by Caden Ceirdris

When I was twelve, I watched the sexually graphic teen film, “Kids” with my siblings. I remember being surprised when my sister described what happened in the end scene as rape. That it was rape to have sex with someone who was passed out, asleep.

It seems obvious, but in some unconscious part of my mind, I winced. What had been done to me might have been wrong too. Perhaps I also deserved boundaries, both legal and personal over my own body, at least equal to what my sister was willing to give a fictional girl. Yet there was no one in my life at that point who would have even suggested that, let alone validated my experience; I was trained to passively accept whatever my family did to me, and was condescended to when it came to my emotions.

I wasn’t asleep when my older brother sexually abused me, and as I’ve had to face the reality of my past, I came to realize that the rest of the family wasn’t either. They were conscious, they knew what was happening. Often only thin walls separated them from the abuse, but they built up greater walls in their minds to avoid my suffering.

I know today that our parents taught my brother everything he knew when they sexually abused both of us from infancy. Yet I remember when I was little, my parents warned me of creepy old men lurking at the movie theatre who liked to touch little boys. They never warned me about themselves, about my grandmother, my cousins or siblings.

At that same age, I attended the New Years party at my uncle’s house where our entire extended family was present. His house was large and elegant; I may have lost myself in exploring as I went upstairs to use the bathroom when I felt an arm wrap over my chest and I was pushed, struggling into a dark room. I could only see a dark outline behind me in the bathroom mirror while he violently jerked my body back and forth, humping me through my clothes. When he finished and left me there, I stumbled to turn on the light switch and washed my face.

As the tears and water began to dry, I couldn’t see myself either; I just became numb. Despite the pain in my neck, and the rush of emotions that had come minutes earlier, I forgot. I went back down to the party as if nothing had happened. I had to leave it behind in the bathroom sink, and move on into the life they were imposing upon me; it wasn’t mine, it wasn’t based on my feelings and rights and individuality. In a second, the world had reset itself, the crime was gone. It could have been any of them.

I see now that in the beginning of my healing it was easy for me too to understand the abstract notions of what was wrong, how children should be treated. But as long as I clung to those second-hand notions without relating them personally, I remained completely alienated from myself and my own feelings, my own history. Likewise, I could say many self-empowering things, but the current of my thought processes would still lead to that abusive place unless I really examined and worked through each feeling and what it was telling me.

To step forward and say that yes, that was me, I was the one being sexually abused by my family, was a massive step. It’s helped me learn that today if something happens, I can respond naturally; I don’t have to dissociate, to keep going or pretend it hasn’t happened for someone else’s benefit.

As a child, the idea that other people had boundaries confused me. To hear that it was illegal to vandalize mailboxes or trespass on “private property” when apparently nothing that was ever done to me fit into that category. Other people, somewhere out there (“adults”) had rights and could hurt me in pursuit of them, but there was no recourse for me. But today I don’t need my sister or a film to tell me that I have, have always had an absolute right to my body and my personhood that so many worked hard to invalidate back then. I set my own boundaries where I feel comfortable.

I remember the fantasies I used to have, only a short few years ago, that I would go through some terrible event—a car accident that would leave me paralyzed from the waist down. Then for the first time in my life, my pain would be real. And it would be validated. Who could deny a wheelchair so easily as they could the emotional scars of childhood sexual abuse? But my self-destructive impulses led nowhere, and these fantasies always ended in my desperately trying to find a cure—trying to learn to walk again. Because that’s really what I wanted all along, to look in the mirror and be able to see my life, see my authentic childhood pain and finally know that it was real, to be validated; to be able to walk into a new life.

I’ve noticed lately that for the first time that I can remember, I do feel that validation. I feel secure in myself, I don’t have fantasies of dying or being in an accident. I imagine myself, as me, starting from where I am now and making real progress. Because my imagination has lined up with my physical reality more then ever before.

Now that you’ve heard my experience and thoughts about this, I’d love to hear yours. Please comment below and don’t forget to subscribe to the comments so you can continue to participate in the discussion. If you would like to protect your privacy, you don’t have to use your real name. Email addresses are never made public.

Related Posts:
The Lie of “Letting It Go”
Domestic Violence: Why Did I Stay?
What We Wish Our Parents Understood About Our Sexual Abuse
Why I Talk About My Childhood Abuse Over and Over
Male Childhood Sexual Abuse: Suffering in Silence

Caden Ceirdris a survivor of sexual, physical and emotional abuse, he blogs about his recovery at Proudly Sensitive. When he isn’t writing fiction and non-fiction, his other pursuits include photography, hiking, and tropical gardening.

by Don Enevoldsen

I normally don’t comment on OSA since Christina and I often discuss the subject matter of her posts and the limited contributions I could make, when relevant, are reflected in her words. This time, I want to add some thoughts from a perspective few others could have. The comment posted by Christina’s mother, Mary Schamer, on “My Story by Christina Enevoldsen” the day before Christina’s birthday, prompted excellent comments from many people. One in particular caught my attention. Pinky, speaking to Mary, said, “…because it is as if you have read the manual on how to be an abusive parent.”

That observation, accurate as it is, was based on only a few lines from Mary, typed into the OSA comments. I am in a position to add to Pinky’s statement from firsthand observation and knowledge. I know Mary and Fred, Christina’s dad, very well. I knew them even before I knew Christina.

Mary’s comment inspired Christina to write a blog post in response with a letter to her mother. “It’s Not About You, Mom” and now I’m motivated to write my own letter to Mary.

The more I read about abusive family systems, the more I find that Fred and Mary fit the profile, as Pinky pointed out, as though the profile was intended to describe them. So, for Mary’s enlightenment, I feel that I should share some of the reasons why every time she and Fred open their mouths, I am more convinced than ever that Christina’s account is dead on accurate.

To Mary:

I know you have studiously avoided this information, and since you seem committed to your lies, I don’t expect this to change your position, but here are some facts about abusive families.

From the outside, they look like other healthy families. They fit in well with the community and are often very active in church. The abuse is hidden. When abuse is exposed, people around them always find it difficult to believe. Abusive families are generally admired by everyone else. The fact that you and Fred are in church leadership and greatly respected does not remove you from suspicion.

Often, the abuse is even hidden from the family members themselves. Each one has ways of shielding themselves from the truth. They may redefine things they see, hear or experience as a way to explain away the abuse. “Grandpa has always been quirky like that” or “Aunt Jane just wanted to make sure Johnny was really clean” or “Dad just loves me so much that he can’t stop touching me”. They believe they are normal because they’ve never known anything else.

Abusive family members feel loyalty to the family, showing the rest of the world the image of a caring, strong and devoted family unit. Even victims of abuse fit this description, which is why it is so difficult for them to break free and open up about the truth. They are trained from a very young age to believe that telling is a horrible thing and it’s often too horrible to admit the truth to themselves. Those who talk—even if they feel a great sense of relief—are frequently plagued by overwhelming guilt. Before they are able to talk freely, they usually have to get away from the abusive family and its influences for a while or somehow find healthy support outside the family. Since outside relationships, especially healthy ones, are so foreign to the victim of abuse, that’s not easy or common. Frequently, other relationships aren’t encouraged and in particularly dysfunctional families, they are forbidden.

It’s no coincidence, then, that Christina didn’t start talking about her incest very openly until she married me and we moved 400 miles away. It was extremely unlikely she would say much before that. That is quite consistent with the dynamics of abusive families.

It’s especially telling the way you, Mary, handled the conflict with Christina that eventually led to the demise of the relationship. In a healthy family, conflict is allowed. Boundaries are respected. In abusive families—or any abusive system for that matter—questioning authority is never allowed. When Christina came to you to ask you for a healthier, more honest relationship, you treated it like it was a personal affront. You refused to enter into meaningful dialogue, choosing instead to hide behind pathetic protestations that you are supposed to be honored as a parent.

By your account, all was well before that. Yet this is an indication of a history of abandonment that Christina writes about, the things you claim are lies. Do you recognize yourself in any of this?

Each family member in an abusive family takes on one of three roles—Abuser, Denier (also called an Enabler or Bystander) or Victim. Let’s take them in that order.

Abuser

Victim mentality is the driving force behind abuse. Abusers don’t believe in equal power. In an abuser’s mind, equal power doesn’t exist. The only two options in interactions between people is to power over them or they power over you.

Abusers are driven by fear. They have no security in their own identity and they lack a sense of personal power. That’s why they are so easily threatened, even by very little slights. Someone cutting them off in traffic or failing to return a greeting is enough to set them off.

When their sense of power is threatened, they feel a need to power over someone else. Since they have so little self esteem, they don’t “pick on someone their own size”. They restore their sense of importance through choosing someone smaller or weaker or in some other way less powerful then themselves. In this way, they transfer the pain and the shame to their victim.

There is much debate over whether or not all sexual abusers were sexually abused. Certainly, all abusers were victimized in some way, hence, their victim mentality. I don’t know if Fred was sexually abused as a child, but by his own account, he was certainly physically and emotionally abused and learned the “rules” of the abusive system.

I always found it odd, and a little disconcerting, that in virtually every conversation, Fred reminisced in lengthy detail about the women he had dated in his life, even when you were in the room. His obvious pride in his many romantic conquests expressed in the most inappropriate venues, fits the profile of an abuser. His statements reinforce his “power over” way of thinking, not only with the women from his past, but in his devaluing treatment of you, his wife. His willingness to discuss those things in your presence says, “I revel in my past sexual relationships and it’s more important to me to impress others than to protect your feelings.”

Abusers also develop unnaturally strong bonds with other abusers. A few days after Christina’s ex-husband, David, was arrested, Fred called me. Among the many outrageous things he said was this gem: “I’ve known David for a lot of years. As a matter of fact, as you know, even Christina will tell you, I kind of adopted him, with the family, in a situation like that, he was actually more of a son to me than my son, Tom.”

In fact, he chose David over both of his children. When David verbally assaulted Christina in front of both of you, Fred openly took David’s side and reminded Christina, “Your husband loves you.” After Christina divorced David for his financial and emotional abuse, Fred supported David and even preferred to spend holidays with him.

Abusers protect other abusers. The whole reason Fred called me was to defend David and try to mitigate the serious charges facing him. He kept trying to find out how much money we wanted to call off the arrest. He not only defended the man who molested Bethany, his own granddaughter, he tried to point the blame in Bethany’s direction. Here are a few of the comments he made in that regard:

In response to me pointing out that Bethany had been molested for twelve years: “Let’s do away with that.”

And a few seconds later: “You know, all of this thing, when you really stop and think about it, is just being judgmental and all this other stuff. It doesn’t—it’s not making it.”

And a little later: “Now, how badly is he hurting someone?”

And, “How the hell is he gonna bother her?”

And: “But he hasn’t bothered anybody.”

All of this in denial of David’s defiance and his reaction to the accusation that he had continued molesting Bethany, which was, “Yeah, so?”

Then Fred added: “If you weren’t so screwed up in your head and so convinced that Bethany is the perfect little person…”

And regarding all of us: You guys are to be, being the guys that are trying to screw up somebody’s life.”

Every one of these statements scream that Fred is an abuser. They fit the profile with remarkable accuracy.

In Fred’s mind, Bethany was the abuser and David was the victim. He dismissed the twelve years of incest perpetrated on Bethany and thought the horrible part of this family drama was that David, the child molester, was in jail.

The Denier

Deniers are the members of the family who turn a blind eye to the abuse and defend the Abuser, making exactly the kinds of accusations you have leveled at Christina.

Deniers believe the best way to survive is to ingratiate themselves to the Abuser and keep a low profile. They, too, are driven by victim mentality. They either “hide” by staying out of the way or by making it very clear to the Abusers that they won’t interfere with the abuse. Deniers are the most vehement and loyal supporters to Abusers. They go to great lengths to cover the abuse as though their life depends on it.

Deniers are masters of offering trite phrases in response to pain. “Don’t dwell on it,” “Let bygones be bygones,” “Forgive and forget,” and “You can’t change the past” are common platitudes deniers deliver when confronted with sexual abuse.

I don’t have to look any further than your remarks on Christina’s recent post, but a better example might be your letter to Christina on February 15, 2009, in which you state that she “dredged up old, dead history.” In your words, Mary: “I call it carrying an offense and not getting healed or forgiving. Isn’t it about time that you take it to the cross and leave it there? Why do you want to carry that stuff in your heart?” That’s but one example from many that fit the profile of a Denier.

The responses of Deniers are designed to protect the Abuser and are often completely self-involved and ignorant. They show a lack of compassion for their children and a selfish focus on their own lives.

The first time Christina mentioned to you that she had been molested, you ignored it. Fred shouted from the adjacent room, “No, you weren’t,” and you simply continued with what you were doing as though nothing had happened. Wouldn’t a statement like that normally get a mother’s attention? Even when you expressed, over the next few years, that you accepted the truth that Christina had been molested, you never once asked who had done it. One would think an issue of that kind of serious nature would at least warrant some curiosity.

Your self-focus was also evident when David was arrested. When you did talk to Christina, you had no concern for your granddaughter, except to accuse her of destroying the family. Instead, all you could talk about was how inconvenienced you and Fred were because you had to end your vacation early.

During that conversation, when Christina asked you if you believed that David had sexually abused Bethany, your reply was, “I don’t know.” For years, you accepted that Bethany’s father had molested her, yet when there was a cost to you and you had to either take the side of the Victim or the Abuser, you chose the Abuser. Your self-centeredness is typical of the profile of a Denier.

Deniers often viciously attack the Victim to protect the Abuser. Your words were: “Christina is using these accusations as a way of hurting her parents and getting the attention she craves. So sad that she is willing to create a fantasy world where she is the hero / victim. Will she ever come to her senses and ask for forgiveness?”

Several of your letters and emails have repeated these and similar claims. In addition, when you came to the hearings regarding David’s case, you chose to sit on the side of the courtroom with David’s supporters, in opposition to Bethany, demonstrating agreement with Fred in the same contempt for your granddaughter’s pain as you have for your daughter. In these comments and actions, you fit the profile of a Denier.

Victim

Victims tend to become people pleasers and unhealthy caretakers. Child victims of incest families take on the responsibility of keeping the system together. It’s the child’s job to take care of the sexual and emotional needs of the sexual abuser(s) and also to care for the emotional needs of the Deniers. When they are children, this is a matter of survival, but the trait becomes ingrained and carries over into adulthood.

In Christina’s life, she protected your emotional well-being by trying to be the perfect daughter and by pretending to be happy so your peace would not be disturbed. That continued even into adulthood when she sought to spare your feelings. When you never asked her who abused her, that was in indication that she was supposed to continue protecting you.

Victims often suffer from insomnia. For as long as we have been married, Christina has only rarely slept through the night uninterrupted. For many years, she woke almost every morning at about the time that Fred used to come into her bedroom when she was a child.

Victims have an excessive need to control their surroundings. Christina feels great stress when things are not in order. Clutter of any kind makes her feel very unsettled and she cannot relax until they are cleaned up. This desire for control is likely one of the factors that prompted her long standing interest and career in interior design. It enables her to control her environment in a way she never could as a child.

Victims make unhealthy choices in members of the opposite sex, frequently marrying Abusers. Nothing more needs to be said than pointing out that Christina married David. A choice, by the way, which was driven by an intense desire to get out of your house as quickly as possible.

Victims often act out, especially as children. Sitting around with the family, I heard many stories about things Christina did as a child, like the time she shaved off her eyebrows. That kind of behavior does not happen in a vacuum. It indicates something is seriously wrong. Children just don’t normally behave that way.

Since marrying Christina, I’ve observed characteristics in her life that are consistent with the profile of a victim of childhood sexual abuse. Her blog posts recount the numerous effects of her abuse and I’m witness to the effects.

That’s the book on a typical abusive family, and remarkably it’s the same as the book on the Schamer family. When I put all of these observations together, it is clear that your family fits the profile of an abusive family remarkably well. Fred is a stereotypical example of an Abuser. You are a stereotypical example of a Denier. Christina was a stereotypical example of a Victim.

The only thing that doesn’t fit the normal pattern is that Christina has escaped the family’s influence and has worked to become whole. Knowing what I have learned about sexual abuse in the past few years, I can see the traits very clearly. If I had no connection whatsoever with Christina, other than as an outsider looking in, I would be absolutely convinced that Christina has told the truth and that you have not. The evidence all supports her. It’s as though they wrote the book specifically about you.

Now that you’ve heard my experience and thoughts about this, I’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. If you would like to protect your privacy, you don’t have to use your real name. Email addresses are never made public.

Related Posts:
Power Play: How to Recognize an Abuser
The Wolf in Shepherd’s Clothing: The “Benevolent” Abuser
What We Wish Our Parents Understood About Our Sexual Abuse
Straight Talk to Parents About Protecting Children From Sexual Abuse
Peace and Protection From Abuse

Don Enevoldsen is a writer, pastor and the co-founder of Counter Thought, Inc., a non-profit dedicated to non-religious, biblical dialogue challenging the abusive system that is so often part of traditional and accepted church life. To members of OSA, he is best known for one of his most fulfilling roles in life as Christina’s husband.

I have been silenced, me and my trouble.

I first silenced myself in shame, not even knowing exactly why, but somehow… it was wrong, what had just happened. And I knew it. I looked for a friend but got something else. The trust I had put in him had been violated, shattered. I was pretty sure it was wrong, but there was no one to ask without shaming myself for “not knowing better” It was just a vague feeling then, but it needed a private answer and there was no one to ask. So I silenced The Question. Thus The Silence began.

Then my abuser said, “Don’t tell.” We both knew what had happened. But both of us—my abuser and I— had The Question. But it was a hard question, hard to figure out what the question really was, too hard to figure out the answer alone, and it was too shameful to ask anyone else about. So my abuser told me what he told himself: “Just shut up about this—tell no one.”

Finally, I felt so much shame and guilt that I finally did go ask. I asked someone in charge of me, asked The Question, or what I thought was the question: Was it okay doing that? But when I asked, they did not know the answer, and more than that, they were shocked at the very asking of The Question and the questions that The Question brought up. I was told to be silent. Or that I was wrong, it couldn’t have happened, could it? Or at very least, be very quiet about it now.

So, there! I knew I was right. What I had done was something bad! Now I knew. What a relief! Except that, now, I was bad. Asking the Question had proved that. And now it was my responsibility to maintain The Silence about the bad thing I had done. Telling would not help, I knew that now for sure. And telling more people now—any other people—would also be bad, just like my abuser said it would be. The abuser was right. I was wrong. And I was the bad one for trying to tell. Bad, stupid me. And The Silence got stronger.

But there was hope: I could be a good boy, a big boy, by keeping The Secret and The Silence.

And life went on. The abuse went on, too, although we didn’t call it that. We were friends. Nothing violent or hurtful. Just Special Friends. There were times in between abuse when I could forget and just be a good, big boy and do my duty to not tell. Then more abuse and again I was a good quiet, obedient boy for my abuser, even though I knew that, somehow, pretty sure, less sure, that this was bad. And The Silence grew again.

Then the day came that Someone Else found out about us and the abuse stopped. No more being good for my abuser even if it was wrong and even if I was bad for doing it. The Someone Else who found out made us stop. They told, but they didn’t keep telling because it was nasty, dirty and bad. And no one wanted to hear that. And soon everyone forgot about the whole thing. Everyone but me.

And two things happened. First, I didn’t get to be with my abuser anymore, and the sudden, complete separation from the only one I dared be close with made me think maybe this would happen to anybody I got close to. Second, there were some new rules. First New Rule: No getting close to anyone sexually. Maybe when I was older, or married, they said. But not now. So I figured, no friends allowed (what other way of being close was there?).

Steadily, slowly, they expanded as I got older and my own world expanded. My guilt and shame were always there for me, familiar, comfortable. And they and the confusion always expanded to fill whatever new experiences I had, experiences that made me grow up and out of childhood. Grow up into…what? Good question. Into what? Manhood? I knew I was different because I had not been a boy. So, now, how could I be a man? Not a girl, not a woman, for sure. But what, then? Very confusing. And no one to ask. So I kept silent. And The Question still remained.

And besides, I should be able to answer all these questions for myself by now, for god sake! I’m an adult! And who cares anyway? It was a long time ago. The other guy is dead now, even. Forget it. Shut up. Keep silent. Please.

“Please, please, please! Just SHUTUPaboutit! For god sake just shut up!” That’s what I kept telling myself.

But as an adult, the day came that someone found out about me. What I thought I had hidden so well, for so long, all came out.

It happened a little at a time at first and then more and more, faster and faster. This person kept finding out things about me. They found out that it was me who had been abused, not the other guy. They found out that it wasn’t something I asked for—it was plain, simple Male Childhood Sexual Abuse. And they found out that it wasn’t my fault, that I was a victim. And then they did the one thing they promised never to do: They told The Secret. They told on me. They told the worst possible person they could tell, too. They told ME.

Yes, the person who told, was the same person being told on. I told on me, to me. I quit lying to myself and told myself The Truth. I quit lying about the abuse, that it didn’t happen, that it didn’t matter, that it couldn’t have been me that it happened to, that it was all my fault, that I asked for it. I quit lying that I was the nasty, dirty bad not-boy who was responsible for it all.

And in the end, I listened to myself. And I believed.

Now that you’ve heard my experience and thoughts about this, I’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.

Recommended Posts:
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Forget About It

It has been only the last six years that Gordon DeLand has actively addressed the fact that he is, indeed, a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. In that time, one of his main passions has become writing about his journey of healing and helping others who are on that same journey. Gordon is a semi-retired “jack-of-all-trades” ranging from pastor to plumber and resides outside of Dallas, Texas.

by Penny Smith

Sometimes in the healing process it feels like I’m not making much progress. Then something will happen that helps me see just how far I’ve come. That was the case recently during a run-in with some abusive people.

They tried to dump a lot on me—criticisms and false accusations. In the past, I would’ve taken it, absorbed it, begged for forgiveness and ended up feeling even more worthless.

They echoed the voices from my childhood: “You’re no good and never will be. No one truly loves you. No one would believe you if you told. You are just bad.”

Those are just some of the things my abuser told me over and over again when I was a child. Those lies and many others were reinforced by other abusers. They were designed to make me powerless, to keep me under their control, and that’s exactly what they did.

Even after I became an adult, I remained powerless. Those lies were so ingrained in me that I was constantly trying to be “good enough”—trying to prove myself worthy of love, which made me an easy target for more abuse. It didn’t matter what was asked of me, I would do it whether I wanted to or not. I thought if I said “no” I wouldn’t be loved. I was desperate to try to keep people happy so they wouldn’t leave me. I was willing to be the scapegoat and to accept whatever abuse was hurled at me. I had been taught that this was what I deserved and I believed it.

The power that each of us is born with, the power that inherently belongs to every human being, the power to stand up for myself, to say “no”, to believe that I had worth just because I was me, had been robbed from me.

When I finally faced up to my past and began the healing process, I know I didn’t have a very good opinion of myself. Actually, that’s putting it mildly–I hated myself. I still viewed myself through the eyes of my abusers and I desperately wanted to know who I really was.

Through each step of my journey, each little victory, I’ve reclaimed myself little by little. The lies that made me feel worthless and powerless were exposed. As I realized more and more that what I’d been taught by my abusers wasn’t true, I also began to see that I have worth—not because I’ve earned it but simply because I’m me.

The first time I told someone “no”, I was terrified. I felt like I was breaking some kind of law and I kept waiting for the repercussions to come crashing down on me. When nothing happened (other than losing a “friend” who wasn’t truly a friend) I was elated. For the first time in my adult life, I realized that I was allowed to say, “no.” The more I continue to heal, the healthier my view of myself becomes.

With this recent attack, I took back more of my power. They tried to attack my hard-won sense of worth, name called, questioned my parenting skills, berated me as looking for pity because I’m facing my abuse and then they finally got frustrated enough to tell me I’m crazy and have “gone off the deep end.”

I felt like poison was being spewed at me but at the same time, I was surprised how calm and rational I was able to remain. I refused to accept the abuse and told them as much. I was able to stand up for myself in a way that I never could have before I began to heal. I could see that what they were doing to me wasn’t my problem. I didn’t ask for it or deserve it. I was just the current target but, they soon discovered, no longer an easy one. As difficult as it is to realize that some people can no longer be in my life, if they can’t give me the basic respect that I deserve as a human being—they don’t belong there.

I am the first to admit that I still have a long way to go. I have breakthroughs and setbacks.  In times like these I can see that I have made progress and it feels good. I am no longer powerless. I am exposing the lies for what they are and in the process, reclaiming my self-worth. I didn’t deserve to be abused then and I don’t deserve to be abused now. I am worth just as much as anyone else and that knowledge gives me the power to reclaim my life.

Have you ever felt this way? I welcome your thoughts. Please comment below and don’t forget to subscribe to the comments so you can continue to partake in the discussion.

Related Posts:
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My Support System is Led By Me
Is Overcoming Sexual Abuse Really Possible?

Penny Smith is a frequent contributor to Overcoming Sexual Abuse, especially through her heartfelt poetry. Penny uses her creativity in many areas including cake decorating, sketching and floral arrangements. She balances her recovery with being a busy wife and mother of three precious children.

by Jennifer Stuck

When I first started opening up about my childhood sexual abuse, I felt like I was carrying a deep dark secret that made me different from other survivors. It was the part of my story I always skipped over when talking about my abuse—something I could barely admit to myself, let alone anyone else. It was the fact that my body responded to the sexual abuse I received as a young child.

When my abuse first began, he would perform oral sex on me (when I had no idea what that was or that it was wrong) and then he would tell me I had to do the same for him. Every time I didn’t want to do one of the disgusting things he requested, he reminded me that he had done the thing that felt good to me, so I had to return the favor.

I learned to hate myself and my body, and I blamed myself for the abuse. I thought I must have just been an over sexual kid and brought it on myself.

But in reality, I never asked to be sexually stimulated, or for the “responsibility” he placed on me of pleasuring him in return. The fact is, the human body is made to respond to sexual stimulation, and my body was designed just like adult —with one important difference. As a child, I was supposed to be allowed to go through a natural process of maturating and discovering sexuality on my own. Unfortunately, my abuser interfered with that process.

Thankfully, now I know that although they are rarely talked about, sexual stimulation and even orgasm are extremely common during rape and abuse, and it doesn’t mean that I wanted it or enjoyed it and it didn’t make my abuse any less traumatic. Through my healing, I’ve come to see how my abuser manipulated my body as a way to manipulate my mind and keep me submissive to his abuse.

Now as an adult I can clearly see that it wasn’t my fault that I was abused, or that my body responded to the abuse. And since opening up about my experience, I’ve found that I’m far from alone. I for one won’t stay silent anymore. I don’t have to be ashamed about my abuse and I won’t keep it secret ever again.

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.

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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 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.

by Jennifer Stuck

Still to this day, anytime I hear the phrases “playing doctor” or “show-and-tell,” I feel a shiver run down my spine. Only recently have I realized that this is because my mother used those phrases to make light of my abuse from an older neighbor boy. She would even speak to other people casually about it right in front of me, like it was no big deal, saying things like, “I caught Jenny playing doctor with the neighbor boy again.”

I think using playful terms like those helped ease her own guilty conscience for not protecting me. If I was just “playing doctor” she could tell herself it was normal childhood exploring instead of seeing the reality that I was being sexually abused by an older child. When she said those things, it only added to the shame already felt about my abuse; it made me feel like I wanted to climb down inside myself to hide from the world so nobody could see how bad I was.

There are some instances where normal, healthy children may touch themselves innocently or may be curious about the anatomy of another child. However, what the neighbor boy did to me was so much more than normal childhood exploring. He taught me to perform sexual acts, forced me to do things with other children for him to watch, and degraded me in horrible ways. He even urinated on me as part of my abuse, like a dog marking its territory.

When a child acts out sexually on another child the way my abuser hurt me, that means he or she experienced some type of abuse themselves. That of course doesn’t make it okay for them to hurt and abuse another child, and it didn’t make it okay for my abuser to hurt me. The truth is, all abuse is damaging, and abuse from one child to another is just as damaging as abuse from an adult to a child.

When my mother failed to see the seriousness of the situation and called my abuse things like “playing doctor” or “show-and-tell”, then scolded me for allowing those things to be done to me, she put all the blame on me and none on the abuser. It made me feel like I had done something wrong. Instead of protecting me and keeping this older, more aggressive child out of our home, she told me not to LET it happen again. That was a responsibility I shouldn’t have had to carry at that young age, and it was something that kept me from reaching out for help for many years.

Those terms were also highly confusing to me. At the age my abuse began, I had no idea what sex was or that what was being done to me was wrong. All I knew was, parts of it made me feel really icky, parts of it felt good, and my abuser told me I would get in trouble if I told anyone. Then when my mother found me being abused and I DID get in trouble, and nothing happened to my abuser, that sent the message to me that my abuser’s lies were all true.

Had my family only understood how damaging child-on-child abuse is, maybe they would have stepped in. Maybe they would have kept my abuser away. Or maybe they just didn’t care enough to protect me. I’ll probably never know for sure. But one thing I do know is, now as an adult with children of my own, it’s extremely important for me to spread the word about how damaging child-on-child sexual abuse really is. It’s no game, and it’s nothing to be made light of.

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.

Related Posts:
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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 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.

by Penny Smith

I had admitted to myself that I had been abused. I reached the point that I was tired of the way I was living. I wanted something more. I knew I had to deal with the effects of abuse if I ever wanted anything to change. I wanted to heal….so, why then was the process of healing so scary and hard to begin?

It’s like I had been a slave or imprisoned my whole life, and then I was offered the chance to be free. Freedom is what I had dreamed of, longed for, but never really thought would happen. Slavery is depressing, demeaning and kept me from realizing my true potential. So why wouldn’t I jump at the chance to leave it?

It is all I had ever known. To leave it would mean to enter the unknown, to be dependent on myself for the quality of my life, to explore my potential. In order to be free, or to heal, I would have to leave my old patterns of thinking, habits and people who kept me shackled in the chains of my abuse and its effects.

That’s all I was doing—coping. I wasn’t dealing with the effects. I wasn’t getting to the bottom of how I felt and why I felt that way. I wasn’t dealing with anything—I was simply shoving it under the rug—coping.

The problem with that was, the more I shoved under the rug, the lumpier my life became. Since I was afraid to leave my cell it became more and more uncomfortable as issue after issue popped up in my life.

Finally, I realized that I couldn’t live that way any longer. I had to strike out on my healing journey. It was a relief to make that decision, but also scary. I thought that by beginning to deal with the affects of abuse, I would give up who I was. That in leaving the comforts of my coping mechanisms, I would somehow lose myself.

It was difficult to leave the familiar and set off in to the unknown. It was frightening to not know where the journey would take me or who I would become. In reality, I wasn’t losing my identity, I was finding out who I truly am. I had become a product of my abuse and the skills that I had honed to survive it. I was about to find out that under all those layers and layers of lies, there was so much more to me than I’d ever dreamed.

Not long after I had plunged myself in to the process of recovery, I remember finding out first-hand just how difficult it is to leave those old patterns of thinking and responding behind. I had a “friend” who seemed to only call me when she needed something. She called me one day and wanted me to do something for her on very short notice. It would be a huge inconvenience to me and it was not something I felt comfortable doing. I was so used to saying ‘yes’, so trained to do whatever was asked of me, that I told her I would. As soon as I got off the phone, I felt horrible about it.

I began to try and process my feelings. I realized that the inability to say ‘no’ was an aftereffect of my abuse. I had been trained to think that I wasn’t allowed to say ‘no.’ Right then I decided that I was no longer going to be a doormat. I was just as important as anyone else. I called my “friend” back and told her that I couldn’t do what she wanted me to. I’ve never heard from her again.

To some people it may seem simple, but it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. It was the most amazing feeling to finally stand up for myself. It was empowering to realize that I didn’t have to do everything that was asked of me. That I have rights too and that it does not make me a bad person to say ‘no.’ That is when I took control of my life back from my abusers.

By leaving the slavery, the cage, the prison cell where my abuse had kept me, I wasn’t giving up anything (at least not anything that was good for me). I was actually giving myself a chance to find out who I truly am.

At times it feels like I go backward more than forward, but when I look back, I can see that I’ve made progress. I’m amazed that I was ever afraid to leave that bondage. I marvel at who I have become. I am not who “they” told me I was…I am so much more and so are you.

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.

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Penny Smith is a frequent contributor to Overcoming Sexual Abuse, especially through her heartfelt poetry. Penny uses her creativity in many areas including cake decorating, sketching and floral arrangements. She balances her recovery with being a busy wife and mother of three precious children.

by Linda Pittman

People used to tell me I was pretty but I never believed it. I always felt like they had an ulterior motive. I thought they said those things so that they could use me or because they pitied me or were being kind. I was wary, suspicious, and distant.

I did not like to look at my body. I did not know how to pick clothes or hairstyles that would make me look good. No matter how I dressed or did my hair, it didn’t make much difference.

I was too skinny, too awkward, I did not measure up to the people I admired—the ones with self-confidence, the beautiful people, the ones who did not have a dirty, ugly secret like mine. I kept the real me hidden away from the world. If they knew the real me they would be so repulsed so I became a person I thought they wanted to see.

I realized a while back that my oldest daughter looks a lot like I did when I was younger. I put my daughter’s pictures and my pictures side-by-side to compare our looks at different ages. We almost look like twins. She is absolutely beautiful. Why is it that I can see her as beautiful, yet not see myself that way?

It is sad to realize that the way I pictured myself was so distorted by all the feelings of shame and self-loathing from childhood sexual abuse. I learned to sabotage myself just like the important people in my life had done to me. I believed I did not matter, that I was a placeholder in my family, the youngest child. The tagalong kid. The afterthought. The invisible one.

I built up my courage to explore other possibilities. I began to believe the messages of hope and acceptance that wiped away the shame and guilt. It wasn’t my fault; I am not dirty or shameful. I was a victim of horrible shameless people who never saw me. There were many people who manipulated and used me and fed me lies, for their own selfishness. I had accepted their view and I only saw what they saw in me. Even when I told my secret, people reacted with revulsion. I interpreted their revulsion, as I was repulsive.

But I was separate from what happened to me. The things they did to me were ugly and now I can see the ugliness came from them. I am a really beautiful person, inside and out. I am the beautiful person that my husband says I am and my children look up to and my friends cherish. I can look at me and know I am beautiful! Yippee!

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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.  

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by Jennifer Stuck

My childhood sexual abuse used to be something I rarely thought about. In fact, most of my time was spent finding ways to stuff my memories and feelings, doing anything I could to distract myself. I compulsively exercised, cleaned morning till night – anything to not think. Even though my past was something I rarely thought about, it affected my day to day life more than I knew. This became evident to me when I had children. More specifically, when my girls reached the age I was when my abuse started.

I tried to ignore all the new feelings that came up, but with little success. I eventually decided to seek help when I found out that someone close to my family might be a sexual predator. I didn’t want my children to ever be hurt the way I was, and knew I needed to learn more about abuse so I could better protect them. That is what led me to OSA.

I started asking questions, talked to other sexual abuse survivors, and I read everything I could get my hands on. This helped me feel capable to handle the problem with the possible abuser. I have kept my kids away from that person and drawn strict boundaries as to who can be around my children. The thing that I didn’t expect is, what started as a journey to be a better parent began to make me feel like a worse one.

The more I read about abuse, the more of my own feelings came up. It was hard to focus on being a mom when I felt so overwhelmed. I didn’t want to be touched or climbed on when I was going through so much. My self-doubt started telling me that I was being a bad mother to focus so much on myself and my healing. I thought things like “My kids are only young once and I’m missing out on this time with them by being sad all the time”.

Even more importantly than teaching them ways to protect themselves, I have let them know that if something terrible ever does happen to them, they can tell me and I will support them. I know that my kids feel supported in a way that I never did with my family. Not only is that healthy for them emotionally, it helps protect them from abuse. They know what healthy love looks like and are less likely to be fooled by the fake “love” abusers offer as part of the grooming process.

On top of the safety of my children, there have also been several other benefits to my healing. I’m more confident and my kids are also becoming more confident. I’m happier and therefore they are happier too. Beginning to heal from sexual abuse was the best thing I could have ever done as a mother. If I could do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing.

Related Links:Straight Talk to Parents About Protecting Children From Sexual Abuse

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 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.

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.

by Linda Pittman

Throughout my healing journey from childhood sexual abuse, I have heard a lot about the need for “healthy boundaries”. How do I know if my boundaries are healthy? What are they and how do I measure mine? How do my boundaries compare with someone who has not been sexually abused? These were baffling ideas and questions.

As a child, I could not defend myself against abuse from a bigger and stronger adult. If I tried to defend myself, I was punished more or overpowered. So I learned to submit in hopes that it would be less painful. My physical boundaries were breached over and over. My submission was a coping mechanism to help me through each act of abuse. I learned to allow others to do what they wanted and began to believe that I had no rights over my body. My mental and spiritual boundaries were also breached because the shame of my abuser was transferred to me (I was bad) and I was not being “good” as defined by my church. Over and above my beliefs, I felt the bad inside of me. I had no say in those areas.

Even after I told about my abuse and I was no longer available to my abuser, I had no one to teach me that I had rights over my body— that it was okay to say no. As a consequence, I faced many sexual situations that I did not wish to participate in, but felt I had no choice but to do what the other person wanted. That response had been conditioned in me for many years and I knew no better. I felt even more guilt and shame since it seemed no one had forced me to do those things. I became pregnant when I was seventeen.

The first time my fiancée grabbed my arms and shoved me during an argument, my reaction was perfectly normal; I became angry and wanted to leave and never see him again. Good, right? Except that my mother let him in against my wishes because he brought me flowers and candy and seemed truly sorry. She could have helped me by saying that no physical force against me was acceptable. I trusted her judgment since she was my mother and I was sure that she would not steer me wrong.

Years later, I found out that she knew about my abuse and did not protect me or my siblings. Now, instead of standing up for me, she urged me to give him another chance. He got plenty of other chances during our fourteen and a half years marriage. When I ran out of chances to offer him, it was only to protect my children and not myself.

Why did I think my children deserved to be protected but I didn’t? I was constantly yelled at, belittled, bullied and punished for what I did and did not do. I was told I was worthless and that no one would want me. I was the sweet, compliant person who thought more highly of everyone else. My self worth could only be measured by his or her attention and compliments. If I received a compliment, I did not believe it; they were just being nice and I didn’t believe I deserved to be treated so nicely. They must have been saying those things out of pity or else they were nicer people than me. I avoided being close to anyone as I struggled to keep myself safe.

So where did the change take place and how did that come about for me? A few years, a lot of dysfunctional relationships and horrible choices later, I learned that it was “normal” for me to say yes to bad situations. As a child, I really didn’t have much choice. If I was corrected or manipulated into saying yes when I tried to say no, then I learned to ignore my comfort. If I took the abuser’s behavior into myself, I learned to say yes to controlling, abusive and unloving behavior. I also learned to feel guilty about saying no, so I was manipulated into saying yes. These were boundaries that were not formed correctly in me. Is it any wonder that others who came along were able to do the same to me?

I had to start off setting boundaries timidly but I did start and a lot of the boundaries were set as a result of my feelings. I was able to see when someone was trying to manipulate me. My discomfort told me the truth. I learned to trust my “gut feelings” more and more. As I did these things, I was learning to set my personal boundaries.

I learned the signals that indicate a need to set my boundaries.

• Did I feel discomfort or pain?
• Did I continue to stay around others that made me feel uncomfortable?
• Did I feel that by saying no I would disappoint someone?
• Did I feel bad about saying no?
• Did I say yes when I felt inside I wanted to say no?
• Did I say yes to something that went against my true beliefs and feelings?
• Did I say yes because I was afraid they would leave me/ reject me?

I learned that boundaries are not just physical such as “Do not get too close to me”. Boundaries are emotional such as, “I refuse to allow myself to be upset by you”. Boundaries are also spiritual or mental such as, “You can’t tell me how to think or what to say or believe”.

In an uncomfortable or painful situation, I learned to say, “No, I don’t like that and won’t tolerate that.” People are not mind-readers and I had to speak up. I left bad and uncomfortable situations. I learned to say what I wanted and if the answer was no, it was okay because that was what made me feel safe and comfortable. Even when others tried to talk me into a situation that I did not like, I said no and felt okay about it. In abusive or disrespectful behavior from another, I left if they did not stop when I said no. Each no got easier and easier.

People still try to cross my boundaries often, but it is my responsibility to keep them. My boundaries are necessary to my safety and peace of mind. Yeah, my feelings are important to me and DON’T try to talk me out of them. It is a learning process and I’ve still got a lot to learn about myself. But I am so much better at protecting me. And I’m worth it.

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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.