sin being committed right before everyone’s eyes, yet they turned away and ignored it. I wanted an example to be made out of what was done to me, even if that meant dying to prove my father’s guilt. I yearned for everyone to see the horror that he caused no matter the cost.

3. I wanted to end my pain.

Most people fear death; I invited it in. My situation seemed hopeless. Sexual abuse was all I knew. It began before I could remember. There were no indications that I would have a life apart from the abuse. Death seemed like a better option at the time than what I was faced with. Death makes the abuse stop and I was desperate to end the suffering.

I wanted a voice. They took away my words, so I yearned to express myself in a more creative way. I wanted people to finally see. I wanted it to be so horrifying that they would never forget. “Wanting people to listen, you can’t just tap them on the shoulder anymore. You have to hit them with a sledgehammer, and then you’ll notice you’ve got their strict attention.” John Doe said.

And so the hard work began. I had to change my identity, first by addressing the negative self image that the abuse gave me. I’m not ugly on the inside. I’m not broken. I’m not a maligned mess. I’m not replaceable. I’m worth saving. Healing is possible. I’m not defined by what my abuser did to me.

I took back my voice. I told on my abuser, first at nineteen and again when I reported him to the authorities. Every day I continue to tell on my abuser as I uncover the truth of what he did. I’m continuing to expose the lies I believed about myself. And the truth is that the death I once carried with me everywhere is diminishing and new life is emerging.

I make choices that cultivate life. I choose healthy relationships, strive for a better future, and do good things for my health. Instead of making my death an expression of my abuse, I’ve made my life an expression of my healing.

Related Posts:
What is My Anger Telling Me?

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by Bethany Ruck

A friend of mine used to be a stand-in on a network show. While the actors were in their trailers, he stood in front of the camera. He was examined from every angle while the crew perfected the lighting and worked out the camera positions before filming. But when the time came for the director to yell “action”, the real actors were brought in to perform.

He was the same height and build as the star he filled in for. He had the same hair color and skin tone as the actor. But he was no replacement for the talent. His only purpose was to help the crew prepare before the real work began.

Here at Overcoming Sexual Abuse, our writing team is like the stand-ins. Having a stand-in allows you to be able to see a situation on someone else before you try it on yourself. You can view it from different angles and see how the same might apply to your life. You have the opportunity to see if you identify with a story, a situation, or an emotion.

We have the unique dynamic of being a mother/daughter team. Many readers tend to label me as the child. Since my first post, messages have flooded my inbox. Some of them have been people who wanted support in their healing process, but the majority are survivors who offer to help or comfort me in my own healing.

But I’m just the stand-in for your healing.  Empathizing with the pains of my past does nothing for your own healing.  It’s necessary to try the emotions on for yourself. What do you feel?

It’s hard to acknowledge such painful memories.  It’s much easier to imagine my pain and to seek to comfort my inner child than your own.  Empathizing with my emotions is easy. It’s safe. Cheering me on might help you feel like you’re above the situation instead of in the middle of it. 

It’s even harder to realize where those feelings come from.  Maybe your favorite uncle didn’t love you after all, maybe your mother betrayed you, maybe your family really did know what was going on.  Facing those truths can be agonizing.  It’s much easier to help me heal than to help yourself. Dealing with my inner child does nothing for your healing. Identifying with someone else’s story isn’t doing the actual work. There’s no replacement for the star. 

You’re the star of your own healing journey. Healing requires you to allow the spotlight to be on you. Healing means sifting through your past, getting into the character of that inner child and reliving emotions that are dark and painful. Healing takes facing the lies you believed and seeing the truth. Being the star is hard work.  But the star gets the biggest pay-off. Your healing journey is unique to you. Let your healing take center stage instead of being upstaged by the stand-in.

 Related Posts:
Preparing to Heal from Sexual Abuse
Six Million Dollar Healing: Completely Invested in the Process

[read Bethany's story here]

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by Bethany Ruck

I had to cover my eyes during kissing scenes in movies until my teens. I couldn’t ride my bike more than two blocks away. All of my friends had to be approved. My mom would check all of my essays to make sure they were perfect before I even turned in a rough draft. I wasn’t allowed to date until I was eighteen. I was overprotected in every area of my life except when it came to sexual abuse. I was left completely exposed to one of the most dangerous threats a child can face.

My mom told me she knew about my abuse. She discovered blood in my diaper when I was an infant. Knowing that he had molested another girl, she confronted my dad about it and he admitted to sexually abusing me. I was told that instead of going to the police, together they went to one of the people they esteemed the most, the senior pastor at our church. After one counseling session and a quick prayer, my dad was sent on his way like nothing had ever happened. The abuse continued until my teens.

I recently found out that a few other leaders at our church were asked to counsel with my father during that time, but nothing came of it. They were told by the senior pastor not to report it and they complied. When I found that out, I was flooded with emotions. I already knew that our senior pastor, his wife, and my mom knew about the abuse, but discovering that two more people knew, overwhelmed me. How many adults did it take to protect a little girl?

In the last few weeks I’ve experienced a variety of emotions. First, I felt abandoned. I didn’t understand how all of these people who supposedly loved me could do nothing while my abuser was free to keep hurting me. I began making excuses for them: My mom was abused herself and in denial that the abuse had continued. And even if it did, she felt powerless to do anything about it. The two leaders who were asked not to report it didn’t know the steps to take and were fearful of loosing their jobs. I didn’t feel that they deserved me being mad at them. They were good people who did a stupid thing. I wanted to just erase it from my memory and go on with my life. But the more I thought about it, the more I knew I couldn’t suppress those feelings anymore.

Tears streamed down my face as I watched Gabby’s empowering moment. I finally identified with the emotion of anger towards those who didn’t come to my defense. I was under-protected and had feelings about it that were completely justified.

I wanted to scream in the faces of those who didn’t protect me, telling them, “What is your problem? Don’t you know that I was just a baby? I couldn’t defend myself, but you could have and you chose to do nothing! Isn’t allowing bad to happen the same as perpetrating it? The abuse could have stopped then, but instead I suffered for most of my childhood. Every day of my life was filled with pain. Why did you let me go through that? I didn’t get a childhood because you were cowards! My father stole my innocence and you let him do it!”

Anger was this big, scary emotion to me. I had always seen examples of anger that turned violent and I didn’t want to become that person. I didn’t want to act on the passion that I had, and I didn’t have to. I was angry that they betrayed me and it was okay. I had no plans of rubbing their noses’ in their wrongs. I wasn’t trying to hurt them back. I just wanted to express my feelings about it for the first time. Now, I’m now facing the pain that this brought. I was wronged by more than just my abuser, and have a right to the emotions that correspond with that.

I began this process by reasoning away my emotions before I even acknowledged them or expressed them. That kept me stuck. I had to feel those things and then I could sort it out. To reverse the order is to invalidate my feelings and my experience.

Although I’m not completely out of this stage, being angry at them is not a forever thing. And facing the truth about how I feel gets me one step closer to where I want to be: WHOLE.

Related Posts:
What Is My Anger Telling Me?
Confessions of a Child Molester’s Wife

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 by Bethany Ruck 

When my last boyfriend and I began dating, we would see each other once a week. The in between times were filled with hour-long telephone calls before bed, a lot of getting to know you time and even more of the sickening, “No, I miss you more” fluff.  One night the conversation led to just the right place, where I could tell him about my childhood sexual abuse. I remember prefacing it with a warning that I had something very serious to say; then I told him. He didn’t seem to have much of a reaction, so I assumed that he didn’t feel comfortable asking questions. Okay, change of subject. I guess he didn’t want to talk about it, so I went about the rest of the phone call as normal. The topic of sexual abuse didn’t come up again until much later in the relationship.
 
A year down the road, when I decided that I wanted to report my father for sexually abusing me, I sat my boyfriend down and told him my intentions. Our relationship had turned significantly more serious by that time, so I wanted his support. Instead of support, I was met with an attack. “If I would have known you were sexually abused I never would have dated you.” he said. I was shocked! I never fathomed that he would react like that, especially since I specifically remember telling him about the sexual abuse a year prior. The relationship soon ended, but not without further hurt.
 

Comfortable with Emotion
Crying is healthy. It’s an expression of emotions. Something yucky on the inside is trying to come out, so let it! My boyfriend did not see it this way. Instead of letting me cry he would yell at me, telling me to stop. We were living together at the time, so when I needed a good cry I never had a safe place to do it. I couldn’t express my emotions because he was always there. Finding a partner who is comfortable expressing their own emotion and hearing mine is a prerequisite for a healthy foundation. 
 
Supportive of My Healing
Healing from sexual abuse is not a quick fix. It’s a long road with bumps, low visibility and a whole bunch of people trying to cut you off. Embarking on that journey without a healthy support system is impossible. With my last boyfriend, I wasn’t looking for someone to hold my hand through the healing process. I just wanted someone to say every once in a while, “You can do it!  Great job. Keep going!” Instead of being my cheerleader, I got torn down for my efforts. He only saw how my past abuse affected him, instead of how beneficial healing was to both of us.
 
Isn’t Abusive
I know this sounds so obvious, doesn’t it? But it’s so often overlooked. I thought I knew how to recognize abusive behavior. All I had to look for was someone who didn’t molest children or didn’t give me that creepy feeling, right? WRONG! Perpetrators generally have patterns of abuse that span over several areas. In my case, my boyfriend used his words against me, manipulating and playing on my weaknesses. Every time the relationship turned south he would tell me that a few days prior he had been shopping for engagement rings, in hopes that I would see what a grand gesture of love he was trying to make. In one fight I remember being referred to as “damaged goods” because of the abuse I had no control over.
 
In the end, I didn’t get what I wanted out of this relationship. Instead of love, I got rejection. I firmly believe that love is an action, not some gushy feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when that special someone comes near. He told me all the things I wanted to hear, but his actions showed me that he was more concerned with himself than with loving me.
 
I wish I would have seen clearly going into that relationship, but I’m now better equipped to do so in the future. 

Related Posts: 
Sexual Abuse Invaded My Marriage
Is This Love That I’m Feeling?
Power Play: How to Recognize an Abuser
Prince Charming Was a Murder Suspect
Dangerous Men, Red Flags, Victim Mentality
Emotional Abuse and Identity Hunger  

[read Bethany's story here]  

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Bethany Ruck is cofounder of Overcoming Sexual Abuse, an online resource for male and female abuse survivors looking for practical answers and tools for healing. Besides helping abuse survivors see the beauty within themselves, she enhances the beauty of others as a professional make-up artist and has worked in television, film and print.

[read Bethany's story here]

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There I was, twenty-four years old and I’d never had a vaginal exam. I don’t like being touched in the first place, let alone being poked and prodded in my sacred areas. I had avoided the pap smear for years.

Going to the doctor should be simple, right? I mean, all I had to do was book an appointment and go! Women do this all the time. But it wasn’t so easy.

My intellect and emotions were at war. One was telling me to face this – that I was worrying over nothing. The other had me struck with this overwhelming fear that I would never have kids. I imagined the doctor sitting me down after the procedure and telling me the bad news. “Bethany, I’m sorry to say this, but your female organs have been damaged beyond repair. There is nothing we can do.” Deep down I believed that the sexual abuse had caused irreversible damage. My uterus was thrust somewhere above the heart, my ovaries had been twisted together into an unrecognizable ball of matter, and the walls of my vagina were scared beyond recognition.

I dealt with a lot of the pain from the abuse and thought I was out of the woods, but it made me realize that my abuser had given me a fear that was still affecting my life in a very big way. I can heal from the emotional scars, but the physical effects can not be undone.

It sent me through a variety of emotions. There was this possibility that my father’s selfishness could have stolen something so valuable to me – my ability to have children. I applaud people who have the desire to adopt children, but my desire is to be pregnant and give birth to my children. I have pictured for years exactly what it would be like to have children of my own and was distraught at the idea that the invasive abuse could have prevented my dream from coming true.

Although I was relieved to have a clean bill of health, I was disturbed by how affected I was emotionally by the fear. It forced me to examine the other affects the abuse had on my life and realize, I had more healing to do.

Sometimes the thing you’re most afraid of is the thing you most need to do. It was a daunting task, but without overcoming that doctors visit I could have never overcome many of the other issues I have faced. What is it that you’re afraid of facing?

Bethany Ruck is cofounder of Overcoming Sexual Abuse, an online resource for male and female abuse survivors looking for practical answers and tools for healing. Besides helping abuse survivors see the beauty within themselves, she enhances the beauty of others as a professional make-up artist and has worked in television, film and print.

[read Bethany's story here]

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Today I was dealing with a lot of the preparation for my upcoming trail and found myself filled with an overwhelming anxiety. The kind where you shake from your core, and you don’t know whether to cry or scream. I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest. I got to the point where I just needed to get out of the house. I didn’t know where I was going. I just picked a direction and started walking.

On today’s journey there was a lot of thinking and crying – some true expressions of emotion. It got me to remember just how important my walks are. Not necessarily walking, but quiet time, void of distraction. I thought to myself, “Yes, I can finally hear myself think!”

We live in a world that is constantly throwing information in our faces and keeping our minds busy. There is the radio, tv, ipod, phone calls and dare I say it… Facebook. Everywhere you go there is an opportunity to shut down your mind and drown yourself in distraction.

Value the quiet times. Although it can be terrifying to face the emotions that you are feeling it is gratifying to know that they are now underfoot.

Bethany Ruck is cofounder of Overcoming Sexual Abuse, an online resource for male and female abuse survivors looking for practical answers and tools for healing. Besides helping abuse survivors see the beauty within themselves, she enhances the beauty of others as a professional make-up artist and has worked in television, film and print.

[read Bethany's story here]

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I’m now being forced to look at my childhood for what it was, not the pretty picture I imagined it to be. For years I convinced myself that I had a good childhood, despite all the abuse I endured. Then I remembered that the good times were really just a cover for the abuse. That is, what little good times there were. I painted a picture in my mind of the perfect dad, to replace the one that was not so great. The truth was that Good Dad only existed to convince others that he was innocent.

I wanted so badly to believe that Dad just wanted to spend quality time with my brother and me. So much so that I actually started believing my own lie. The reality was that Dad was there to take advantage of me. That hurts. This man that is supposed to be my role model, protector, provider has used and manipulated me. His addiction was his driving force and the only reason he played nice.

Recognizing the truth is painful. It’s hard looking at your life and realizing that what you believed for so long was all a sham. I wish I had the perfect life that I dreamed up. But I’m in reality now. And though it is tough to face the brokenness of the past it is freeing to embrace a new future void of lies.

Bethany Ruck is cofounder of Overcoming Sexual Abuse, an online resource for male and female abuse survivors looking for practical answers and tools for healing. Besides helping abuse survivors see the beauty within themselves, she enhances the beauty of others as a professional make-up artist and has worked in television, film and print.

[read Bethany's story here]

Does this resonate with you? Please join in by leaving your thoughts and feelings about this topic and don’t forget to subscribe to the comments.

Bethany Ruck is cofounder of Overcoming Sexual Abuse, an online resource for male and female abuse survivors looking for practical answers and tools for healing. Besides helping abuse survivors see the beauty within themselves, she enhances the beauty of others as a professional make-up artist and has worked in television, film and print.

[read Bethany's story here]

Does this resonate with you? Please join in by leaving your thoughts and feelings about this topic and don’t forget to subscribe to the comments.