Overcoming Sexual Abuse » Diablog–Multi-Person Blog

When An Abuser Dies

osa — Tue, 20 Mar 2012 12:55:27 +0000

by Christina Enevoldsen & Bethany Ruck

Bethany: A few months ago, I got word from a family member that my paternal grandmother was found unconscious in the middle of the night and rushed to the hospital. She had suffered a brain hemorrhage and was on a ventilator as her heart rate began to slow. The doctors weren’t optimistic that anything could be done.

I didn’t know her well. I spent a summer visiting my father’s parents when I was ten but the rest of my relationship with them was quick phone calls throughout my childhood. As my grandma got older, she began to forget who I was, so our relationship dwindled in my teens.

Years ago, my dad told me that both of his parents had sexually abused him. When he was eight years old, they took him into their bedroom and taught him to have sex with his mother while my grandfather watched. What they did to him made me sick and angry with my grandparents.

My dad learned this sick addiction from them. The repercussions of their choices affected more than just their victim; it affected his victims as well. Because of them, my dad sexually abused me for the length of my childhood.

Every time I heard of one of my grandparent’s health scares, I hoped that they would die. I wanted them to finally rot in hell for what they did. When I first heard about Grandma being on her deathbed, I was thrilled that another child molester would be gone. I kept thinking, “Hahaha! One down. Just a few more to go!” Then she finally passed away and I was glad. I thought my mom would feel the same way.

Christina: In my twenty-one years of marriage to Bethany’s dad, I had a good relationship with his mother. The woman I knew was kind, gentle, generous, funny and hard-working. But I also knew another side to her. Early in our marriage, my ex-husband told me about the sexual abuse he endured for most of his childhood.

At the time, I thought of his abuse the same way I thought of my own sexual abuse by my father. I figured it was something that happened a long time ago and I tried to forget about it. With both my dad and mother-in-law, I reasoned that since they were nice people, they must be sorry. It seemed to make life easier to think about their better qualities instead of the horrible things that they did to their own children.

Over the years of my healing, I began to view abusers much differently. Healing required me to confront the truth. Before, I thought sexual abuse happened the same way hurtful words sometimes slip from my mouth. I never mean to cause any harm but when I do, I feel awful about it and take responsibility. But sexual abuse is never a “slip”. Through my new lens of truth, I saw that sexual abusers plan and scheme, seducing their victims to submit and to keep their secret. Not only do they blame their victims, but through their words and actions, they convince their victims to accept the blame. Child molesters are particularly interested in self-preservation and willingly sacrifice the child’s physical and emotional health to protect themselves. They are not “nice” people who simply do bad things.

If my mother-in-law was sorry for what she did, she never owned up to her abuse nor apologized for it. When she learned of Bethany’s abuse by her son, she never showed any concern for Bethany’s wellbeing. Even though she was abused herself, that didn’t change the fact that she destroyed her son’s life and nearly destroyed her granddaughter’s life. Being a victim of abuse doesn’t make someone a perpetrator, so her history is no excuse. Even though she had good qualities, they don’t cancel out the abuse.

I had an idea of what my reaction to her death would be. I thought I would see things rationally and logically with a little emotion (the “right” emotion) mixed in. In my mind, I would look on her death with a kind of satisfaction, knowing that she wouldn’t be hurting anyone else. I expected to feel relief that the Ruck Family had one less abuser in it. I thought I would feel detached from her death, as though she was a stranger.

Bethany was the one who told me Grandma Ruck had finally passed away. A wave of grief hit me in my chest. I was sad that her chance at life was over. I was glad that her suffering didn’t last long. She would be missed—not by me, but by her family—and I was sorry for them.

My grief was interrupted by the elation in Bethany’s voice and I wanted to get away from her celebratory mood. I understood her feelings, and acknowledged to myself how healthy they were, but I needed space to process my feelings.

Bethany: To me, this was a victory and I wanted everyone to celebrate with me, so I felt confused that my mom could feel sad about this horrible person dying.

Christina: I was confused by my reaction too. It certainly wasn’t what I expected. I was unsure if my compassion came from my old unhealthy belief system or if it was a result of my healing. Maybe I could feel compassion because abusers don’t feel like a threat to me anymore. Maybe working through all the fear and anger and pain allowed me to see more than just an abuser in my ex-mother-in-law.

My years of childhood abuse groomed me to identify more with abusers than I did with myself. I cared more about protecting them, taking care of them, guarding their feelings, much more than I did my own. Were my emotions an effect of my abuse? I was afraid that feeling bad for this dead woman was an indication that I was being sucked back into the abusive system that I’d worked so hard to escape. It felt like a betrayal of my daughter and of me and all victims.

Bethany: The next day I began to feel sadness—a sadness for the life that could have been. I couldn’t help but think that this sexual perpetrator was once a young, sweet, innocent girl, who was probably abused herself. I found myself asking, “Why did she have to choose that path? Why did she have to cause so much pain?”

Christina: My feelings alternated the next day too. I read on Facebook what other family members felt about her and it felt so unjust that they were praising her. I wanted to scream the horrible things she’d done and tell them what kind of a woman she really was. I hated that a person like her would be honored.

Bethany: My cousins’ responses to our grandma’s medical condition irked me, “Grandma was a wonderful person and I’m happy that she will be with Jesus soon. I pray she transitions peacefully.”

I was disgusted! I wanted them to realize that the grandma they knew as “wonderful” was actually a vile child molester. I was so angry that she would be remembered as a good person when her actions led to my childhood being ripped away from me.

Over the next week, I felt a flurry of emotions—sometimes alternating feelings came in little waves and other times they all came at once. It was confusing to feel both hatred and mercy for someone at the same time.

I had played out the scenario of her death in my head for years so I could process those emotions. What I imagined was both relief and indifference. My actual reactions involved a larger depth of emotion and that scared me.

The hardest part was feeling like I wasn’t supposed to have certain emotions. I shouldn’t be happy that someone died, but I shouldn’t feel compassion for an abuser. I wanted to be somewhere in the middle. Before I could get there, I had to feel both extreme emotions and not one way or the other.

Over the course of this emotional journey I began to recognize the emotional extremes as part of the process. Instead of being alarmed by how polarized my feelings were, I started to see them as indications of my process. There were many facets to my relationship with my grandmother, therefore, there would be a variety of emotions to go with them.

Christina: One of the ways I’ve grown in the past few years is in acknowledging and expressing my emotions. After so many years of being emotionally shut down because of my abuse, it was a luxury to feel even one emotion. Earlier in my healing, it never occurred to me that I could have two emotions at the same time, much less conflicting ones. As my feelings gradually blossomed, whenever I’d experience two seemingly opposing emotions, I’d go round and round, trying to sort them out so I could eliminate one and officially own only one of them.

Now I’m comfortable feeling a variety of emotions at the same time and I can accept them and express them without acting on them. The range of emotions didn’t bother me, but the softness I felt for a sexual predator did.

In my struggle to find the answers to this compassion question, I was forgetting that my healing isn’t about what happens outside of me. In typical abuse survival style, I was focusing too much attention on the abuser instead of on myself. Now I’m content knowing that even if I do have compassion for abusers, it’s how I feel about myself that is the most important. Even I if I discover some unhealthy motives for showing abusers compassion, I’m solid in compassion for myself and I’ll never act outside of that. I’ll never choose to protect an abuser over protecting me or anyone else. I’ll never think an abuser’s feelings are more important than mine. I may not be finished with this process, but I’m providing myself a safe place to work through it.

Now that you’ve heard our experiences and thoughts about this, we’d love to hear yours. Please comment below and don’t forget to subscribe to the comments so you can continue to partake in the discussion.

Christina Enevoldsen is cofounder of Overcoming Sexual Abuse, an online resource for male and female abuse survivors looking for practical answers and tools for healing. Christina’s passions are writing and speaking about her own journey of healing from abuse and inspiring people toward wholeness. She and her husband live in Los Angeles and share three children and four grandchildren.

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.

Is It Possible to Heal From Abuse Without Therapy?

osa — Fri, 16 Dec 2011 23:39:55 +0000

by Patty Hite, Jennifer Stuck & Christina Enevoldsen

Patty: Thirty years ago, when I started to heal from sexual, physical, and verbal abuse, there were no support groups for survivors. No one talked openly about abuse, especially not about sexual abuse. I tried to talk to my friends. Although they felt compassion for me, they thought the best solution was to forget about it and try to move on with my life.

I lived in a very small farming town of 750 people so seeing a therapist or doctor who understood the effects of abuse was not an option. The internet wasn’t available at that time, so my only “friends” were the ones who shared their stories in the library books I read. I remember how deeply their stories of abuse and their courage impacted my life. Reading about their abuse confirmed that I was not alone. As they shared their steps toward healing and talked about the masks they wore in order to survive, I cried and laughed, all at the same time. They felt the same way I did and they weren’t afraid to talk about it. I felt like someone finally understood.

I never felt that I needed therapy because all the answers were in these books. I learned very early in healing that I needed to do what was right for me. I can’t tell you how many books I’ve thrown across the room because they were too overwhelming and how many times I’ve had to take a break from everything. I couldn’t see myself on a schedule, especially not forced or coerced into healing on someone else’s schedule. I was used to doing what others told me to do so I needed to be in control of my own healing.

I’m not saying I think there’s anything wrong with therapy. I’m saying it was wrong for me. And that is important in healing—finding what is right and what is not, what works and what doesn’t. Doing it my way and on my schedule is what I’ve needed.

Christina: When I started to heal from sexual abuse, I never considered seeing a therapist. I was still married to my abusive husband and there was no way he would have agreed to pay for anything that wouldn’t serve him and his plans for me. Even if he would have agreed to pay for therapy, I didn’t think I was worth the money. I often had trouble justifying just paying for a haircut.

I don’t think money was the real issue, though. I’d had two very bad experiences with professionals. The first time was when I was in grade five and the school district psychologist pulled me out of class to find out what was wrong with me. I couldn’t tell her the things my dad was doing to me, so I struggled to give her some reason for whatever she thought was wrong. I told her I didn’t have any friends, which wasn’t true. Over the next several months, she worked with me on how to make friends. I had the feeling that she didn’t like me and that she was annoyed with me most of the time. I’m glad I didn’t tell her about my abuse because she never felt like a safe person anyway.

The second time I saw a counselor was when I had an affair. I went to a Christian counselor for a few weeks (my husband was all for getting me “help” this time) and the counselor determined that my problem was that I had a demon of seduction. That didn’t help me at all, but that concluded my “help”.

In addition to my unfruitful experiences with mental health professionals, I was suspicious of people who were “experts” or authority figures. Those are the people who hurt me in the first place and I saw them as sources of harm, not help.

Jennifer: The truth is I would have loved to go to therapy and talk to someone when I was younger, but I never really felt like getting help was an option. I went to a small high school with fewer than 100 students, so there was no counselor to talk to, and I never felt like I could go to my family. I was the support person in my home and my family made it quite clear they weren’t strong enough to be bothered with my problems.

I opened up to one friendly teacher, but I never felt like she had the time or ability to help me. I truly wanted to face my past but I didn’t know how to do that. Since I had so little support, I shoved everything back down inside me. It was too painful to want the help I couldn’t get.

Like you, Christina, I never felt like I had the money to invest in therapy as an adult. It wasn’t until I discovered the world of self-help that I started opening up about my abuse again and was finally able to start healing.

I started reading every book about sexual abuse I could find at the local used book store, I joined Facebook and connected with other abuse survivors. I cut contact from the abusive people in my life and the people I knew wouldn’t support my healing, and really started looking at how my abuse had affected my life.

Christina: Books have been my primary tool for healing, too. I felt safe being able to pick them up and put them down when I wanted to. I wasn’t afraid of the book judging me or interrupting me.

I used to need to control my interactions with people and my memories felt too raw to share until I sorted them all out. Books gave me clues about the things I needed to look at. Each time I figured out some issue and faced it privately, I felt less vulnerable sharing it with close friends. There’s something about processing it that makes it seem more manageable and less threatening.

Earlier in my healing, I don’t know if I would have ever have the guts to say aloud what happened to me, so talking with another person seemed out of the question. Now, even though I’m comfortable sharing things I haven’t dissected yet, I still process things on my own and then share them with people I trust. Many times while I’m sharing, more truths come out and I can face another layer or another aspect that I missed.

Jennifer: That’s what I do a lot too, Christina. I usually work through a memory on my own by writing it out and making any connections I can between my abuse and how it’s affected my current life. But then I’m usually so excited about my breakthroughs that I have to tell my friends, and while talking I’ll realize even more! It’s great to have healing buddies, but I have to do the work of healing myself. Nobody can do that for me.

Patty: I learned that I had to do the work myself too. There were two important things that I grabbed a hold of. One was that I had to get it out. Writing was an easy way for me to do that and I still do a lot of writing. When I revisit my abuse, writing helps me to see more details. When I’m sad, happy or angry, I can express it so much better on paper. I’ve written angry letters to my abusers (I didn’t mail them) and I’ve written compassionate letters to myself.

And the other one was instilling boundaries into my life. I had to stop any further abuse. I always thought it was my fault, but by learning about boundaries, I was able to learn how to trust my judgment of people and have the ability to walk away from bad situations. Trusting myself to make decisions about people helped me to listen to the warning signs of abuse. That was a weak area in my life and I know that had a lot to do with feeling like I was an easy mark for abusers.

Christina: Writing is one of the tools I use, too. It helps me to sort things out and to express them. I used to have trouble crying, but by writing the words, “I feel so hurt and alone”, I was still able to get it out in some way.

I process an abuse memory by examining the memory in detail. What was done to me? What was said? If there was more than one person involved, what did the other person’s reaction tell me? What messages did I come to believe from the actions and words? What did those things tell me about myself and about what I could expect from the world? How did I adapt to the lies I believed? What is the truth? How should I have been treated? (When I don’t know, I think about how I would expect another child to be treated). Seeing the truth is freeing and healing.

Jennifer: I don’t have to have other people to heal, but having people I trust has made a big difference for me. A huge part of my abuse was feeling unlovable. I’ve had to face the things that made me believe that, but having loving people around during my healing sure makes that easier.

Patty: I would have welcomed a support group like Overcoming Sexual Abuse. It’s like opening a book at the library, only the survivors here are able to answer me back. Having the ability to hear so many stories of hope and healing is very empowering to me. This is real life and these are real people and I feel honored to be a part of their lives.

Christina: I used to feel that all the growth I’ve accomplished through my healing was somehow less legitimate because I didn’t see a therapist. Through healing, I’m excited to wake up everyday, my relationships are healthy, I’m finally able to love myself and feel great about myself, but I discounted all of that since it wasn’t validated by a “professional”. As I compared my process to other survivors who had therapy, though, I didn’t see inferior results. I noticed that no matter with a therapist or without, no matter with a support group or without, no matter what tools we use or what help we get, it’s up to each survivor to do the work and that’s where the rewards of healing come from.

Abuse teaches us that we aren’t enough in ourselves so many survivors falsely assume that we can’t do it on our own. The truth is that most survivors of abuse are capable of a lot more than we give ourselves credit for.

There are plenty of people who benefit from therapy and those who might not ever have the courage to face the past without a therapist, so I’m thankful they have a place to go. But since that wasn’t an option for me, I’m thankful that I found my own way to heal.

Patty: Yes, I’m glad that I don’t have to depend on anyone else to heal. For me, it’s been a personal reward—my work, my changes, my accomplishments. I can do this!!!

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.

Patty Hite is a facilitator of Overcoming Sexual Abuse. A survivor of emotional, physical and sexual abuse, Patty has been tenaciously pursuing her healing for over thirty years. She dedicates her life to inspiring emotional wholeness in others. As a former victim of spousal abuse, she’s delighted to have found the meaning of true love, a respectful relationship, and support with her late husband, Lonnie. She’s blessed with four children and five grandchildren.

Jennifer Stuck is whole heartedly pursuing physical and emotional health and is determined to heal the wounds of her childhood sexual abuse. She loves to write, especially poetry. She has an open, accepting personality, and is always ready to crack a joke. She is currently studying for a career in Physical Therapy. When she isn’t in school Jennifer is at home spending time with her two beautiful daughters.

Grieving & Celebrating Father’s Day

osa — Sat, 18 Jun 2011 02:14:56 +0000

by Bethany Ruck, Christina Enevoldsen, Linda Pittman and Jennifer Stuck

Bethany: Father’s Day feels so empty to me–like one of those holidays like Flag Day or Secretary’s Day. Why should I pay attention to those? I don’t have a flag, a secretary or a father. My dad is in prison for sexually abusing me for most of my childhood.

Father’s Day for me has always been about going through the motions. I followed along even though I knew it wasn’t fair. I can’t remember the last time I celebrated a Father’s Day with my dad. After I moved to California, I made the obligatory phone call to him for the minimum fifteen minutes. But it was work to me. None of it came from my heart.

Why should I honor a man who doesn’t deserve honor? He contributed a seed, but after that everything he for me was destructive.

I remember writing Father’s Day cards that really gushed about what a great dad I had, but it was always what I thought I “should” have felt about him. I felt guilty for not being more sincere. I thought something was wrong with me for not feeling closer or more loving. I tried to work myself up to appreciation and admiration but writing those cards always felt hollow, as though I was trying to put something there that never was.

Christina: I remember writing Father’s Day cards that really gushed about what a great dad I had, but it was always what I thought I “should” have felt about him. I felt guilty for not being more sincere. I thought something was wrong with me for not feeling closer or more loving. I tried to work myself up to appreciation and admiration but writing those cards always felt hollow, as though I was trying to put something there that never was.

Linda: My father has been dead since 1992. It has been thirty-three years since I last saw him. The last time I saw him he didn’t act as if he had missed me in my fifteen year absence. In fact, it was like I never existed. I never had a problem with Father’s Day because I don’t and haven’t ever missed my father. I may have missed the idea of a father who is loving and caring but I can’t wrap my head around that concept, much. My father sexually abused me from the ages of three to twelve years and maybe even earlier because my memories are pretty fractured.

When people talk about their fathers wistfully, I remember the fear, the hiding and avoiding the dread and pain and shame and revulsion. When others say they miss their dads, I can’t relate to that idea, in fact I never missed mine when I left my home at twelve….just wondered if he ever even thought about me.

Jennifer: Linda, I used to always find ways to judge and criticize people who were close with their fathers. As if it was easier for me to convince myself that having a good father in my life wasn’t even something I wanted. The truth is I have no idea what it would be like to have a healthy father figure and the image of a father brings to mind a crazy drug fiend, so of course I wouldn’t want one of those around. If my father had been different, or if I could even imagine what it would be like to have a healthy father I might feel differently. Although, I have had a few good men in my life and am very appreciative of them.

Linda: I saw some really sweet things written about dads the other day and it really affected me. I have been okay for years with not having a dad who loved me and I accepted that mine was an abuser. I got to thinking how nice it would be to feel what this describes …just once:

“Being loved by a daddy is like having the sun kiss your nose while you’re eating sweet strawberries, running through sprinklers. You don’t need it, but it can change your world.” Bonnie Gray

Bethany: When my mom married Don six years ago, I got a new dad – or a step-dad rather. Don and I worked together in the same church office and when news spread that he was marrying my mom, a coworker thought it would be funny to put together a list of “dad” related names I could call Don. It was meant as a joke, but the idea of calling Don my dad was uncomfortable to me. “Dad” was a dirty word in my book.

Don isn’t like the original dad. He is kind, respectful and truly cares about me. I feel safe with him. There isn’t the same threat of betrayal that had with my first father.

When I broke off my relationship with my dad, Don was there for me, fully supportive of my emotional health. Even though he took on the role of a traditional father, I didn’t like calling him dad. I didn’t want to call him something gross or disrespectful or invite him into the role of abuser, so I skirted my way around the term.

Christina: I can relate to that. I don’t want another father figure in my life. That feels threatening. It really hurts that my dad’s lifestyle so colored my view of that role that I don’t even think of it as a good thing to have. Yes, I honor men who are good fathers and I believe that they exist, but as far as it relates to me, it’s a concept like a fairytale or some scientific formula that I can’t comprehend. Either way, it doesn’t make sense.

Even before getting my memories back, I thought the people who idolized their dads were so foreign—like from another planet.

Linda: Yeah Christina, I had trouble identifying with the ones who idolized their dads too. My neighbor (playmate) lost her dad when she was really young to a brain aneurism and I could not understand why she was so upset that she couldn’t even talk about it. I couldn’t fathom what a good relationship with a dad was.

Jennifer: Christina, that’s exactly how I felt. I either couldn’t relate to them, or wondered what they were hiding.

Christina: I wondered what they were hiding too or when they were going to remember what REALLY happened. While they were in disbelief over the things my father did to me, I was in disbelief that their father was so great.

Bethany: I grew up with friends who had great relationships with their fathers. They still talk about their fathers like they are their heroes and dream of marrying a man just like him. They run up to their fathers and give him great big bear hugs that seemed to last forever. And I think to myself, “Woah! Where are your boundaries?” The physical affection and admiration bothers me.

I don’t have too much of a problem hugging men, but I do have a problem hugging someone who is in a father role. For me I saw the physical affection between fathers and daughters as an all or nothing thing. Either he didn’t touch you at all or he hugged, molested, and raped. It was hard to comprehend a father who would just hug his daughter because he loved her.

Christina: I feel that same discomfort when I see father/daughter affection. It’s not only that I suspect there’s more to it, but just seeing genuine love from a father feels uncomfortable. It doesn’t matter if it’s with their son or daughter.

I know great men who are excellent fathers. My husband is one of them. So I know they exist and I applaud them. I can’t think of anything in life more important than being a good parent to the children you have.

I’ve been cleaning some things out lately and found a silver chafing dish that my parents passed on to me at least ten years ago. It was a gift commemorating a party to honor my dad. The lid is engraved with his name, the date and “In Appreciation.” I was too young to attend and I don’t know the occasion, but I’ve always imagined a large party at a country club where lots of “important” people gathered to pat my father on the back.

The thought of people gathering to celebrate my dad used to bother me. I resented him being treated as though he was a good person. I hated that the person who used to sneak into my room at night was so well-loved and admired. I wished that I could scream the truth about him or show a home-movie about the secret things he used to do to me.

I don’t feel anything right now. I’ve already accepted that he will be honored and supported by some and they will never believe that he sexually abused me during my childhood or if they believe it, they excuse it as something that happened too long ago to consider it important. They can feel and think about him the way they choose and I will do the same. I don’t have to honor him anymore and I haven’t spoken with him in years.

I’m content working through my process. I don’t know what other feelings may come up toward him or because of him, but I’m done with him.

I still am someone’s daughter, I exist, and no amount of denial will make me disappear. I am here until the last breath and here enjoying life in spite of the missing parts. I am enjoying watching the good fathers in my family and grateful that their children never have to experience what I went through. They get to enjoy hugs and play with their dads and experience their dad’s protection. It is okay to watch from the sidelines and I am content to do so now.

Linda: My dad gave me life and then he systematically took it away until I was left with no identity. I struggled through the years like a plane on autopilot with no one at the controls until the fuel ran out. I had to rebuild myself from my childhood onward through my 20’s and 30’s. The childhood I had to face was gruesome and cruel. The shattered remains of a little child were scattered everywhere showing up throughout my life and relationships.

I am still that little girl inside, the one who believed in fairytales and princes and make believe. The little girl that wanted to be a ballerina, and loved music. Sometimes that was all I had to hang on to because my reality was too horrific to look at.

I’ve had to look at that reality many times over the course of many years on my healing journey. If I told you I don’t feel cheated, I would be lying. But I’ve accepted the reality of what my childhood was like and my dysfunctional parents and family.
I have survived and grown without what many people will celebrate this Father’s Day.

Having experienced healing from sexual, physical and verbal abuse, Linda Pittman has found joy in encouraging others in their healing journey and tells people that it’s never too late to start. She’s been married to her husband for twenty-one years and has four adult children.

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.

What If My Family Rejects Me? Part 3

osa — Fri, 26 Nov 2010 18:29:45 +0000

by Christina Enevoldsen & Darlene Ouimet

Christina: The other day, I was felt unsettled about some things and, as usual, I poured out my heart to my husband. He’s a good listener, so as I processed my feelings I realized that part of the solution had me stumped and part of it I just didn’t want to do. That left me with my pain. I changed the subject and we discussed a mutual friend’s issues instead. When I just about had the friend’s problems all figured out, it occurred to me that I changed the subject as a form of denial. It was easier to talk about what our friend should do to improve his life than to talk about what I needed to do to make mine better.

I think that’s what happens sometimes when we focus on the reaction of people outside of us. We get hung up on what they are doing instead of on what we need to be doing. So many survivors of abuse stay focused on the whys? the hows? And the what ifs? “Why don’t they believe me?” “How could they protect my abuser, but betray me?” or “What if I talk to them one more time?”

When I first separated from my parents after they refused to honor my boundaries, I celebrated my freedom. But eventually, the pain pierced me. The loss of my mom haunted me for months. In my desire to stop the pain, I grasped at the ‘what if’s?’ “What if she misunderstood me?” “What if I explained it better?” “What if she’d like to make up, but is afraid?”

I got caught up in those questions as though the answers would extinguish my burning ache. It didn’t make sense that the person who was meant to love me, protect me, nurture me, and teach me right from wrong would betray or reject me. Could this be a huge misunderstanding? Was I taking what my parents said too seriously?

Darlene: I kept second guessing myself, because that is what they taught me to do. They taught me that I was wrong. They taught me that I was the one who had the problem and that I was selfish and self-centered. I think that is why I kept trying. I really believed that before I could hear myself, they had to hear me. I wanted them to suddenly realize that I had been wronged.

I wanted to prove several things to them; that I had in fact been abused, mistreated and unprotected, and that I was worthy of love. I got stuck when the condition that I put on myself was that when they would finally agree with me, I could believe it. The problem was that I would not hear or validate myself until they heard me. I thought my freedom and wholeness depended on if they said I could have it or not. I thought that I had to prove that I was right in order to draw those boundaries. I thought that I had to prove (to myself even) that I had been neglected, or emotionally abandoned by my family before I could actually stand up to them.

One day I saw this for the truth that it was. I realized that I was rejecting my own truth by letting them decide if I was telling the truth or not. I realized that I was letting them define me as unworthy and unlovable. I was now doing what they taught me to do—discounting myself; abandoning myself; mistreating and devaluing myself and neglecting myself. As long as I was doing this to myself, they didn’t need to bother too much with me because as long as I was fighting for them to SEE me and HEAR me, they actually had control of me and the situation.

Christina: That’s a good point, Darlene. We’re so used to remaining the child in the relationship, that we feel the need for their permission and validation. I had to own my own power, recognizing myself as a mature adult. I also had to own my own feelings and opinions. Right or wrong, they are mine and I don’t need anyone’s permission to think or feel them.

The abuse violated my boundaries. Someone invaded my body and soul. They disregarded my will and my feelings. One of the most powerful expressions of our boundaries is the word “no”, and yet the abuse took away my “no”. Part of healing from the abuse is to take back my “no”:

“No, I won’t stay silent about the abuse.”
“No, I’m not going to protect another’s reputation at my expense.”
“No, I’m not going to continue to submit to your abuse.”

The abuse taught me that I’m responsible for others and that caring for myself is wrong. I’ve had a hard time saying “no”, but I also had a hard time hearing “no”. Many of us continue to struggle with confused or blurred boundaries throughout our lives. We have a tendency to either take care of other’s responsibilities or neglect our own—or both.

My family was saying “no” to me when they rejected me:

“No, I do not believe you.”
“No, I won’t support you.”
“No, I won’t admit I did anything harmful to you.”
“No, I won’t apologize.”
“No, I won’t stop telling you to get over it.”
“No, I won’t end my friendship with your abuser.”

To focus on other people’s boundaries—their behavior, their responsibilities, their choices, their beliefs, their opinions, their feelings, their attitudes, their values—is to assume responsibility for them. Focusing on my parent’s boundaries keeps me from my own responsibility. When I focus on them, I lose clarity about me.

My family may not behave, think, or feel the way that I would or the way I want them to, but they are free to make their own choices (and free to reap the consequences of those choices). It’s not my job to correct them, convince them, or punish them no matter how they failed me.

Darlene: Yes, Christina, that is exactly how I feel too. The key to freedom is not in understanding why other people didn’t take care of us, or why we were emotionally, physically or sexually abused; The key (well at least one key) is in understanding that we were powerless and that we are not who “they” say we are.

I will never understand my mother, and I don’t even want to. I don’t know if I ever did get my head around it, but what set me free was that I got my head around that it was up to me to take my life back. I realized that this was about HER and not about me. I don’t have to take it and I don’t have to understand it. I found the truth about her and then about me and what she taught me about me was all lies.

When I stood up for myself and when I stopped asking, hoping and waiting for them to hear me, believe me and validate me, I began to blossom and thrive. I began to grow into the person that I believe I was born to be. I met myself on the road to healing and for the very first time I felt like an individual. It wasn’t long before I stopped chasing the lie; I stopped believing that the illusive butterfly of happiness could only be found in parental love and acceptance which would set me free and solve my problems.

Christina: I may never know the answers to why? how? And what if? But I don’t care anymore. Those answers promise protection and closure, but they fail to deliver. They don’t have power to help me move on. Knowing the answers doesn’t change anything. They won’t take care of me, take away the pain, or make up for my loss. The past still happened, and I am the one who has to deal with it. And as an adult, I’m equipped to do that successfully. The responsibility for taking care of me lies with the person who cares the most: ME.

Darlene Ouimet is an inspirational speaker, certified professional life coach and mental health advocate. While speaking in mental health seminars about her complete recovery from dissociated identity disorder, chronic depression, and a lifetime of low self-esteem, Darlene realized that her journey to wholeness had a unique kind of impact and she embraced a new life purpose—to deliver this message of hope, healing and full recovery to a hurting world. Darlene authors a high traffic blog called “Emerging from Broken—from surviving to thriving on the journey to wholeness.”

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Why Do I Need to Tell?

osa — Tue, 21 Sep 2010 20:21:33 +0000

by Christina Enevoldsen, Bethany Ruck, Patty Hite & Jennifer Stuck

Christina: When I talk about my childhood sexual abuse, I see it as an opportunity to validate my inner child. As I reveal the horror of what happened to her, I’m inviting her out of the shadows of fear and shame. She’s accustomed to other’s dismissive denial, but telling the truth gives her the honor she deserves.

Bethany: I remember my childhood nightmare of screaming with all my might but no noise would come out. Holding in the secret abuse is just like that. I was constantly screaming inside but no one heard me. Finally, I made myself heard. I first began sharing when I was nineteen. My parents had just divorced, so my reason for keeping my secret was now obsolete. I pulled my mom aside and shared in very little detail that my father had sexually abused me for over twelve years. She put her arms around me and we both cried. What a relief it was! I could finally breathe again. This secret I held in all those years was out. It was a huge weight off my shoulders.

Once I told my mom, I didn’t feel like I had to keep the secret anymore. But I didn’t shout it from the rooftops either. For the first year I only told those who I trusted. Their reactions were always comforting and they were all willing to help in any way I needed. The validation I got in the safe circle of friends was crucial in being able to talk about it confidently now. I internalized my pain but talking about it helped me get it out.

Patty Hite: The first time I wrote my story about abuse it was kind of vague and straight to the point. I omitted who it was and the details. I remember being so afraid that if I wrote out everything that it would become too real. I was in denial at the time and didn’t want to believe that those I loved had hurt me in that way. After a few years of flashbacks and nightmares I decided to let it all out. Even though I was shaking as I wrote, I described the abusers and gave accurate descriptions of everything they did.

I discovered the feelings I felt at the time of the abuse. It was an awakening for me because up until then, I hadn’t realized how important it was to investigate the emotions, the smells, and the touch of the abuse. It was freeing. I felt liberated and empowered. Describing the abuse showed me how strong and courageous I was. Even though I hid my abuse from everyone as a child, it intrigued me to see what avenues I developed to cover it up.

Jennifer: Years ago, I spent a short time trying to heal from my abuse, but I quickly regressed back into denial, convincing myself that nothing ever happened. I lost any progress that I had made up to that point. It wasn’t until I started to write out and share my story with other survivors that I was truly able to start the healing process. I sat down with my laptop and typed out as much as I could remember—what they did, how it made me feel about myself, how my family reacted. I sent it to a trusted friend for her to read first. After that I slowly started letting more survivor-friends read it.

Just that one small step made the biggest difference for me. Sharing my story made it real in my own mind. I could no longer shove it to the back of my head and pretend it never happened. I had to start facing the facts. One piece at a time I looked at my own story. I was finally able to see things from a different perspective. Up until then I only remembered the abuse through my own eyes. I would always down play it and the effects it had on me, but when I saw my story written down I could read it like it was another person’s story. Would I blame them or say it was nothing if that were another person’s story? NO! So why was I doing that to myself? That realization was a huge moment for me. By sharing my story I was finally able to shed the guilt and shame I carried with me for so many years.

There are so many benefits of telling your story. Here are a few of them:

1. Abuse is devaluing. Talking about it is a declaration that you and what happened to you really matters.

2. Your experience may have been denied by others, and maybe even denied by you, but telling your story acknowledges the truth. It’s difficult to deny your abuse once you’ve revealed the secret. Telling the truth keeps you honest with yourself.

3. If you were threatened not to tell, telling helps to overcome the fear of breaking the secret.

4. The secrets you hold actually hold you, keeping you captive to the abuser’s power. Telling is a way to break free from the bond the secret created between you and your abuser.

5. Shame thrives in secrecy. Talking about your abuse helps to cast off the shame, both for yourself and other survivors.

6. Releasing the secret in this area helps you live more freely in other areas.

7. As long as you’re holding onto the secret, you’re also holding onto the pain. Sharing helps you access the feelings associated with your experience so you can release the pain.

8. Abuse is isolating. Telling is a way to connect with others. Having feedback from others heals the pain of isolation and makes support possible.

9. Telling may help you recover new memories and/or help you to see old memories in more detail. Telling the truth often leads to more truth.

Christina: A lot of people think that by telling my story, I’m living in the past. I feel just the opposite. The more I talk about it, the more separated I feel from the abuse and my abuser. The secret kept me imprisoned. I was locked up by my dad’s rule not to tell and I shared a bond with him as long as I kept that secret. It was as though he possessed me—that I belonged to him. As I protected him, I thought I was protecting me too.

I didn’t realize I felt that way until I told a crowd of people. I had the feeling I was betraying my dad, like I was cheating on a lover. In my heart, I accused myself of being disloyal. It was as though he cast a spell on me and the secret held the power. Breaking the secret broke his power over me. I was finally free to think and behave without considering how it would affect him. I didn’t have to protect him or our “relationship”.

Bethany: Before I broke the secret, I lived by my abuser’s rules, the most important was the rule not to tell. Breaking that rule took me out from under my dad’s control and made me the master of my own life. It didn’t happen overnight. Taking back my life fully has been a process. My dad’s control began to diminish little by little over time as I claimed my life as my own by accepting my own truth.

Telling broadened my horizons. It took off the limitations and put me in the driver’s seat of my own life. Some of the choices I made were good and some of them were bad, but they were finally MY choices. The decisions I made all had one thing in common: they were bold!

I was looking outside the window last night taking in my life as I know it. It occurred to me that where I am right now is now “normal” to me. Six years ago, before telling about my abuse, my world was so small. I could have never imagined a life outside my town, outside of what I was doing, or outside of the relationships I relied on. But when I told, my limited think began to change. My world got bigger and bigger.

It’s not easy to talk about our own abuse until we’ve heard the stories of other survivors. Reading other’s stories has many benefits:

1. Abuse and the secrecy surrounding it is isolating. Reading other’s stories tells you that you are not alone—that you aren’t the only one who suffered in that way.

2. Another common effect of abuse is the feeling that you are different. Reading other’s stories tells you that your feelings and the effects you experience are normal for the trauma you suffered.

3. Hearing other stories helps you see your own abuse in a different light. You may feel blame for your own experience, but seeing how blameless others are may inform you that you aren’t at fault for your abuse either.

4. If you don’t feel compassion, anger or other emotions concerning your own abuse, hearing other stories can help you to access those emotions so you can process them and heal from them.

5. Reading other survivor stories inspires courage so you can speak out about your own experiences.

Patty: When I first read a survivor’s story from a book, I cried for days. I was so relieved to know that I was not the only one. Her abuse was different, but the trauma from the abuse was the same as mine. Even though I didn’t know her and never spoke to her, I felt so close to her. As I continued to read about her abuse, I grew stronger. I was no longer alone. For a period of time the only books I read were stories about survivors; I didn’t want to read about healing. I wanted to become a part of a group of survivors. There were no survivor groups where I lived and there were no computers at the time, so the only connection I had was with the survivors who so graciously shared their stories. It was life changing for me. I continue to read survivors stories because it continuously brings me into the circle.

Jennifer: I wasn’t able to admit that I was a victim of sexual abuse until I started reading other people’s stories. They described the same types of things that happened to me as a kid. The only difference was that they had a label to define their experiences. I had always thought of it as “stuff that happened”, stuff that I didn’t think about, let alone talk about. It never occurred to me until then to attach the word abuse to my memories. If I hadn’t read the accounts of other survivors, I would most likely still be in denial today. I am so grateful to all the brave men and women that have opened up and shared their stories. They have paved the road for me and future generations to tell our stories and begin the healing process.

If you’d like to share your story or read other survivor’s courageous stories, visit the Overcoming Sexual Abuse discussion forum.

Related Posts:
How Do I Disclose My Abuse?

Patty Hite is one of five facilitators of Overcoming Sexual Abuse. A survivor of emotional, physical and sexual abuse, Patty has been tenaciously pursuing her healing for over thirty years. She’s a passionate advocate for all survivors and dedicates her life to inspiring emotional wholeness in others. As a former victim of spousal abuse, she’s delighted to find true love with her husband of five years. She’s blessed with four children and five grandchildren.

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What If My Family Rejects Me? Part 2

osa — Mon, 30 Aug 2010 20:12:19 +0000

by Christina Enevoldsen & Bethany Ruck

My daughter, Bethany, and I were both sexually abused by our fathers and were strongly opposed by our family when we dared to seek justice for her abuse. We’re sharing how we came to terms with our grief and how we learned to meet our needs apart from our family.

Christina: I lost my family in stages. There was the time I divorced my abusive husband and my parents took his side. They rejected me for awhile, but when my ex-husband got engaged right away and they saw how happy he was, they forgave me. A few years later, I confronted my mom about her years of lying to me and her defense was that since nobody’s perfect, my standards were too high. She also reminded me that I was commanded by God to honor her. We parted ways then. The last and final time I lost my family was about a year later when Bethany and I reported her father (my ex-husband) for sexual abuse. My parents attacked Bethany and defended her perpetrator-father. Until then, I still had some hope for reconciliation.

Bethany: When I first began the journey of reporting my father, I expected to make some enemies, but little did I know just how many were to be made. After my father’s arrest, the majority of my family rallied against me. They defended an unrepentant and unremorseful child molester. They attacked and persecuted me for finally standing up to my abuser. That came as a shock. Aren’t family members the ones who are supposed to love you unconditionally? Yet their love was based on agreeing with what I did.

The biggest blow was the betrayal from my grandparents (on my mom’s side). They accused me of destroying the family, yet failed to see how much destruction the secret caused in the first place. My grandma told me I was wicked – a term she doesn’t use lightly. And when I thought it couldn’t get any more painful they attempted to bribe me in exchange for me dropping charges. They tried to reduce my pain to something some unmarked bills could fix. I was the one victimized and they were making my abuser and themselves out to be the victims. It was confusing. I did something right, I stood up to my abuser, but my family treated me like I was wrong.

I was never in touch with the fact that my father’s abuse was a statement that said, “You’re unimportant, worthless and unloved,” until the sting of extreme and vocal rejection from my grandparents. Then I became aware of just how badly he rejected me as well. My dad’s pleasure always came before my needs. In this, the rest of the family was doing the same thing.

The amount of pain I felt was overwhelming. I began to see the people I’d known all my life for who they really are and realized that the family I held in such high esteem was just a facade.

Christina: I hadn’t had contact with my parents for nearly a year prior to the reporting incident and I felt so good to be free of them. I hadn’t realized until I broke contact how much oppressive energy I was carrying by having them in my life. It was a relief!

When they attacked Bethany so cruelly, I felt like I really saw them for the first time—my real parents, not the ones I imagined I had. I was outraged. All those years, I assumed my dad was sorry for abusing me, yet his reaction showed who he identified with— an abuser. He wasn’t sorry for what he did to me and it was like he was abusing me all over again.

I was finally angry at my dad for abusing me. I spent many months processing my anger. I expressed it by beating my mattress, yelling into my pillow, talking it out and writing about it. I wrote him a letter and poured out all my feelings on the paper. It was a relief to unload it and let the paper carry the rage. I spent my whole life being overpowered by him, just taking it. It felt good to finally be opposing him.

Bethany: I was always afraid to express my anger and didn’t know how to share it in a healthy way. I was afraid of losing relationships if I showed disappointment or unhappiness in anyway. I was too emotionally dependent on my family to risk that. The first time I remember allowing myself to feel angry was after I reported my dad. I hated that I had to suffer yet again for his issues. I wished that he would have done the right thing and turned himself in instead of dragging me through the court system. It was one more time he was failing me as a father.

A few months later, anger toward my grandparents surfaced. I put my feelings in a letter and sent it to them. I was finally able to confront the people who abused me and I wasn’t afraid of their reactions.

Christina: Facing the truth about my parents brought up memories from my childhood abuse. I wasn’t only grieving the loss of my parents, but I was mourning for what I never had in them. The pain of the current rejection opened the door to the original abandonment and abuse—that very first time I lost my family. The emotions from the past and present were mixing together. Sorting out all my feelings was like untangling a huge knot.

Bethany: When I had bouts of emotion, I stopped to examine why I was feeling that way. Some of the emotions had clearer roots than others, but understanding what triggered them helped me to come to terms with what had happened. I picked apart the reasons why I was experiencing it until I gained clarity.

Christina: On most levels, I accepted that I would likely never have a relationship with my parents, especially my mom. But on another level, it was hard to give up hope that she’d eventually come to her senses. In reality, I could never trust her again. Why would I ever want to settle for a relationship with someone who values me so little? Yet there was this little girl’s voice inside me pleading, “Mommy, please love me!”

But it was a complete fantasy because what I wanted wasn’t possible. I still had a hole in my soul that longed to be nurtured. That’s what I had to work on–nurturing myself so I could finally let go of my fantasies.

I’m re-parenting myself. To do that, I’ve had to address my inner child—the part of me still longing for a family. Taking care of my inner child has been one of the most challenging parts of my restoration. I had conversations with her in an effort to sort out my thoughts and feelings. At first, I’d imagine myself talking with her, but disgust and hatred filled me. I didn’t want to protect her; I only wanted to destroy her. It was surprising to see the intensity of my self-hate.

In my mind, it was her fault that all of this happened. It was her weakness and smallness and vulnerability that caused the abuse. Removing the blame from her and forgiving her allowed me to get closer, but I also realized that my feelings toward her reflected the way my mother felt about me. Once I realized that, I got angry that this little girl was treated so unjustly. I felt compassion for her and wanted to care for her myself.

Now, I pay attention to what she’s afraid of and comfort her. I listen to what is important to her and give her a voice. I give her the gentle treatment she never got. As I’ve taken better care of her, I’ve been able to take better care of myself. As my feelings toward her have become more loving, so have my feelings toward my adult-self. I’ve learned to give myself the love I never had.

Bethany: The separation from my family made me take a closer look at the people left in my life and people I meet now. Do they treat me well? Do they validate my true self? Are they growing toward emotional health? Are they supportive of my healing process?

Where do they fit in my life? I’ve had to learn to set appropriate boundaries for each person. When I make new friends I don’t allow everyone to have a deep place in my heart. I can’t share intimate feelings with everyone. I remind myself that there’s not some grand race to make everyone my best friend. Now, I get to know each person better than I would have before and take time to examine their intentions and qualifications before allowing them to get closer to me.

Christina: When I lost my parents, I was aware that I might have a tendency to fill the void with other people who might not be very healthy. I knew I had to go through the grieving process instead of using other relationships to cover my pain. I made new friends, but I was careful not to put unrealistic expectations on them by putting them in parenting role or any other role that would give me a ‘fix’. The more I healed and learned to meet my own needs, the more I was able to allow my relationships to develop naturally.

Now I’m surrounded by my Family-of-Choice. Most of my friends have been wonderfully supportive, even if they don’t quite understand it all. I communicate my needs to the friends who want to support my healing process. For examples of specific needs, “How To Support A Survivor of Sexual Abuse”.

I’m very aware of the environment I create during this season, especially in my relationships. I choose to stay away from anyone who pressures me to perform for them. I’m discovering the real me for the first time in my life and I can’t be bothered with those who don’t appreciate that. But I’ve also noticed that as I leave one unhealthy friendship behind, I gain a healthier one.

Bethany: I used to feel defeated by my family’s betrayal and wanted to throw in the towel. But the same hurt that kept me down also helped me to realize how much I needed to press on. I couldn’t live in pain like that for the rest of my life. I became determined to live a life without my family’s blinders on and without their constant rejections. I feel more of an individual. I no longer controlled by their beliefs about me or what they say.

Christina: Leaving my family was painful, butI’ve still had to work through my pain, but the pain of leaving was so much easier than the continual pain of remaining with them. This way, the pain is dissipating instead of perpetuating. I wish I would have seen sooner all the damage those unhealthy family relationships were causing, but I’m thankful to see the truth now. I’m proud of the progress I’ve made by finally taking a stand for myself.

Through my parents, I received the gift of life. Only by leaving them did I begin to fully appreciate and develop that gift.

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.

What If My Family Rejects Me? Part 1

osa — Sun, 22 Aug 2010 14:55:29 +0000

by Christina Enevoldsen, Chris Kuhn & Ron Schulz

Many survivors of childhood sexual abuse believe their family to be supportive and nurturing—until they talk about their abuse. They are surprised to be rejected, ignored, ostracized or even threatened with violence. Ron Schulz, Chris Kuhn and I (Christina Enevoldsen) discussed how we managed our feelings and boundaries after facing family rejection.

Christina: My father sexually abused me and traded me to other men. I repressed the memories for many years, but when I remembered the abuse and disclosed it, my mom pretended it didn’t happen and my father denied it. I was used to adjusting my behavior so nobody felt uncomfortable, so I accepted that we would pretend it never happened. We lived in superficial peace.

Many years later, my adult daughter reported her father (their former son-in-law, my ex-husband) for sexual abuse and everything changed. My mom called Bethany wicked and accused her of destroying the family. My dad justified the abuse by saying, “Bethany isn’t perfect—she’s shacking up with a guy.” They threatened her and offered her a bribe to stay quiet. That opened my eyes and I saw how much of an abuser my dad still was and how much my mother protected him. My daughter and I decided not to expose ourselves to any more abuse and cut off contact with them once they refused to acknowledge any wrong-doing.

Ron: Somewhere around the age of twelve, I was sexually initiated by my older brother. His abuse continued until he graduated high school and went off to college. When I turned twenty-one, my brother died in his apartment mysteriously from a cerebral hemorrhage. After he died, I exposed him, reporting his predatory behavior to the family, however, my family was not pleased. I was ostracized, and later, one of my brothers (who later it would be revealed was also abused) threatened me with violence if I did not stop talking about it.

Chris: My abuser was the adult son of my mom’s best friend, who also happened to be my piano teacher. The teacher’s house was supposed to be a place of safety, but her son routinely waylaid me on my way out after each lesson. The interactions escalated through the course of my tenth year. Toward the end of this period he felt comfortable enough to abuse me in my own home, too. Eight years later I told my mother all about it. At that point I was eighteen and she was somewhere in her forties. She denied that what I was telling her could possibly have happened. “No, Chris. That couldn’t have happened,” were her exact words. It would be another six years till we spoke about it again, briefly. To this day, twenty-eight years later, although I know she’s horrified, she hasn’t asked for any details at all. I love my mother, but this constitutes a painful gap in our relationship.

Christina: It’s very common for families to reject rather than support the survivor. Sometimes parents reject the possibility that their child was abused because to accept the truth is too painful. Sometimes the disclosure brings up pain from their own abuse. They might also feel threatened—viewing it as an accusation that they aren’t good parents for failing to protect their child.

Many victims of sexual abuse are abused by family members. In that case, there may be divided loyalties. The survivor’s family may resist the truth because they don’t want to choose sides. The effect is that they do choose sides—the abuser’s.

In incest families the family system has a culture that protects itself by keeping the secret. They will sacrifice one member for the sake of the system. The person who wants change is often viewed as the enemy.

Ron: I think it is of merit to note the distinct advantages and disadvantages between survivors being raised in non-incestuous and those raised in incestuous ones. Since I belong to the latter class, I can say that one of the hallmarks of type is refusal to validate and foster the health state of the emotional lives of its members, with disastrous results.

Because the incestuous family system is so mired in its own shame, it does not even recognize that its members’ emotional needs exist, and so as a result the subjects of these systems are strangled emotionally at a very young age, and never given the opportunity to learn within its aegis how to defend themselves against offensive behaviors mounted against them. I know this was the case for me, and how it contributed to my own deep seated self-loathing, which I carried with me for many, many years, even into recovery.

Chris: At the time of my mom’s denial, her hurtful response helped to “jail” me. There’s no doubt I’m only liberating myself now, decades later. But what is even clearer is that the door out of this so-called jail is not the same one I came in through. The architecture of the whole building has changed. I cannot leave via some new response from my mom, the response I hoped she’d have given back then. Who knows why she reacted that way. I cannot judge her, even though there are still times that I’m angry that she didn’t (want to) believe me.

Christina: We can’t always know why our family fails to believe, comfort, and support us. Even knowing why doesn’t really solve anything. They can’t undo the harm that was done to us. With or without our family’s support, it’s still up to us to heal.

Chris: I told my brother about my abuse a few months ago. For thirty years he’d had no idea. He was shocked, of course, stunned. Then he said, innocently, “Well, when you’re all better, we can talk about it some more.” It’s very easy, as a survivor, to get mad and feel hurt in such situations. It’s all too easy, in fact, to misread his concern and discomfort about what happened to me as a rejection of me. The real message, though, is that he cares and that he is fearful of saying the wrong thing (thereby immediately saying the wrong thing).

I’m not suggesting it’s like this in all families or all conversations. Surely many if not most families really do shun surviving members, and that is never the survivor’s fault and it’s often a tragedy. But there is room for us survivors to look at and to be conscious of how we receive communication from our families and to ask ourselves about the intention of our mostly-ignorant interlocutors rather than fixate on what actually comes out of their mouths. Words are spoken and then they are heard. The same is true of silence.

Christina: Our family may blatantly reject us in a way that is abusive, but sometimes the rejection is out of insensitivity, fear, and ignorance. They may cause us pain, though they don’t intend to. In the early stages of healing we are very sensitive to other’s reactions. Because we haven’t developed the security in ourselves yet, so much weight is put upon others to respond ‘correctly’. If they don’t provide the response we need, we feel rejected.

When we’re in so much pain, it’s often difficult to remember that others have needs, too. People are their own persons, though we sometimes reduce them merely to the role they play in our lives—or rather the role we want them to play in our lives. That doesn’t make them the enemy for protecting themselves. And it doesn’t make them bad people.

Chris: To some extent I did become my brother’s enemy when I told him about what happened to me. I took his conception of the world and our childhood and shattered it. I transferred some of my burden onto him. I brought my abuse out and said now you have to help me carry this. That’s not my fault. It isn’t his either. It’s life. It is difficult. I can know these things and not be ashamed of them.

But, as we talk about the children in our surviving adult personas—as we try to liberate ourselves from the repressive jails our families built for us—perhaps we ought to think also about the children in the adult personas of those whom we are now asking to help us and suffer with us. It’s delusional to think our inner kids are repressed but theirs are free. They are not. Other experiences have made their inner children captive also. Different reasons, different degrees.

Ron: I’ve found it very beneficial to my own health to not raise myself up by tearing others down. I no longer have a need to do that, and in that regard, I am back at the wheel.

Christina: Ron, that’s a great point. When we get hurt, we have a tendency to judge the other person’s actions as wrong. But we don’t have to label them “bad” to justify setting boundaries. If we have a family member who is hurts us, however innocently, we still have ‘permission’ to withdraw. Sometimes we don’t feel comfortable walking away from a family member or family system unless we can ‘prove’ how offensive they are. Yet the truth is, we can walk away at any time. As you said, we are at the wheel.

It’s difficult to evaluate a situation while we’re in pain, so backing off is needed to see the truth. Those boundaries provide us with a sense of our own control and safety while we assess our feelings and find clarity. Healing is extremely difficult without that. Often, it’s an old wound we are reacting to and we will continue to be sensitive until the original pain is healed. Boundaries enable us to do that.

Learning those boundaries in my own life has helped me recognize other’s boundaries. Just as I can choose to separate from them even if they haven’t done anything wrong, they can do the same with me.

I have friends who have responded to my disclosure by backing off. There’s something about my information that feels threatening to them and withdrawal is a natural response. I don’t take it personally; I recognize it as self-protection. I completely support that, the same way I support my need to withdraw from any real or perceived harm.

Chris: The simplification of a world into us and them, into survivors and non-survivors, into perps and victims, makes me uncomfortable. Life is not static like that. When we pretend it is, I feel we’re really saying we’re done living, done fighting, done surviving. At that point, all we really want to do is fondle simple answers and gloat about how good it feels—we pretend, in other words, to alleviate our pain. But it seems to me more like a rejection of our pain, which is different…and not a viable survivor strategy.

Christina: I agree. That view of “us and them” is useful when we’re in survival mode, but as we regain our personal power, we don’t have that same need for such black and white thinking. Yet in the early stages of healing, it’s a very useful tool. In survival mode, we are in constant fear. Everything and everyone is a potential threat. I think it’s very helpful to set boundaries very high and very far out, to the point that it may seem unreasonable to others. However, it’s not healthy to live there.

As I worked through my anger, I got to the place where I didn’t see my abusers as all bad anymore. I was able to see the good qualities without losing sight of the bad ones. That’s when it got really painful. The anger protected me in some ways from acknowledging the pain. It created a useful boundary that helped me for a time until I was ready to go on to the next stage in healing.

Just because I recognized good qualities in my abusive parents didn’t mean I reconciled with them—I’m not hopeful that reconciliation will happen. But stepping back allowed me so see things clearly, which affirmed my decision to separate.

Ron: Until I resolved the anger and resentment that accumulated through years of reinforced shame I was destined to repeat the cycle of self-blame for failing to yield to their demands that I not ‘rock the boat’. One day, though, I realized that I could never honor that request, and it dawned on me that I had a choice: that I could remain affiliated and continue their denial and refusal to address the issues, thus remain complicit in their attempt to suffocate me by degrees, or I could step away and salvage whatever was left of my life.

I am not saying that I have ruled out the possibility of future interactions, but for now, I cannot condone their need to avoid the pain of growth, and so I have chosen to remove myself from the situation for now.

Chris: Ron, “It dawned on me that I had a choice”: your words are pivotal. I sometimes wish we had a different name for “survivor”—maybe “chooser”?—something that tips the balance of this chapter in our lives always forward. Each situation requires ongoing choices from us, different responses at different times and so on. The common thread is this idea that we are back at the wheel.

Christina: Yes, the bottom line is that we have a choice. We aren’t those vulnerable children anymore, dependent upon others for survival. We don’t have to continue to allow our relationships to be defined by others. We can choose what type of relationship to have with family members and if they don’t want the same thing, we can opt out. We don’t have to label them “bad” to separate from them and if we choose to separate that doesn’t make us bad. Our abuse invalidated our power to choose, but recovery includes taking back that power.

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Getting Real: Can Our Survival Roles Help Us Find Our True Selves?

osa — Fri, 30 Jul 2010 00:17:42 +0000

By Christina Enevoldsen, Bethany Ruck & Penny Smith

I live close to Beverly Hills, the plastic surgery Mecca, where the question is, “Are they real?” I’m also a few blocks from where the Academy Awards and many film premieres are held, where celebrities smile for the cameras and wave confidently to the fans, yet we know many of them are shy, quiet and prefer solitude. It’s not always easy to determine what’s real and what’s not. Bethany Ruck, Penny Smith and I sat down to try to sort out the real from the not-so-real in our own lives.

Christina: For as long as I can remember, I’ve faced the challenges in my life as someone else. I’ve worn an internal costume of someone stronger and more capable. One I used often was a pioneer woman, able to brave the many hardships of the American frontier. Channeling a pioneer spirit made me feel stronger and braver.

Penny: I’ve done the same thing since I was a little girl. I’d pretend I was a pioneer or an immigrant, especially an Irish immigrant because I have so much Irish in me and I was always reading about the hardships they went through. Or I was a slave girl, somehow enduring things that were too difficult or scary for me. Someone brave and strong.

Bethany: Mine was a tough girl, someone you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley— one that you wouldn’t mess with because you know she’s going to fight back. Even if I wasn’t wearing my leather jacket, boots and heavy eyeliner, I’d be a tough girl with my attitude, the way I’d strut down the street or hold myself or the way I’d talk. Even in social situations, when I didn’t feel comfortable I’d be reserved and act snotty in a way that kept people away from me and made me feel protected.

Penny: I can relate to the tough girl mask, too. I am quiet and mild-mannered most of the time but I acted tough even when I was crying inside. I used to use a mask when I had to walk through the ghetto of Oakland everyday to my bus stop. I was totally freaked out inside but outside I was all tough girl.

Christina: Another role I played was a captive in a prison camp. I’d play that role even though I wasn’t even in a dangerous situation. One of the main times was when I was facing deadlines in my business. It was exhausting work but I knew if I pretended to be in a life threatening situation with cruel guards pointing guns at me, ready to shoot anyone who showed signs of weakness, I could go on.

Penny: Yes, anytime something came up that I didn’t think I could do—like giving a report in front of the class—I would imagine myself as someone else who was comfortable with public speaking and could do it well.

Bethany: I always felt a fake though. When people would say, “Oh, my God, you’re so strong,” I didn’t understand how anyone could say that when I felt like everything I was doing to be strong was a facade. That was very confusing.

Penny: I felt like I was falling apart on the inside even though I had the appearance of strength.

Bethany: Wearing the tough girl for so long made me think I was really her. I put myself in some bad situations because I thought I would be safe. I was unrealistic about my own safety because I had a false sense of security. I was actually more vulnerable because I made unwise decisions.

Penny: It got me into some scary situations, too. After doing it a few times, I thought I really could handle those things. One time, I got off work late and instead of waiting for a ride, I took the bus and had to walk through this bad part of town where all the drug dealers were out. When I got home they told me I was crazy.

Bethany: What I faced was very similar. I saw how much the facade did not protect me. It hurt me because people thought I was a bitch. I was so closed off and unapproachable. That’s the only way I knew to protect myself. It’s like what I did to try to protect myself from the sexual abuse.

Christina: I relate it to my abuse, too. The abuse told me I was powerless and the effects showed me how weak I was. The shame trained me to put myself down so it was hard to recognize the good, strong qualities I have. I had to see them outside of me.

Bethany: One day I realized how much of a facade I presented to the world and I cried because hardly anyone knew the real me. I was hiding myself. Now, I’m finding my own confidence and strength to stand up for myself. As I’ve internalized that part of me and sorted through the parts of tough girl that I want, such as her ability to fight back. I can still access those things, yet filter them my through wisdom and discernment.

Christina: I’m finding my confidence and strength, too. I realized that the roles I’ve “put on” aren’t really external; they are internal and something I “pull out”. I drew from a strength I didn’t know I had. I admired it elsewhere, yet I only connected with it because it was something I already owned. Maybe it was undeveloped or unrecognized, but it was mine. I wore it like a lie, but it’s really the truth—it felt fake, but it showed me a part of who I really am.

Penny: It’s so true what you say that all these things are part of us…they’re facets of ourselves. We have these inner strengths and this is the way that we’ve drawn on them when we’ve had to. If it wasn’t ours to begin with, we wouldn’t be able to use it. No matter how developed of an imagination we may have, we can’t actually turn ourselves into something that we’re not. Maybe someplace deep inside of me I am a good public speaker. Lol.

I remember one winter in South Dakota as a teenager coming upon a terrible car wreck. My friends and I were the first ones on the scene and none of us knew what to do. I was so scared but something inside me took over. I sent someone for help. Then, I headed for the overturned car on its top in the snowy ditch. On my way, I found a man lying tangled in the barbwire fence that the car had gone through. He had been thrown out and I could tell was hurt quite badly. I stopped, spoke to him, called for the others to bring a blanket for him and continued to the car. The car was on its roof and there was a man trapped behind the steering wheel. He was struggling and I told him not to move. After leaving a couple of friends there with orders to keep him talking, still and to not let him fall asleep, I went back to the man in the fence. I managed to get him untangled, to tie jackets and whatever I could get to stop the bleeding, piled anything I could on him to keep him warm and kept him awake until help finally came. The ambulance personnel actually asked if I had been trained in emergency response.

I was the quietest, shyest one of the bunch, but when faced with trauma, I was the only one able to respond. I have often thought about that and wondered why. It was truly like I became someone else….someone competent and able…two things I never saw myself as. So, yes, it makes sense that we do have these unplumbed, undeveloped strengths inside of us that we’ve been able to call upon when needed.

Christina: The more I looked back on the things I accomplished while I was playing a role, the more I saw evidence in my own life that I actually did have those qualities. It wasn’t a pioneer woman who accomplished those things in my life. It was me. I saw what I was capable of. They were very real qualities I had, yet hadn’t recognized, acknowledged, or developed. Once I did start to see that, it started to feel natural and real, like me. It didn’t feel fake anymore. I didn’t have to put on those roles, they weren’t separate from me anymore; they were parts of me.

Penny: As I’m getting to know myself, I’m realizing that I need my coping mechanisms less and less. I see myself more as someone who can deal with things head-on rather than someone that has to hide behind a mask to survive. As I become more self-aware some of these things sort of take care of themselves. Maybe it’s because I am seeing more of my inner strength as belonging to me and not something that I have to “pretend” or “put on.” The roles are indications of who we really are, so that helps us to get to know ourselves better.

Christina: Once we see ourselves for who we really are, we don’t have to live in fantasy. The reality is that we do have power to do something about the things that we’re intimidated by. We can improve our public speaking skills, we can take self defense courses, we can say no to dangerous situations, we can improve our social skills. We aren’t vulnerable and helpless anymore. Acknowledging the power we have gives us other options so we don’t have to rely on facades.

The Real Problem With Being Fake

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