Overcoming Sexual Abuse

Reclaiming My Self After Sexual Abuse

Guest Contributions — Sun, 23 Dec 2012 15:59:07 +0000

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.

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.

The Lie of “Letting It Go”

Christina Enevoldsen — Sun, 16 Dec 2012 16:59:33 +0000

by Christina Enevoldsen

My lifetime of abuse gave me the feeling of being the constant target of a nameless, faceless bully. Unable to conceal my terror or prevent whimpers from escaping, every sign of protest fed his lust for more suffering. He was never satisfied; the more he saw the pain he inflicted, the greater his appetite for more.

My only hope for relief seemed to be in pretending I didn’t notice. I desperately wanted to be the person who could say, “Is that all you got? You hit like a girl.” I couldn’t have conceived of chasing off my attacker or in defending myself. The only thing I could imagine was coping better by developing tougher skin.

It’s not a mystery to me where I learned to cope. While I was growing up being sexually and emotionally abused by my parents, I had no voice, no impact. There was no escape from the bullies in my own home and it was unthinkable for my child self to say, “Mom and Dad, the way you treat me really hurts me and I deserve to be valued and respected. If you don’t change, I’m moving out on my own.” I was at their mercy. The way they treated me was what I was stuck with.

My survival strategy was to try to avoid more abuse. Nobody had to tell me to overlook the ways my parents hurt me. Of course I had to “let it go.” It was survival to discount myself and focus on pleasing them so they might love me.

As an adult, those lessons of abuse were so engrained that I was still convinced that I didn’t have any other options. When I didn’t overlook insulting or degrading treatment, I was punished. Even weak objections were met with accusations:

“You blew it way out of proportion.”
“You’re too sensitive.”
“There you go again, putting words into my mouth.”
“You’re always thinking the worst.”
“Why do you have to be such a victim?”
“You’re always overreacting. Just let it go!”

The verbal assaults increased when my former husband and I visited my parents. All of them would join together in discounting my objections to abuse. It was better to trivialize insults than to be ambushed. I didn’t seem to have any other option than to let it go.

In a healthy relationship, vulnerability is wonderful. It leads to increased intimacy and closer bonds. When a healthy person realizes that he or she hurt you, they feel remorse and they make amends. It’s safe to be honest.

In an abusive system, vulnerability is dangerous. It’s considered a weakness and showing “weakness” is an invitation for more mistreatment. Abusive people feel a surge of power when they discover a weakness. They exploit it, using it to gain more power. Crying or complaining confirms that they’ve poked you in the right spot.

I’ve been physically, sexually, spiritually, financially, and emotionally abused and the most pain I’ve experienced is from the emotional abuse. The message of my dad’s sexual abuse communicated to me that I wasn’t good for anything except sex, but my mother’s emotional abandonment—treating me like I was invisible—told me that I wasn’t good for anything. With her, I had absolutely no impact. I couldn’t do anything, good or bad, to gain her attention or win her affection. It was like I didn’t exist. I don’t know any pain worse than that.

I coped with the pain of having no impact by trying to tell my abusers that THEY had no impact. If I ignored their hurtful behavior, maybe they’d wonder if they had any effect on me, which gave me a false sense of power instead of having any real power.

I convinced myself I was the “bigger person” for letting it go. The truth is, I didn’t overlook cruelty or rudeness out of a sense of personal empowerment, but out of my belief that I was small and insignificant. My experience taught me to avoid feeling even less significant by keeping my mouth shut.

“Letting it go” sounded like a shield against the mistreatment, but that was no protection at all. Ignoring the problem didn’t make it go away and pretending like it was no big deal didn’t render it benign. I wasn’t letting anything go. It was all being compacted deep inside of me. While I was telling myself it was all rolling right off my back, it was infecting me, making me feel smaller and smaller.

The only way I’ve taken my life back from my abusers and from the effects of abuse is to embrace the truth. The truth is that the abuse did hurt me. The truth is that in standing up for myself, I don’t have power to change my abusers, but I still have options other than enduring the abuse.

This past year, I’ve stood up for myself in big and small ways. One of the most significant ways I’ve objected to abuse is when I confronted my dad for sexually abusing me. I knew there wasn’t much chance of any change of heart or action on his part, but just speaking up was liberating. I’ve never felt so empowered in my life. I didn’t feel any smaller when he refused to apologize or admit his crime. It wasn’t about his response or lack of response. Standing up for myself was an expression of what I already knew about myself—I matter. I knew that no matter what he did or said, it didn’t define me or inform me of my value.

That’s the truth I know today that I didn’t know when I was a child. The way I’m treated doesn’t actually define me. I’m valuable whether or not others recognize that. Knowing that truth empowers me. Now, I’m free to act independently of other people’s actions. I can afford to acknowledge the impact others have on me since I’m the one with the biggest impact in my own life.

Speaking of having an impact, one of my favorite things to get in my inbox is “Notification of Donation Received”. It’s not just that it’s such a big help in continuing this work, but it says to us, “I’m with you, I love you and I’m glad you’re here.” It’s a huge emotional boost, no matter the size of the gift! I want to let you know that no matter how you contribute to OSA, either as a donor, as a commenter, or as someone who shares our website with others, you are very much appreciated. We’re with you, we love you and we’re glad you’re here!

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.

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 five grandchildren.

[read Christina's story here]

Dysfunctional Family Holiday Survival Tips

osa — Tue, 20 Nov 2012 14:32:51 +0000

by Christina Enevoldsen with Bethany Ruck

When I remember holidays with my family, I think of stress. The image that comes to mind is everyone else laughing and having a great time, while I was miserable. I don’t remember many holidays as a child, but as an adult, holidays used to be times of emotional abuse from my parents, mostly my dad, and from my ex-husband.

While we were married, the usual pattern for my ex was to work up my emotions right before we arrived at my parent’s house. He’d feign a misunderstanding or falsely accuse me of something or criticize me–whatever would upset me. By the time we arrived, I’d be on the verge of tears or I’d be angry. Then my parents would correct my bad attitude and all three of them would join against me for ruining the special day. My daughter, Bethany, and I were both the targets of comments about our weight or other parts of our appearance and whatever other “weakness” my dad could find.

In our healing from abuse, Bethany and I have learned a few things about getting through this stressful time of year. Now we know that we deserve to have a nice drama free holiday. We haven’t had a relationship with most of our family members in a few years and we celebrate the holiday differently each year–but each year, we make decisions based on what’s good for us rather than what tradition dictates or what is “expected” of us.

Being a child in a dysfunctional family taught me that I’m responsible for others and that caring for myself is wrong. I had a tendency to take care of other people’s feelings and to neglect my own. When I focus on them, I lose clarity about me.

I used to think people earned certain rights to me if they were “nice”. If they gave me gifts or said kind things to me, I believed that gave them access to me and that I couldn’t say no. But I’ve learned that nobody has the right to buy me or rent me through “loving” things they do. Love that comes with obligation isn’t really love.

I don’t have to label my family as abusive to justify not spending the holiday with them or to set boundaries with them. I’ve been in many relationships–with family and otherwise–where I didn’t feel comfortable walking away until I could prove they’d done something wrong. Now I know that I don’t have to be with anyone I don’t want to be with. I have permission to decide how to spend my time and who I spend it with. I don’t have to label them as bad to separate from them and being separate doesn’t make me bad.

Bethany and I have taken years to feel comfortable saying no without the need to offer an explanation or excuse. We’ve gotten better at saying “yes” to ourselves a little at a time. Now we are confident that we are adults and don’t need permission from anyone to chose what’s best for ourselves.

If you do chose to attend your family’s gathering, here are some tips we’ve found helpful:

1. Empower yourself by acknowledging the choices that you have and by deciding on your boundaries beforehand.

“I’ll join them, but I’m only going to stay for two hours.”
“If they start talking about embarrassing things I’ve done, I’m going to leave.”
“I’ll go but if they start getting drunk I’m leaving.”

2. Take an ally with you.

If your family treats you like a child, it’s easy to fall back into that role. Taking a friend can ground you to the present day and remind you that you’re an adult with choices. That may help you resist falling back into patterns of the past. Having an ally may help you feel more confident to walk away from poor treatment or to stand up to it.

Also, some family members may not be as likely to be abusive or disrespectful if you have someone with you who cares about you. They may not want a “witness” or anyone who would confirm how devaluing their treatment is.

3. Have an escape plan.

Make sure you have your own transportation and can leave anytime.
Only ride with someone who is willing to leave with you at any time or else have the number to a taxi service.

4. Know what coping methods to use and what not to use.

If you need to stay away from the adult drama, play with the children or keep busy by helping in the kitchen. Drinking won’t help you to stay empowered and may make you more vulnerable. Stay present so you can monitor the situation and your feelings and take action if necessary. If you feel the need to drink, let that be an indication that you are feeling stress about something and do what you need to do to take care of yourself.

5. Plan another place to go in case you do need to leave.

Have a backup plan that’s nurturing. If you go home, have food prepared. Have a choice of comforting or empowering things to do–like watching movies or something else that you enjoy doing. Finish a project if you feel up to it or call a friend. If you’d prefer to be with a friend, let your friend know ahead of time that you may show up at his or her house and that you may not want to talk or you may need to talk things out.

I haven’t been around my family in years, but when I spoke to my father a few months ago, it stirred up a lot of emotions. First, I felt exhilarated for standing up to him. I was so proud of myself and I was on a high for a few days. Then, I reached a new level of truth and grief came with it. I realized in a deeper way that my dad would never love me or be the father that I wanted.

The encounter with my dad was on my terms and it was helpful to my healing, but it still left me exhausted. During that time, I took special care of myself. I reached out to supportive people and was more gentle with myself than usual. I ate healthy food and got a lot of rest. I never know what feelings will come up when I have contact with my “family”. Sometimes, I don’t feel much of anything and sometimes hearing from one of them stirs up a plethora of emotions. Often, I have a delayed reaction. Whatever my response, I’m careful to give myself the love that I never got from them.

Bethany and I no longer feel victimized by the people who supposedly love us and we choose to spend the holidays in ways that empower us. We wish the same thing for you this year. Whether or not you have a supportive family, we hope you know you’re not alone this holiday season. Your Overcoming Sexual Abuse family is always here for you. Happy Holidays!

In the spirit of the holidays, would you consider helping us meet our expenses? We need to cover our budget by the end of the year and we need your help. No matter the size of your tax-deductable donation, we very much appreciate it. The donate button is on the top right of this page and it’s fast and easy to use. Thank you!

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 participate in the ongoing discussion. If you would like to protect your privacy, you don’t have to use your real name. Email addresses are never made public.

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 hair stylist and works in television, film and print.

Confronting My Abuser

Christina Enevoldsen — Sun, 07 Oct 2012 17:20:08 +0000

by Christina Enevoldsen

I didn’t actually plan to confront my dad. I didn’t think it would do me any good.

This is what I wrote a few years ago:

“My dad has displayed his selfishness for as long as I’ve known him. I’m not under some delusion that he’ll suddenly develop a conscience and confess how he hurt me. He covered up his abuse when it happened without regard for how that would hurt me and he’s still doing that now. Holding out hope for some kind of healthy, compassionate response from him would keep me under his control and I’ve spent too many years there. I’ve moved on without involving him. He’s the one who would have destroyed me; he’s not the one to repair me.”

Before my recent phone discussion with my dad, I hadn’t talked with him in four years. I’ve been healing just fine without him and since my dad and mom walked away from me before specific memories of the sexual abuse surfaced, I didn’t think I’d have the opportunity to stand up to him anyway.

I’ve confronted my mother a few times over the recent years, which is the only communication I’ve had with her in that time. I’ve objected to her lies that I’m living in a fantasy world and I’ve stood up to her assertions that I needed to forgive and stop dwelling in the old, dead history. On the several occasions that I’ve confronted my mother, my dad was silent.

In the early stages of my healing, I wrote a very angry letter to him, but I didn’t feel the need to send it. I didn’t write it for him, I wrote it to articulate to myself just how I felt and to validate my anger and pain so I didn’t need him for that.

For me, confrontation, even in the form of a letter gave him too much power. Even if it didn’t obligate me to hear any kind of a response, I didn’t want to imply that I wanted to open a discussion. Now that I look back on it, I really just didn’t want to open the door to hope that he would somehow soften toward me and I didn’t want to face that pain of rejection if he didn’t respond or if he responded with more painful words.

My dad heard about what I was writing and saying about him but he never bothered to contact me. Instead, he defended himself to my son, “I can’t believe she would say something like that. I love her. I would never do anything to hurt her.” My dad can really stir up trouble, but he can be a real smooth-talker too. When I heard his response through my son a few years ago, even though I had clear memories of the abuse and had been living with the effects all my life, I still questioned my sanity because of his almost convincing words. The truth is, I wanted to believe that my dad loved me. It scared me that he could still influence me that way.

A few months ago, I heard through my son that my dad’s health wasn’t very good and that he wanted to talk to me. I’ll be honest. As much as I’ve sorted through all of this, when I heard that my dad wanted to talk with me, I was very emotional.

As sick and perverted as he was toward me, my dad was not only my sexual abuser—he was the closest thing to love that I had. My mom was cold but my dad was very emotionally and physically affectionate. To my mother, I was invisible, yet with my dad, he sought me out. My dad pursued me for his own gratification, but as an emotionally starved child, I couldn’t afford to be picky. My dad took me places and treated me “special”. We picked out our family dog together, he drove me to Girl Scout Camp (those poor girls), he threw me in the air when I was convinced I could fly like Mary Poppins. My dad was involved.

Yes, my dad caused me enormous pain, but he was also the only person I felt any amount of connection with while I was growing up. Though the comfort I got from him was mixed with fear and the “love” from him carried the price of sexual compliance, that was as close to love as I ever had.

When I got the message that my dad wanted to talk with me, I hated that I wanted to talk with him. I judged myself for still having a soft spot for him and I was afraid that all my boundaries would crumble and I’d sacrifice my wellbeing for his, just as I had for most of my life.

I also hated that I had hope. I wanted to believe that I didn’t have hope of him finally coming to his senses and loving me, but I did. I had to admit to myself that I wanted his love, though I also had healed enough to know I no longer needed it.

In the midst of sorting out those feelings, I heard myself think, “Parents aren’t important.” That stopped me. That’s not true—parents are very important, and not just in childhood. I’d lied to myself as a shield from the pain, but I was ready to face another layer of that. My life would have been better if I’d had loving parents, but the way they are, my life is better off without them. I want parents, but I don’t need them now.

For a few days, I grieved the loss that the new truth brought. It was both painful and empowering. It felt good that I was cleansing myself of another lie and I was proud of myself for acknowledging the truth

Afterward, I still wanted to talk to him, but I felt differently about it. I didn’t feel the same longing, just a calm. I decided that I could afford to talk with him. I didn’t know the reason he wanted to talk with me, but I wasn’t afraid of the outcome. No matter what he’d say, I’d stand up for myself. It was okay to have hope because I could afford a disappointment. I wasn’t depending on him for a good outcome since I’m fine without him.

The phone call

Almost as soon as my dad answered the phone, he told me that he loved me. I was silent. He repeated it, “I love you more than you’ll ever know. You know that don’t you?”

Those words might have stung if I’d heard them a year or two ago. It was one of the things I wished for the most. But that day, they were just empty words.

I told him, “What I do know is that you and mom have both chosen abusers over me and hurt me very much. I’ve felt affection from you, but the way I define love is to do what’s best for the person I love. If I hurt them, I try to make amends instead of causing more pain. Both of you caused me more pain. Mom accused me of being a liar and you hurt me with your silence.

“Four years ago, I told mom that I wanted to stop brushing things under the rug and to stop pretending like things are okay. I wanted a better relationship because you’re important to me.

“It stirred up a lot of feelings when I heard you wanted to talk to me. I felt like a vulnerable little girl who wanted to be able to trust in your love. In the years since our separation, I wished for either of you to call me. I wanted you to say that we could talk about whatever we need to talk about to resolve this.

“When I heard that you wanted to talk to me, I thought it could be one of two things. That you wanted to have peace by finally admitting the truth or that you wanted to talk about pleasant memories and good times we’ve had so you could say goodbye. But in that case, I have the rest of my life to live knowing that all of our relationship was just about taking care of you. You get peace either way and I’m willing to give you that, but I want the same thing I wanted four years ago. I want to talk things out.”

Without skipping a beat, my dad responded, “You don’t know how much we love you. We’re not hateful and we want to get things so we have a loving family. I said to your mother wouldn’t it be fantastic if our daughter would come up and knock on our door? We prayed that we would have a life together again. You don’t know how much we love you and we’ll always love you. I’d give anything to hold you and kiss you one more time and your mom feels the same way.”

Wow, the only response to my request was that he loved me, but that wasn’t good enough anymore. He wanted me to be the one to come to them, without either of them taking any responsibility for the disaster our relationship was. Yes, he wanted reconciliation, but he wanted things to go back to the way they were. Same old story!

I told him, “I love my kids so much and there are things I’ve done in the past I’ve done to wound them. I’m willing to hear their anger and pain and to validate their feelings and their experiences. I don’t try to gloss over it by saying, ‘I know but I’ll always love you.’ I sit with them in their pain. I don’t try to protect myself from it. That’s how I define love. That ‘s what I wanted from you and Mom. I wanted to talk honestly about things and not just cover it up with, ‘I love you’. If you really want to communicate love to me, say that you’re ready to talk about my pain.”

He replied, “Uh huh, I guess from the standpoint of my approving of the way you presented this, that’s really difficult for me. Because I never once said the things you said I was doing. Your mom and I have wondered why you would put us in this position to say I’ve done these terrible things and I would never do those things. I can honestly tell you that I would never do those things because you’re my daughter and I love you.”

I was prepared for his denial. I asked, “Are you saying I’m making up the sexual abuse or that I imagined it? That’s one of the worst things you could say to me. That’s not love.

“You said that you prayed that I’d show up at your door but the ball is in your court. If you want that to happen, it’s up to you. You walked away from me. The way our relationship used to be made you happy, but it didn’t make me happy and that’s not healthy. I told mom that I wanted honesty and openness and that’s what I still want. There’s a lot about the past that I could forgive, but neither of you asked for forgiveness. If you want a relationship based on the honestly that I asked for, I’d be interested in that. The only way we can go forward is if we deal with the past.”

I also confronted my dad about betraying my daughter when he defended my ex-husband’s sexual abuse and tried to bribe her to keep quiet. He made excuses and I confronted him about his excuses.

He ended by reminding me that he loved me.

Confrontations aren’t usually so mellow. Our conversation was punctuated with memories of happier moments and we even laughed a time or two.

The only hint of any hostility from him was when he denied sexually abusing me. He used the excuse that he didn’t approve of me bringing it up in public, but he had a kind tone in nearly the entire time we talked.

In the past, that’s been the most difficult time for me to speak up for myself. It’s much easier to maintain my boundaries when people are mean. When I started getting good at standing up for myself, I could stand toe to toe with someone who was overtly opposing my wellbeing, but responding in a healthy way to the sweet talkers has been a weakness. Until now. As “nice” as he sounded, he didn’t lull me into falling for his lies.

I felt so empowered to be both gentle and strong. I was firm in speaking the truth and didn’t feel bad if the truth happened to hurt him. I also didn’t lose sight of my needs even in the midst of my dad repeatedly discounting and ignoring them. Every time I told my dad what I wanted, he changed the subject, but I kept going back to what I wanted. Afterwards, I felt so free that I could tell him how I felt and what I wanted, yet not feel like that made me vulnerable. In the end, my dad’s actions told me that my needs still aren’t important to him and I was okay with that. MY needs are important to me and they are no less valid just because he refused them.

I was willing to talk to him one more time to say goodbye. He didn’t deserve it, but I gave him peace. All my life, I’d put his and everyone else’s needs above mine and I knew I wasn’t doing that this time. I didn’t compromise myself in reaching out to him. This time, I not only didn’t lose anything in giving, I had some major breakthroughs.

I thought that nothing would likely be gained by confronting my sexual abuser, but I’ve changed my opinion a little now. It wasn’t what my dad could give to me in the encounter, it was what I gave to myself.

Please make it easier for us to continue to stand up to abuse and to spread the hope of healing by making a donation today. Overcoming Sexual Abuse is a 501c3 non-profit, but more than that, we’re abuse survivors trying to make the world a better place. Please join with us!

[read Christina's story here]

Domestic Violence: Why Did I Stay?

Patty Hite — Sun, 30 Sep 2012 16:36:35 +0000

by Patty Hite

Everything I did was for my husband. Any ideas or suggestions on my part would end in Bill physically or emotionally abusing me. I always felt my life depended on making a perfect meal. When he didn’t like it, he would knock me out of my chair and force me to eat “that crap” off the floor. There was never a choice in how I wanted to style my hair. My choice gave him the excuse to take the scissors to my hair and cut it the way he wanted. Choosing my own eye shadow was disastrous. Bill rubbed it all over my face and forced me to wear it out in public.

I was never allowed to go to the doctor by myself (he had to be able to give false reasons for my bruises and scars) and especially when I was pregnant. While the doctor was giving me a pelvic exam, Bill would watch my face and make sure I wasn’t enjoying it.

When I finally got the nerve to leave my abusive ex-husband, one of the many questions I kept asking myself was, “Why did I submit to so much abuse?” I couldn’t help but wonder why I didn’t walk away from it the first time he slapped me across the face, dragged me by my hair to the bedroom and raped me. Why didn’t I call the police and why didn’t I run away? Why did I take it, day after day, year after year?

Dr. Heyward Ewart author of “Am I Bad?” explained it so well for me:

“All people cross the line from childhood to adulthood with a secondhand opinion of who they are. Without any questioning, we take as truth whatever our parents and other influentials have said about us during our childhood, whether these messages are communicated verbally, physically, or silently.”

As I started to re-visit my childhood and my past, I was able to take a long, hard look at the child I used to be—the little girl who still lives inside of me. I began to know what she thought, what she saw, what she heard. By seeing those things, I was able to understand her decisions to submit to abuse rather than stand against it.

When I was a child, I learned the rule, “Speak when spoken to.” In other words, shut up unless you have broken a bone or are bleeding to death. My parents entertained friends and relatives all the time. There were always adults in our house. When the adults were gathered around the kitchen table, I was sent outside to play. They were always talking about adult stuff so I was not allowed to hear such things. The rule was, “Stay outside until we call for you. Don’t talk to us unless we talk to you.”

Interrupting the adults with, “So-and-so called me a bad name” was not allowed and I was told, “Stop acting like a baby”. “I fell off my bicycle and scratched my knee” would only receive a glance at the scrape and told, “Stop crying over such a small cut and tough it out.” I got a harsh stare from my dad and warned I’d better have a good reason for coming into the house. I never really knew what a “good reason” was and what would “allow” me the right to speak, so I submitted to the rule and remained the good little girl.

When my uncle started to molest me, when I went inside the house to use the restroom, I didn’t speak. The fear of being told that I wasn’t important enough to break the rule and the fear of rejection and not being believed, spoke louder than the abuse. I found a secluded spot outside, crawled into a ball and cried while I waited to be told I could come back into the house.

Another rule I learned was “Obey your mother and father.” I knew that meant, “Do what I say or else”. The “or else” meant beatings with a belt, a slap against the head or the most horrid of all, finding your own stick off the tree to be hit with. I didn’t endure much physical punishment, but my brothers did. I saw the whippings because they were done in front of all of us, and I heard their stifled cries of pain because they were told, “You’d better not cry or I will give you something to cry about.” Looking up at an adult with a weapon in his hand was a scary sight. I chose to be the good child and to obey my parents.

When I saw my dad molesting my sister, I obeyed him. He told me not to tell my mother so I did what he said. This was so traumatic for me that I dissociated it for twenty years. I always thought I hid within myself because I saw what he did, but it was being told to “obey” and the fear of not obeying that caused me to protect myself with dissociation.

I was also taught, “Respect your elders.” But what happens when an adult doesn’t respect a child? My first day of kindergarten, the teacher was calling out our names and we were told to raise our hand and say, “Here!” The teacher called out the name Patricia. I didn’t know my name was Patricia because I was always called Patty Jane. She moved closer to my desk and kept calling out “Patricia” and I could tell she was getting louder and more irritated. She stopped at my desk, grabbed my ear and pulled me out of my seat, demanding to know why I didn’t respond. I was terrified, in shock and crying, explaining that my name is Patty Jane. She slapped me in the face and told me to respect my elders and warned me that the next time she said my name, I’d better answer or else.

I was sent home with a note pinned on my dress. I don’t know what the note said, but I remember trying to explain myself to my dad. I told him how my teacher pulled my ear, yanked me out of the chair and smacked me. He looked at my face, told me there were no marks, and that I needed to respect my elders and stop embarrassing my family. I got a smack to my butt and told to go outside and play.

As I grew older, there were many adults in my life who harmed me and molested me. I was afraid to tell my parents. I was afraid to tell anyone. I didn’t want to embarrass them. Would I be told again that I deserved the abuse and there was no excuse for not obeying my elders? I felt my pain would not be validated and I would be sent “outside” again.

By the time I was physically abused by my first husband, I’d already spent my entire childhood being a “good girl” following the rules of not resisting and not complaining. I never knew how much pain I was suppose to endure because none of my pain was important enough for anyone to pay attention to. What was the limit?

Bill’s rejection was just as painful as the fear of being rejected by my parents. The fear of embarrassing him in front of others, like family, friends or even the police, was a rule I had to obey. Making him look bad in front of others meant I would be spanked, invalidated and abandoned.

Children learn from birth to cry and scream when they are hungry or in pain or fear. Healthy parents stop the crying by taking care of their child’s needs. I learned how to stop crying through fear and submission. My pain didn’t matter and I didn’t have a voice.

Teaching a child rules to live by should be for the child’s good, not just to make the child less of a hassle. The rules I learned taught me to be a submissive person—an adult with no personal boundaries, no limits to what people could do to me. I was in fear of being rejected and not able to protect myself because I was an adult still thinking like the child I was.

I am not a piece of property. I am a human being with feelings, emotions and thoughts. I feel pain and rejection and abandonment. But, I didn’t believe this until after I started to see the reason I believed these lies. I am no longer the submissive child/adult I used to be. Now I know I’m a valuable person, worthy of a life free of abuse. I’m able to recognize the false beliefs and lies from my childhood, live in the truth of who I was meant to be.

Will you help us? We’re having a particularly difficult time meeting our expenses and we need your help. Would you consider making a donation today? We’re a 501c3 non-profit so all gifts are tax deductible in the U.S. To make a donation, look for the donate button on the top right side of the page. Thank you for making it easier for us to continue to speak out about abuse and spreading the hope for healing!

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’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 have found the meaning of true love, a respectful relationship, and support with her late husband, Lonnie. She’s blessed with four children and six grandchildren.

[read Patty's story here]

Perpetuating the Abusive Cycle

Christina Enevoldsen — Sun, 23 Sep 2012 18:48:03 +0000

by Christina Enevoldsen

When I discovered that my husband was sexually abusing my daughter, I went to what I thought was the highest authority—our pastor. In our church, if something wasn’t Christian, it wasn’t to be trusted. Secular authorities like the police were inferior because they didn’t know God or his will.

When my husband and I met with our pastor, he prayed with my husband and told me that I could prevent my husband from molesting our daughter by being a supportive wife, trusting him, building up his self-esteem, submitting to his will, and to submitting to sex whenever he wanted it.

In my mind, this man was speaking for God so I didn’t question his instructions. I’d been indoctrinated in the abusive system since before I could talk, so it sounded right to me.

In the abusive system, the abuser is the victim and the victim is the abuser. When the abuser does something destructive, it’s really the victim’s fault for not doing things right. It’s the victim’s responsibility to keep the peace and to keep the abuser happy so that nobody gets hurt. The abuser has no responsibility.

If a boy was yelled at, it was because he wouldn’t listen.
If a girl was raped, it was because she was too sexy.
If a wife was beaten, it was because she was a bad cook.

I accepted this “truth” that the abuser is the victim because it helped me cope in the abusive system. As a helpless child being sexually abused by my dad, I survived by convincing myself that I could do something to stop it. I couldn’t face the truth that I was completely at my father’s mercy and whatever he wanted to do, he could. I couldn’t admit my complete lack of power, so I invented it. I told myself that I was powerful, so powerful that I controlled my dad. I was too pretty or I was being bad and that’s the only reason my dad stuck his penis in my mouth. I wasn’t a victim, my dad was. I just needed to figure out how to stop being too pretty or being bad and I could stop the abuse.

In the abusive religious system I was in, I survived the same way. Appease, placate, keep my head down, don’t question anything, follow the rules.

I made plenty of other disciples of this same sick system, passing on the coping methods that I used. I taught classes on how wives should submit to their husbands in the same dysfunctional way that I lived. Submission was supposed to “win your husband to Christ”, so it became an approved form of manipulation. You could make your husband be a better person if you were good enough. In my mind, I was saving women and their families from abuse since I believed that good behavior was the best way to be protected.

Of course, placating abusers is no protection at all and only perpetuates the cycle. I discovered later that my husband continued to abuse our daughter for another eleven years. The pastor’s instructions to me only gave my husband more power and left my daughter in a more vulnerable place.

The only thing that stops abuse is standing up to abusers. To stop being a victim, I had to admit that I had been a victim. I had to recognize how powerless I was as a child under the hand of my father—that there wasn’t anything I could have done to stop him. I had to see that it was a lie that I could control an abuser by my good behavior.

Only by identifying with my powerlessness then, could I take back my power now. Now that I stand up to abusers instead of trying to make them happy, for the first time in my life, I’m not being abused.

A note for clarification: This is my EX-pastor and my EX-husband. My ex-husband is serving a 15 year sentence for sexually abusing our daughter. The man I’m married to now, Don Enevoldsen, is not an abuser and works with me in this stand against abuse.

[read Christina's story here]

Why It’s Important to Heal My Own Way

Patty Hite — Sun, 16 Sep 2012 03:43:24 +0000

by Patty Hite

When I started on my healing journey, I wanted someone to just give me the answers, show me the way and tell me what to do. I wanted to be taken care of because I didn’t have the confidence to take care of myself.

There wasn’t anyone to talk to or to show me how so I turned to books. There were only a few library books on abuse, and even fewer books about healing. Most of what I found were stories from survivors. In their stories, they wrote about what they did to heal.

Most of them went to therapists and I felt defeated because I couldn’t go to one. I came from a very small town and there were no therapists or counselors. Even if there had been, I wouldn’t have been able to afford it and I honestly don’t think I would have told anyone else about my abuse. I was afraid of a professional telling me I was crazy.

Some of the survivors from the books I read were facing their abusers. I wasn’t ready for that at such an early stage in my healing and I felt so weak.

I tried their ways and only found myself feeling more and more helpless and hopeless. My only recourse was to lay the thought of healing down—forget about it and try to continue living my life the way I always had. That didn’t help either because when those flashbacks came, I had no way of releasing the pain they left.

I had to find out what worked for me, but finding my own answers was one of the hardest things for me. I was always afraid I would mess up or do the wrong thing and then I expected punishment when I failed.

My childhood was ruled with a strict hand and we were treated like property. I learned by watching my brothers being punished, to obey without questioning. They were lined up and, depending on the crime, were beaten with a stick off the tree, a paddleboard or a leather belt. They weren’t allowed to cry or get angry. No emotions were allowed. To me, that was terrifying.

My adult life was controlled by more abuse so I was trained to just follow other people’s rules to try to survive. When I married my first husband, I learned the lessons even more. He used many tools to get his way. I learned about emotional abuse, sexual abuse, and physical abuse. He manipulated me with blame, shame and guilt and he forced me with his hand and other weapons. I was punished when I made a mistake, when I didn’t do things right, when I spoke out of turn, or when I showed emotions.

No matter what I did, I could never do it right. Abusers had to have control over me and in order to remain in control they had to belittle me and come against anything I said or anything I did.

By the time I wanted to heal from my abuse, I was used to complying. If someone told me to do it their way, right or wrong didn’t matter. What mattered was that I had to obey their rules.

I also knew that failure brought punishment and pain. Even though no one was going to beat me anymore, I was afraid of letting others down. If it was their way, they could determine if I was doing it right and punish me for not doing it right. I was going to pay a price for failing, no matter what I did.

Since I couldn’t tell at that time whether someone was helping me or abusing me, I felt it was important for my healing to not be around people who wanted to give me the answers. I could listen to other survivors, but I needed to find my own way. I needed the freedom to discover what was right for me and what worked for me. I needed to be able to make mistakes without retribution and fear of punishment.

I was set up to fail as long as I tried to heal someone else’s way but I found out that I have no problem with making mistakes or wrong choices when they are mine. I can usually pick myself right back up and look for Plan B or Plan C.

One day I had a flashback of me as a child sitting under a tree in our back yard. Anytime I felt sad that is where I would go to talk things out. I felt free to cry and get angry.

If that worked for me then, maybe it would work for me now? And that is what I did. My first step for healing was finding a secluded place and talking about how I felt. I love looking at the beauty of nature, so it was easy for me to sit under a tree and tell God how much I hurt, and face those areas of fear. I love to write so it became natural for me to write about my abuse. I love to take long baths with soft music and candles, so it was easy for me to do that when I was in a critical part of my healing. I realized that by doing things that brought me comfort and that I enjoyed, I was also nurturing myself, which made it easier to face the traumatic times in my life.

Before I started to combine my nurturing needs with my healing needs, I waited until I couldn’t take another breath before I would face that pain. Sometimes I would have anxiety attacks all day long. I couldn’t sleep. I’d crawl in a corner on the floor, feeling like every nerve in my body was coming through my finger tips. I’d dissociate and have so much rage before I would break down and face that pain.

Finding what works for me has been a lifesaver. I make the rules, I face it when I am ready and I do it my way. For me, nothing is better and more empowering than that.

[read Patty's story here]

Profile of an Abusive Family

Guest Contributions — Sun, 02 Sep 2012 17:48:54 +0000

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.

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.

It’s Not About You, Mom

Christina Enevoldsen — Sun, 26 Aug 2012 16:11:35 +0000

by Christina Enevoldsen

Yesterday was my 46th birthday. Birthdays prompt me to reflect on my life—where I’ve come from and where I am now. Some of those thoughts included the woman who gave birth to me. My mother walked out of my life a few years ago and adamantly denies that my father sexually abused me, but it appears she was thinking of me too since she left a comment on my blog post, My Story by Christina Enevoldsen:

“Christina has dreamed up her sexual abuse–accusing her father of horrible, evil behaviors that far, far from his character. 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? That is the first step to real healing…“

Though it wasn’t the typical warm, fuzzy sentiments that other mothers might send, and she most certainly didn’t intend to help me in any way, this turned out to be a key to my favorite gift this year—a gift that came from me.

This is my response:

To Mom,
It hasn’t been easy to heal from all the damage you caused me. All my life, you walked away from me and I chased after you. I thought if I was good enough, you’d finally love me. When I asked for a more authentic relationship, you insisted that I was the one with the problem. Your rejection told me I wasn’t worth the effort. That was my fear all my life—that if I stopped performing for you, you’d abandon me. I was afraid of being confronted with the truth I already knew in my heart—that you didn’t really love me and never would.

I was hurt and angry about the ways you betrayed me, not only in my childhood, but throughout our relationship. When I finally acknowledged to myself the ways that you failed me, I wanted you to feel the same pain I felt. Mostly, it wasn’t to actually cause you to suffer, but so you would understand. I thought if you only knew what I felt, you’d have compassion for me and maybe even love me.

When you accused me of dreaming up these things about Dad because I wanted to hurt you, I realized how much I’m over you. I don’t feel pain over your abandonment anymore and I don’t have any need for you to understand. I don’t want an apology and I don’t care if you believe me.

If you came to your senses and suddenly saw the truth and admitted your gross error, I’d get no satisfaction from it. I hope, for your sake, that you do deal with your issues, but not so I can benefit from your healing.

All the things I needed from you, I learned to give to myself. Mostly, when I think of you, I feel nothing. There is only one thing that I can think of that still angers me, but not because of how it affects me, but how it continues to harm others. You present yourself as an elegant woman of God, but you are rotten inside. You deceive all those people at church by the masks you wear. I’m saddened by how you use the adoration of those people to exploit them, the same way you did to me.

I used to wish we could have an honest conversation, apart from the religious rhetoric that you like to spew. To do that, you’d first have to be honest with yourself and I don’t think you’d consider letting yourself see or hear the truth. I’ve accepted that we’ll never be mother and daughter again.

So you’re wrong that I want to hurt you and Dad. I don’t feel any pleasure in hearing about the difficulties you and Dad are dealing with now. But if the truth causes you pain, that’s not my problem. If you wanted me to say better things about you, you should have been better parents. Neither of us can change the past, though you’d rather ignore it.

I stayed silent for so many years out of a desire to protect both of you. I refuse to stay in the same dysfunctional role that I played most of my life. As your child, it was your job to protect me, not the other way around. I’m finished protecting you.

In truth, I don’t write about the harm you and Dad did to expose you. I’m not motivated by you at all, though I understand that since our entire relationship was all about you, you’d think it’s still that way. It’s not about you, Mom. My healing would have no relevance or context without including how broken I was and since you did the breaking, you’re a part of my story.

In one of your last emails to me, you insisted that you’re my mother (and I presume that you were demanding that I give you the honor that goes with that title). I may refer to you as my mother when I’m talking to others, but only for clarity. As I refer to you by that title now, it’s only for my convenience.

A title signifies a function or description. Does “Mother” describe what you’ve been to me? I don’t think so. I’ll tell you when I’ll honor you as my mother. I’ll do that when you act honorably. You’ll never be my mother as long as you cling to your lies—not just the ones about dad’s innocence—but about the pain from your own childhood. You didn’t marry such a horribly cruel abuser by accident. Dad wasn’t the first abuser in your life that you covered for. I suspect you’re covering for your own childhood abusers to cover your own pain. But that’s for you to deal with. Hey, I know a good website that deals with that kind of thing if you’re ever interested.

Christina

With each passing year, I look more and more like my parents and I used to HATE that. Every time I looked in the mirror, I was reminded of their rejection and I felt ashamed of the people I came from and fearful of ending up like them.

This year, I’m amazed by how comfortable I’ve become with myself. When I look in the mirror, I don’t see my parents. I see both the innocent little girl that I was and I see the incredible woman I have become. Instead of feeling shame for the family I had, I feel very proud that I am nothing like them.

People say life is a gift, but the life I have now is the one I worked and fought for. The “life” my parents gave me left me hollow and empty. The life I celebrate on my birthday and every day is the life I gave to myself. It’s been a very good birthday.

Speaking of gifts, Overcoming Sexual Abuse is funded by the generosity of our friends and by the survivor community. At this time, we need help in covering our expenses. If you believe in the hope and help we offer or have benefited from OSA, would you consider making a donation? Gifts are tax-deductible in the U.S. and are very much appreciated. To make a donation, look for the donate button on the top right side of the page.

[read Christina's story here]

The Truth About My Abuser’s Threats

Christina Enevoldsen — Sun, 08 Jul 2012 07:25:51 +0000

by Christina Enevoldsen

When I was ten, I wet my pants in school. We were taking a very long test and our instructions were to remain silent at our seats. No talking, no asking questions, no moving around. Since that ruled out raising my hand to ask to go to the bathroom, and I wasn’t even allowed to wiggle in my seat, I only saw one choice.

As a child, I went to great lengths to avoid getting in trouble. Following the rules felt like a life and death matter. I didn’t need any type of punishment; it was punishment enough for anyone in authority to be displeased with me. The worst thing I could imagine was being labeled a bad kid.

That fear followed me all my life and it crept up when I started talking about my childhood sexual abuse. The first time I told my story publicly, I heard a little girl’s voice within me say, “You’re going to get in trouble now.” For a moment, fear gripped me and I was at the mercy of my parents again, subject to their judgment and the abandonment that went with it.

I comforted myself with the knowledge that I’m not that vulnerable child anymore and I continued to talk openly about the things my dad did to me and the things he let other men do to me. After a couple of years of sharing my story publicly, I didn’t know how much that old fear of getting in trouble still haunted me. I hadn’t had contact with my parents during that time, though I’d heard from a few people that they didn’t like what I was saying.

Then I got a certified letter from my mother:

Jan. 31, 2011

Christina-
I am writing to inform you that your malicious slander of your father has not gone unnoticed. You have built an entire world out of your fantasy. In dreaming up your sexual abuse you have maligned your father’s character and deeply hurt his heart and mine. Your lies shall surely catch up with you.

I want you to know that if you have any plans of writing a book, we will sue you and anyone who has anything to do with it. Your defamation of your father’s character will stop. You will not enjoy one penny from any book published about this gross lie.

And I should let you know that we filed some of your inflammatory statements about your father and me, along with your threat against me, with the Mesa Police Dept.

And I will always be your mother whether you recognize me or not as such.
Your mother-
Mary Schamer

When I got this, there were two voices in my head. I heard my adult voice, who had healed enough to see the truth behind the threats, but I also heard the voice of the little girl inside of me who was still vulnerable to abuse and rejection. I had to dissect this letter to face my fears and to recognize the lies behind them.

“I’m writing to inform you…”

The way my mom phrased that statement was so impersonal, as if to emphasize her distance from me. My mom distanced herself from me all my life and this was a painful reminder of that. Though it didn’t appear to be a threat, it served as a threat to my child-self. Even though they’d already walked away from me a few years before, it was a reminder of the original abandonment of childhood that said, “You’re not good enough to be around, so get in line or we won’t love you anymore. You’ll be all alone in the world and nobody will ever love you.”

The fear of abandonment forced me to comply as a child, but I’m not forced to comply anymore. The key people in my life did reject me for telling the truth, but I’m not alone. Even if the consequence for telling the truth is rejection from everyone I know, that’s not the same death threat that it was when I was a child. I’m a self-sufficient adult and abandonment no longer means the end of my life.

Actually, separation from my abusers has brought me a much more affirming life. I haven’t had a relationship with my parents in years so I know I can live very easily and happily without them, but it was good to remind my child-self of that.

“I’m writing to inform you that your malicious slander of your father has not gone unnoticed.”

The little girl inside of me panicked. “Oh no! They don’t like what I’m doing and they caught me telling”. I’d learned from my family that it was acceptable for them to violate my innocence, but it was unforgivable for me to talk about the violation. But I don’t live by those incest family values anymore. I didn’t do anything wrong by talking about the things my dad did to me.

“Malicious slander” sounded so evil. It was that same fear of being labeled “bad”. That’s a huge part of my need to follow the rules. Being treated like trash gave me the message I was trash so I tried to perfect my way out of the shame. Even though I’d dealt with the majority of that, I still needed to assure myself that I’m not the bad one here. I carried my dad’s shame for what he did to me long enough. I wasn’t the one who had done anything wrong—he was.

“You have built an entire world out of your fantasy.”

When I first started talking about my abuse, it felt like I was lying. I didn’t feel connected to what I knew. It all felt distant and surreal, like a dream. Added to that, I didn’t have any emotions about it for a long time. It was as though it happened to someone else. I didn’t think it was possible to experience such horrible things and not feel anything about it, so on some level, it seemed like I was making it up. Eventually, the emotions came and I KNEW those things didn’t just happen, they happened to ME.

Even though I couldn’t be shaken from the truth anymore, my mother’s claim that I was making this up was crushing. I’d felt invisible to my mother my whole life and now she was tossing me aside with the same dismissive attitude. “Your abuse didn’t exist and neither do you.”

In my mind, I was a small child standing before my mother, pleading for her protection and comfort. Not being believed or acknowledged was life threatening then, but I acknowledge my own life through my healing and I don’t need her to believe me now. Coming face to face with this pain showed me what validation I needed to give to myself.

“In dreaming up your sexual abuse you have maligned your father’s character and deeply hurt his heart and mine.”

In their twisted world, they are the victims and I am their abuser. This kind of manipulative guilt trip used to work on me. I was trained to take care of their feelings in the hope that if they were fulfilled, they’d finally take care of me. I waited for the “validation” for most of my life that my needs were important too, but it never came from them. Their manipulations stopped working when I realized my value and stopped needing their permission to put myself first.

“Your lies shall surely catch up with you.”

I heard this as, “It’s not only your dad and me who will act in opposition to you, but powers bigger than us will ‘get you’ and you’ll be sorry you ever crossed us.” That struck such a nerve and I realized that I’d always been afraid of that. I had a vague fear that God or some cosmic force would punish me for talking about my abuse. Sometimes while I was driving, I was sure another driver would be an instrument in the universe’s hand to pronounce judgment on me. I was afraid I’d discover some gruesome disease overtaking my body. I was always on guard, never knowing which direction retribution would come from.

I’d pushed that fear aside and dismissed it as silly, but reading my mother’s words showed me just how much power that lie still had over me. As a child, my parents were gods to me. They were all powerful and they held my life in their hands. The child within me still saw them as gods and to cross them was to cross the Maker of the universe. When I confronted that lie, the illusion shattered. Not only are my mother and father not God or gods, they don’t represent God or his interests. When I stand against my parents, I’m really standing against injustice, abuse and lies. They do not represent anything to do with God and they do not have any power to pronounce judgment on me.

“I want you to know that if you have any plans of writing a book, we will sue you and anyone who has anything to do with it. Your defamation of your father’s character will stop. You will not enjoy one penny from any book published about this gross lie.”

I thought it was interesting that the threat to sue me was only if I wrote a book. The audience that I’ve reached through my story has reached tens of thousands already. Yes, I plan to write a book, in fact, several books, but why not sue me now? If they truly had a case against me, there is plenty of “evidence” of my “slander” and they don’t need to wait for me to write a book.

“And I should let you know that we filed some of your inflammatory statements about your father and me, along with your threat against me, with the Mesa Police Dept.”

When I first read that, I was a little girl again, terrified of getting in trouble. It was one thing to be sent to my room and another thing to be sent to jail. But what had I done wrong? I’ve done nothing illegal or wrong. My dad is the criminal, not me. I’m doing something right in telling my story. I’m standing for the truth and making it easier for other abuse survivors to tell their story. As more of us speak out, maybe more abusers will think twice about hurting other children. Maybe more parents will be diligent. Maybe more survivors will heal. I’m helping to make the world a safer place by talking about how dangerous my childhood was. If telling the truth was illegal, I’d still tell the truth.

Though my mom claimed she and my dad reported me to the police, I don’t know if that’s really true. There’s one thing I have to keep reminding myself: abusers lie. They will say anything to preserve themselves, which to them means maintaining their position of power.

One of the biggest things that stands out to me about this letter is that it’s written by my mother. In fact, this is one of three letters I’ve received from my mother since our “divorce”. In the years that I’ve spoken publicly about my abuse, my father has never contacted me directly. He’s never made any effort to clear up any “misunderstanding” or to ask me why I’d “lie” about him. Though my mother is claiming to speak for both of them, my father has been silent. He’s told plenty of other people that I’m lying, but he’s never faced me. I can only conclude that he doesn’t want to face me because he knows that I’ll never be manipulated into silence again. His feigned protests to other people and through other people are an attempt to manipulate them, not me.

This threatening letter was a turning point in my recovery process. A few days after receiving it, I realized that I hadn’t really been standing up for myself enough and decided to report my dad to the police. Seeing how much my parents discounted me stirred something in me. I saw how much I’d been discounting what my dad did to me.

I’m more motivated than ever to stand up for the truth. Even if my mother and father do sue me, the burden of proof is on them and I’d actually love to have my day in court. I doubt they want to give me any more opportunities or other platforms to expose them, but if they pursue legal actions, I’d welcome the chance to tell a judge and jury what my dad did to me.

My mom did everything she could to appear as powerful as possible. That’s as much as she had and it was nothing. She meant to intimidate me into silence as though I was still that little girl that she could manipulate and control. She did her worst but she can’t shut me up.

[read Christina's story here]