Overcoming Sexual Abuse » acceptance

Standing Up For Myself: Reclaiming My Self-Worth

Guest Contributions — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 15:48:51 +0000

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.

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.

My Healing Journey: Stumbling and Getting Back Up

Christina Enevoldsen — Sun, 12 Jun 2011 16:45:59 +0000

Christina Enevoldsen

by Christina Enevoldsen

As the co-founder of an organization that deals with healing from abuse, I’m supposed to be very enthusiastic about healing. I’m the one who yells “Hooray!” for those small victories and I spur on the weary survivor.

Most of the time, I love that. I do it whole-heartedly. But what happens when I’m the weary survivor? What if I think that the healing process sucks and I just want to go back to bed and pull the covers over my head? What if I don’t want to hear another thing about sexual abuse or family betrayal or the effects of trauma or self care or anything that reminds me of such evil in the world or the constant struggle to overcome it?

That’s what happened recently. After experiencing the usual rough beginning that most survivors talk about, I’d been feeling really good for the past year or more. I’ve had an occasional minor bump, but I took it all in stride. I thought the healing path would be smooth for the rest of my journey.

I’ve lost my footing a time or two. I used to have a tendency to want to go faster than I was ready for. I was driven to “get normal” as quickly as possible. I was impatient to get to the next part of healing since I thought I was pathetic to be so messed up. It didn’t matter that I always thought that I’d feel better at the next “healing level” but never did. It was never good enough.

But I dealt with that. I’ve accepted that there are some things about me that might be a little “off”, but I SURVIVED years of living with a sexual predator at the most vulnerable time in my life—my childhood—and I was all by myself with my pain. I think being a little “off” in some areas is a normal response to what I experienced. Those aren’t character flaws or a signs of weakness. Actually, they’re a sign of a struggle—a struggle to survive another day. I picked up some “weird” ways of coping, but damn it, I’m alive to tell about it. And I’m not ashamed of my quirks; I’m proud that I was creative and resourceful and did whatever I had to in order to get through it. And I am getting through it.

I watched a movie about a man who was trapped in a crevice while hiking in a remote area. He had the choice of dying or cutting off his arm to free himself and he chose to live. Do I think he’s a freak for missing an arm? No, I admire his courage and ability to face that choice and do what was necessary to live. He’s a hero. So I can’t look at the one-armed man one way and myself another way. So now I know I’m strong.

But I do have weaknesses and that’s okay too. The abusive system that I grew up with and continued in for many years taught me that weakness meant death because only strong people are valuable and worthy of life. Only people who earn their way are deserving of love and approval. So I despised my weakness and my entire existence seemed dedicated to covering it up. That fear drove me to work and work and do and do and my healing was powered by that same fear of not performing well enough.

I’ve had a lot of people who have been very supportive of my healing journey. Even though they’ve never asked me “How much longer?”, I used to be afraid they were wondering that. I feared not recovering quickly enough to fit their schedule. They admired my determination and perseverance, but how long would that last? Would their admiration turn to disgust? I figured they’d grow tired of cheering me on and then reject me for being weak the same way the dysfunctional people had before.

But I’m not in that system anymore. I don’t let others determine my value since I know the truth about me now. I have the same worth as the most emotionally healthy person or someone who has never been touched by the things I have. I’m just as important if I’m weak or strong, sick or well. For those who disagree, they are deceived by the same abusive system of inequality that I used to be in and I don’t need their fickle support. But no matter how I’m treated, I’m important and valuable. I love myself—weak or strong. Those fears aren’t chasing me through my healing anymore.

So I’ve had my healing struggles. I’ve tripped a few times but nothing knocked me down.

That was until just recently. As I look back, I don’t even remember the issue or memory that triggered it. That’s funny considering all the fuss it caused. Whatever it was, it was painful—and with the pain came anger. I’ve been angry about all of this before. I’ve been angry that issues come up without my control and at inconvenient times (when else is there? When IS a convenient time? If I DID have total control over when something surfaces, I’d choose NEVER!!)

I’ve been angry about the injustice of the evil tentacles of abuse invading every part of my life without respect for any boundaries. The effects seem just as invasive as the abuse.

I thought I passed the most treacherous parts of this journey. I thought I should have “earned” an easier time. After my rough early life and abusive twenty one year marriage and how bravely I’d faced the healing process thus far, I thought I deserved to float on clouds for the rest of my life. I wanted to scream, “When will it be bleepity-bleep OVER?”

Even if I couldn’t be finished now, I wanted to know WHEN I would be finished. I felt desperate to know where I was on the healing map–some chart that said, “You are here” with a red arrow so I could see how far I’ve come and how far I still had to go.

I felt as though all of my progress meant nothing—that all my hard work only yielded temporary results. In my emotional state, I discounted any progress since it fell short of where I wanted to be or expected to be. I saw all I still had to face instead of how far I’d come.

So I cried and shouted and pouted for a few days. I complained to the people closest to me. I cried some more and then I examined what caused my breakdown.

I realized that I still thought of this healing journey as a temporary thing. I thought there would be a definitive end to dealing with the majority of my issues—like checking out of rehab. After that, I thought minor issues might pop up again periodically that would be easy to face. I told people that I considered recovery a life-long journey, but I didn’t really believe that like I thought I did. My expectations collided with my reality and I was devastated.

But now I’ve finally made peace with the journey. It’s not the healing process that I got angry about or angry with. I was actually angry that I was abused in the first place—that I was denied a happy, healthy childhood and my adult life is a fight to overcome the effects. My anger toward the healing is like anger toward a doctor trying to put me back together after a physical trauma.

I’ve faced many cycles of anger about my abuse and every time I go through that cycle again, I’m accepting on a deeper level that it DID happen, which helps me with my two choices: To give in to the effects or to keep overcoming. So I keep overcoming. And I get more and more of my life back all the time.

Where am I in this journey and how much longer is it? I don’t think that’s relevant to me anymore. I don’t think there is any way to know where I am in the healing process anymore than there is to know how long I’ll live. Healing is a lifetime commitment the same way all growth is so I’ll keep healing as long as I’m alive. I’m healthy and whole even if I’m still working on issues. I am excited to get up most mornings, I’m optimistic about my future, I’m surrounded by healthy people, and I’m good at taking care of myself. I love myself and I love my life. So it’s not the life I could have had if this never happened, but it’s a great life anyway.

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

[read Christina's story here]

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Stand-In or Star: Taking Center Stage in Your Healing

Bethany Ruck — Thu, 17 Mar 2011 19:31:39 +0000

by Bethany Ruck

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

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

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

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

You’re the star of your own healing journey.

No matter how far along in my healing or what I write about, many survivors see me as struggling in pain or still victimized. They assume that I still feel the emotions that I haven’t felt for months.

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

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

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

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

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

[read Bethany's story here]

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I’m Re-gifting Christmas

Christina Enevoldsen — Fri, 24 Dec 2010 16:11:50 +0000

Christina Enevoldsen

by Christina Enevoldsen

When I was thirteen, I wanted four children. The entire reason I wanted a family of that size was Christmas. I imagined that the perfect Christmas mandated a house full of family. My children would be dressed in matching outfits and my oldest child would play the piano as we gathered around to sing carols. We’d sip hot chocolate and tell stories around the fireplace. We would take turns opening gifts and laugh with surprise and delight.

I’ve celebrated in a variety of ways throughout the years, but that idyllic holiday dream was never realized. For years, I strove for that fantasy and compared every holiday to it.

I developed many more ideas about what Christmas was supposed to be. Christmas was supposed to be white with snowmen and glistening trees, though seventy degree Arizona winters made that unlikely. Christmas was supposed to be extended family gathering from the corners of the globe, though through feuds and disinterest, that never happened.

When my children were grown and I divorced their father, my ideas of the holiday relaxed slightly. It didn’t demand all family; cherished friends could make up the Christmas chorus. So my new husband and I played host to friends who didn’t have any other place to go. We ‘adopted’ orphans or those too broke to travel home to see their own families. I didn’t always have my own family around me, but we always had a full house that was alive with love and laughter.

Last Christmas, everything changed. I was estranged from my parents and I was in serious recovery from my sexual abuse. I didn’t want to host any parties or even attend any. I couldn’t tolerate the pressure to feel festive and I didn’t have the energy to wear a fake holiday grin. The rest of the world was celebrating, but I was in mourning. The day was forever changed.

The holiday only brought up more pain and there was no getting away from it, so I decided to make use of it. Instead of covering it up or running away from it, I faced it. Celebrating was out of the question, so I let the tears roll. It wouldn’t be what I hoped for, so I’d let it be an opportunity. Since my emotions were coming out in full strength, I wrote about my disappointment and my grief. I expressed my anger and sadness. I got it out and it was a relief.

This Christmas I won’t be with my parents, children or any other relatives. My children are making traditions of their own and I realized that I’ve been tied to holiday traditions for too long. I was tired of what Christmas was “supposed” to be. The “supposed to be’s” were killing any possibility of enjoying what the day could be.

My husband and I decided to spend this week on vacation on the beach in Malibu. It’s far from what I thought Christmas should be, but it’s been one of the best weeks I ever remember. I have the freedom to watch movies in my pajamas and have a meal of cookies and egg nog. I can sleep in as long as I want. I can bury my nose in a novel.

I don’t have to please anyone or worry about hurt feelings. I don’t have to take anyone’s tastes or preferences into consideration. I don’t have to conform to traditions I don’t like. I don’t have to cook or clean or go anywhere. I don’t have to pose for pictures or even brush my hair. As I’ve released my expectations of Christmas, I’m released from expectations on me.

I’m re-gifting Christmas this year. I don’t want the traditions that were passed on from my family, my culture or even from my fantasies. Someone else can have them. This is just a date on the calendar, not the defining moment in my life.

My gift to myself this year is to put aside any expectation of what the day should be and to embrace what it is. I’m not trapped in Christmases past or hoping for something that isn’t possible. If I need to grieve more, I’ll grieve. I don’t even have to be a merry or happy Christmas. I love serving others and I hope future holidays are spent with loved ones, but this is wonderful. I’m one of my loved ones and I’m serving me this year.

[read Christina's story here]

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Paper Is My Safest Friend

Guest Contributions — Thu, 14 Oct 2010 22:48:33 +0000

by Jennifer Stuck

I have come to believe that secrets are the enemy. They are the parasites that eat away at the human soul. We are meant to be social creatures, to share and express our complex emotions. Yet generation after generation of conditioning has taught us to repress our thoughts and feelings—to monitor every word that comes out of our mouths. We constantly worry about what we say, how we say it, and most of all, how others might react to it. So with all the influences keeping us from expressing ourselves, what are we supposed to do? How can we get it all out and clear our minds? For me, and many others like me, the solution has been writing.

What I love the most about writing is that it is always there for me. When I can’t talk to my family, when my friends aren’t as supportive as I would like them to be, or when it’s 3:00 am and no sane person worth talking to would be awake, I have writing to turn to. I can always grab a pen and paper and start pouring out my soul about whatever it is that’s on my mind. Writing always lets me say what I need to say. The paper never interrupts me to tell me something trivial about its own life. The sole purpose of the paper is to bare the weight of whatever I chose to write on it. No matter how shocking, no piece of information will be too overwhelming for it to hold. It will never throw my thoughts back in my face or use them against me. It doesn’t push me beyond my limits. It never puts its nose where it doesn’t belong, or try to direct the conversation where it wants it to go. The paper is my safest friend.

Most times when I begin writing it is not because I have a clear-cut image in my mind of what I want to say. Normally I only know that there is SOMETHING that needs to come out—some emotion that has been long trapped inside of me that is finally ready to surface. I can feel a voice deep down inside of me screaming, begging to be heard. When I write I provide a platform for that voice (my inner child) to speak out, to say all the things she was never allowed to say while being abused. After all these years she finally gets her chance to express the hurt, pain and anger that has burdened her for so long.

When I write down my thoughts I take what was a slippery, illusive memory and translate it into clear, undeniable fact. It’s right there on record in black and white. I can no longer forget it or push it to the back of my mind. Seeing my story on paper makes it feel more real to me. I’m able to separate myself from all the lies that I was told about myself during my abuse. I can see that what happened to me wasn’t nothing; it was something terrible. It wasn’t my fault; it was 100% the fault of my abusers. I was obviously the victim, and they were obviously the aggressors. Those basic facts that had eluded me in my thoughts became blatantly apparent to me once I wrote them out on paper.

One thing that I am particularly fond of is writing poetry. Now that I am farther along in my recovery process I find it fulfilling to look back at the things that I have written and the progress that they reflect. I recently started putting a date on every poem that I write. By doing this, I am making what I call a recovery timeline. I will always be able to look back and see what I was feeling last week, last year, or ten years ago. It’s amazing for me to be able to see how much I have changed in such a short period of time. Having that record of my progress makes me want to work even harder to move forward. It’s something concrete to show how far I’ve come and how hard I have worked. Every poem is like a trophy sitting on a shelf, a small reward for my efforts. Each one is something that I can look at and be proud of.

Writing has had many positive affects on my life. It helps me connect with my emotions. It allows me to express those emotions. It helps me remember new details about my past and to make sense of the things I already remember. Writing is freeing and empowering. Nobody can control what I write. I don’t have to second-guess myself, or worry that I might be saying the wrong things. I can just put pen to paper and let my thoughts flow wherever they take me. Sometimes I use my writing to express repressed grief. Sometimes I use it to share newly found joys. The important thing is that I never stop expressing myself.

Jennifer’s Poetry Collection

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.

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Why Do I Need to Tell?

osa — Tue, 21 Sep 2010 20:21:33 +0000

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Related Posts:
How Do I Disclose My Abuse?

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

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

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Cracking Up Keeps Me From Falling Apart: How Laughter is Part of My Healing

Guest Contributions — Mon, 20 Sep 2010 14:23:58 +0000

by Nikki Stone

“I use to think that keeping up with my appearances mattered. However, I have seen what age does to the body and quiet frankly I can’t run fast enough to keep up with such appearances. So I have settled to frighten myself every morning when I get up to look in the mirror. Of course it takes a half an hour to realize that the person starring back at me is myself. Until then, I am thoroughly convinced it is a robber who does not have the sense enough to flee the scene and instead is spying on me, stolen my birthday suit and it appears they have really done some damage to it.” –NkstOne

“Being a child of a Navy veteran and preacher, I stayed in the state of confusion though I will admit it is familiar territory. I have always been able to find my way around in such a state. Actually I have never figured out if I am to be a saint or to be a hell raiser, at times these two clash. The doctors call it bipolar; I call it an undeclared war. My heritage is very colorful—from preachers to thieves, from peace keepers to warmongers. I had no chance really because the Mason Dixon line runs right through my brain being that I have both Confederate and Yankee blood. It is constantly an uncivilized civil war in which has been turned into a hippie movement with Lithium and Elavil. Now it’s a fizzled out firecracker that sparks a few thoughts.” -NkstOne

I took life serious one time and that was the last time I made that mistake. Instead I take life in moments of reality; some days in small doses and some days in large doses. However, I will never again try to overdose on such—it doesn’t go to well with my mental health!

Hello, my name is Nikki Stone. I am a Mental Health Advocate, Writer, Photographer, Artist, Domestic Engineer (a professional way of saying I am a housewife), Wife, Sister, Daughter, Friend, and ultimately a human being—at least that is what I have recently discovered.

I have Bipolar Disorder that I am in recovery with and I am also a survivor from sexual, mental, emotional, spiritual, and physical abuse. I know the effects of abuse very deeply. Three years ago I came to a total standstill in my life—actually I hit a huge brick wall and ended up having a nervous breakdown.

I lived in so much fear, anger, denial, shame, and guilt that I could not see any point in living. To be honest, I would not let anyone help me. Many tried, but I was in such a thick web of pain and lies that I could not see the truth about me or about my life. I believed that I was evil, worthless, a waste of space and time. This belief was built upon years and years of lies I chose to believe about myself. I believed these lies so much that when someone would tell me the truth I didn’t believe them.

Though going through the nervous breakdown was a very dark time in my life, in a way I am kind of thankful it happened. I know that may sound weird, however, it has been through the process of facing my worst fears and surviving them that I am now beginning to be the “REAL ME”.

Until then, I was running on automatic. I was whatever people wanted me to be. I was on a dead end road and I thought that death would solve my suffering. However, I am glad that I made the choice to live. I call my life now the gift of a second chance. Now, I don’t have to be someone I am not just to be a person of value. I am of value because I am a person. It has been hard for me to realize this but there is so much truth to that. I am on the road of healing, recovery, and ultimately living as a whole person and not a fragmented shell of a being.

The truth is, being a human means that we have our strengths but we also have our weaknesses. I am not ashamed to be who I am, because no one else can be me thus no one else can tell me that I am doing it all wrong by being me.

When abuse occurs we are led to believe that we caused the abuse—that we are at fault. And that is what many abusers want us to believe. The truth is the fault lies with the abuser. What I have realized in my abuse that if it wasn’t me, then it would have been someone else, because the problem wasn’t me. The problem was within the abuser. I can point this out because what I have realized in my own journey in healing is that I too became an abuser. Where the abusers left off in my life I picked up and began self-abusing and I became abusive towards others. That is what happens when we do not see the truth—we become the very thing we despise.

In my “warped” belief system I thought that in order for me to accept myself I had to have other people to accept me. In truth I had that all backwards. I have learned that I have to accept me “warts and all,” meaning accept myself 100% including but not limited to my weaknesses, my shortcomings, limitations, failures, and mistakes as well as my strengths, talents, abilities, and victories. This is what makes me human and there is no shame in that.

I am not talking about being selfish or conceded or prideful. I am talking about really truly learning to love the person I am and if I can love me “warts and all,” then I am able to truly love others. Love begins within us before we can truly give it. I had a light bulb moment a few weeks ago over this, that light bulb moment was I realized that I can’t give what I don’t have, so if I don’t love me for who I truly am then how can I honestly give what I don’t have? At that point I realized “Wow, and the truth shall set you free!” Because I lived years and years believing that if I loved me that I was being prideful, that I was being selfish! Now I know that is a lie and to be further honest to understand my motives I needed to quit listening to the world and listen to my own heart and compare it to the truth.

One of the vital tools that has helped me is to have a sense of humor. Laughter is the best medicine! Now I am finding many reasons to laugh and to find humor in everyday life. I still face difficult times and I still have struggles but they are not like they use to be. In other words I am not consumed by them to the point that I shut down, instead I face them and when it seems that the issue at hand is too overwhelming I am not afraid to reach out to get help. I realize I was not created to become “Wonder Woman.” I have not yet found my lasso or my golden arm bands thus I know I am really 100% human and not some fictional character from a comic book who was sent to rescue and save the whole world. And to be honest “THANK GOD” because I can be me and not have to be a superficial person who has to be strong all the time. And to be honest Popeye lied; spinach does not make us super strong. I have found strength in being able to laugh again. No matter how thick the clouds in my life may get, if I can come to a point where I can laugh then the burden isn’t so hard to carry.

It is being able to find humor in life that has helped me to see the truth of many things. It is okay to be who we are and to be able to laugh at ourselves, just as it is okay to cry and to lean on each other’s shoulders for support at times. I tell people quite often “Don’t give up when it is the darkest hour of your life because usually that is when the sun will soon rise.” Now I am proactive in my own life. I am learning to take responsibility for my life. I am neither hopeless nor helpless. It has been a long hard road to get to where I am at right now and even though it has been painful, it has been worth it.

Being able to see certain parts of my broken life becoming whole again has been amazing to me. And the beauty of it all since I have had to make that huge U-turn in my life and face all the things I was running from, as well as speaking out about these things there have been others who now have found strength to do the same. Yes, our life counts and we do affect each other one way or another. I used to think that my life had no affect, however I have been proven wrong and I am thankful that I can now see the truth and not be a prisoner to the lies I once believed.

Nikki Stone (aka NkstOne) is a mental health advocate in the state of Mississippi as well as a mental health consumer. She lives in North Mississippi with her husband and Cairn Terrier, Oz (who is her fur baby and therapy dog). She is involved with NAMI Mississippi and a trained Connections Facillitator, and “In Our Own Voice” Presenter (IOOV). If you’d like to read more of Nikki’s blogs, visit her site: This Human Life

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How Do I Disclose My Abuse?

Christina Enevoldsen — Thu, 19 Aug 2010 19:42:56 +0000

by Christina Enevoldsen

I talk about my childhood sexual abuse very publicly now, but I didn’t start there. The first time I ever told anyone I’d been abused it didn’t go very well. For years, I’d repressed most of my childhood memories when suddenly, in my early twenties, I knew I’d been abused. The knowledge came in a flash. I didn’t have any specific recall, know who my abuser was or feel any pain, but I was sure I’d been sexually abused.

I thought my parents would want to know, so the first chance I got, I visited them. When I walked in their house, my mom stood in the kitchen. We made small talk for a few minutes, but I couldn’t wait to tell her the reason for my visit, so I blurted out, “I was sexually abused.” I heard a booming voice from the other room where my dad was watching television, “NO, YOU WEREN’T!!!” My mother responded without interest, as though I never said a word.

Years later, when the memories flooded back and I realized that my dad was my abuser while my mom looked the other way, their responses made so much sense. I didn’t know it then, but now I know that telling my parents wasn’t the best place to begin disclosing my abuse.

Breaking the silence of abuse is a vital step toward healing. The secrets you hold actually hold you, keeping you captive to the abuser’s power. Telling is a way to break free from the bond the secret created between you and your abuser.

The way you take the first few steps in disclosure can influence whether you advance or withdraw in your healing. Telling a safe person who validates you makes it easier to go on to the next part of the process. When you disclose your abuse to someone who is compassionate, understanding, and accepting, it’s a relief to know you’re no longer alone. However, sharing emotionally vulnerable moments with someone who is unsupportive may cause you to feel even more isolated and can hinder your progress.

Though many survivors of abuse assume that their family will believe them and comfort them, that isn’t always true. In fact, it’s very common for families to reject rather than support the survivor. Sometimes parents reject the possibility that their child was abused because to accept the truth is too painful. Sometimes the disclosure brings up pain from their own abuse. They might also feel personally threatened. They may view it as an accusation that they aren’t good parents for failing to protect you.

Many victims of sexual abuse are abused by family members. In that case, other family members may have divided loyalties. If the daughter was abused by Grandpa, parents have to choose one family member over another. Many family members are unwilling to do that, especially if they have their own unmet needs from the relationship with the abuser.

If you are a survivor of incest, there’s an excellent chance that you’re not the only victim in your family and your abuser isn’t the only perpetrator. In incest families the family system has a culture that protects itself by keeping the secret. That system’s survival depends on the secret being kept. They will sacrifice one member for the sake of the system. In most cases, the survivor who is willing to talk about the abuse is the healthiest person in the family. The survivor is the one who recognizes the truth the earliest and seek change and healing, while the others see survival by maintaining the status quo. That is a threat to the family unit and the person who wants change is often viewed as the enemy. Because of personal defenses, your family isn’t always likely to be the best source of support and understanding.

The best chance to receive a supportive response is to begin by telling a friend who’s trustworthy and comfortable with emotions. Choose a friend you feel safe with and who doesn’t know your abuser—someone who doesn’t have anything to lose in believing you.

A few years after telling my parents, I was validated by a group of women who openly discussed their own abuse. I learned from them that talking about abuse is nothing to be ashamed about. I was accepted and believed and I felt like I belonged. With their support, I had a firm foundation and I started to see that healing was possible.

I had mostly good experiences for many years. Occasionally, someone would get a blank stare and put up a defensive wall and I knew they didn’t want to hear anymore. That was okay. By then, I was well on my way to healing and I understood that people have their own issues and their own needs may not allow them to hear me. I didn’t take it personally anymore.

My next stage in disclosure was speaking to a group of about forty people, many of whom knew my father. I wasn’t sure what their reaction would be, but I felt ready to share it, no matter their response. I had enough of a support system, within myself and with others, so I was secure and didn’t need anything from them. I just wanted the opportunity to share the truth. They were overwhelmingly supportive.

I was validated by the group, but when I went home that night I heard a little girl’s voice in my head saying, “You told,” in an accusing tone. I recognized that the little girl was the little girl inside of me. She was the one who was warned not to tell. She was the one who was afraid and felt threatened. But as my adult self, I wasn’t under my father’s power anymore and he couldn’t do anything to hurt me. So I comforted myself with that and validated my progress—and continued to tell.

After that, I published the story of my abuse history online. I wanted it to be public. I wanted the whole world to see it. I wasn’t afraid of my dad finding out. I wanted my parents to read what I wrote. I wanted them to know I was talking about it. I felt empowered and strong.

My last step was talking on the radio. It felt natural and comfortable to talk about it. It was an affirming step and I felt good. But the next day, I was exhausted and felt defeated. In hearing myself speak about it, I accepted and understood my abuse in a different way, which helped me to tap into new levels of grief I hadn’t touched before. It felt bad, but it was part of the process and I was happy to be taking another step.

Even if you’ve been telling for years, you may experience new feelings as you take different steps. Take time to evaluate how you feel after each new step. Those feelings need to be validated and expressed. Emotions are good, even if they’re painful. Just as in all parts of the healing process, it’s important to take small steps and proceed at your own rate.

Part of telling is choosing who you tell and don’t tell. You don’t have any control over how people will react, but you do have control over who you share it with. You don’t have to publish a book or post it online. Talking about your abuse to someone is important, but you don’t have to tell everyone and you aren’t a failure or a coward if you choose not to.

Talking about your abuse is important, but how you disclose it can make the difference in how beneficial it is. These are some things to remember to increase the chances that your disclosure will be well-received:

1. Start with someone who is emotionally available and who doesn’t know your abuser.
2. Start small and privately.
3. Evaluate your emotions and practice self care after each new step in disclosure.
4. Take time to validate yourself after you disclose.
5. If you want to make your abuse experience known to more people or disclose to your family, establish a base of support with trusted others first.

No matter how anyone responds, what happened to you was serious and you deserve to be treated well. Don’t allow anyone to keep you from doing what’s best for you. You may not get the validation you need from everyone, but you can validate yourself.

PLEASE NOTE that there are situations where your safety would be put in jeopardy if you speak of your abuse publicly. Ritual abuse is one example of that. Please use extreme caution if your disclosure would put you in danger.

Related Posts:

Why Do I Need To Tell?

[read Christina's story here]

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Finding My Lost Childhood After Sexual Abuse

Christina Enevoldsen — Sun, 15 Aug 2010 17:11:50 +0000

Christina Enevoldsen

by Christina Enevoldsen

I could never take a vacation for more than four days. I didn’t understand how people could be happy just “wasting time” or how they could prefer fun and games over tangible results. Hard work was my fun.

It was frustrating when my son and daughter were young and I tried to get “important” things done while they wanted me to watch their new ball-catching skills or to admire their fingerpainting. As they got a little older, I learned that good parenting required nurturing a child’s emotional needs, which meant “entering into his or her world”. I really wanted to be a good mother, so I did my best to engage in play, to enjoy the moment. But all the time, I watched the clock and thought, “I wonder if they’ve had enough”.

In their teen years, it was easier to relate to my children and enjoy our activities together. By then their interests were more serious and adult-like. I was also learning the balance between work and play for my own benefit. I adjusted my schedule in an attempt toward balance, but recreation was stressful; my thoughts drifted back to, “I wonder if I’ve had enough.”

My children are grown now, but a few months ago a friend expressed the challenges of balancing her role as a mother of children still living at home and working toward her goals. I felt relieved that I didn’t have that challenge anymore. In the midst of that thought, a little girl’s voice interrupted me, “I’m still here.” I immediately knew it was my inner child. I still had a small child at home.

On my healing journey from childhood sexual abuse, I’ve been very aware of my inner child. She was the one exposed to adult experiences and left with the adult responsibility of protecting herself. She never got a childhood. She was never allowed to express herself. Her pain, fear and anger still awaited expression, but so did her playfulness. Part of my healing is to nurture her—nurture that stifled part that missed the carefree abandon of play and the wonder of discovery. Her little voice was tugging at my skirt, reminding me of her presence, asking me to consider her needs.

One of my greatest sources of pain is to know how many times I turned down invitations to play with my children. Finally listening to my own inner child, hearing her longing, gave me some idea of how much it must have hurt them. Even so, I knew if I could go back to change things, I’d still be the same person I was then–driven toward accomplishment. My years of attempting balance didn’t do anything to relieve me of this inner struggle. I was way overdue to confront whatever it was that was keeping me there.

I saw myself as a two-year old. My parents were caring for my infant brother and I needed something. They laughed at me and said, “Do you think you’re the only one who matters? You’re not the center of the universe.”

I felt shame for needing. My parents’ response told me I didn’t matter. Since I didn’t matter, I had to do something so people would want me. I needed to produce tangible results to prove I was important. It became the way I earned my right to live on the planet.

My parents may not have filled my needs, but I’m not bad for having needs. No matter how I am treated, I am important. My value doesn’t come from anyone else; their opinions don’t change my value. My value does not go up or down based on what I do. I am valuable because I exist.

Knowing that truth released the kid in me. I’m liberated to have fun and be silly. Now I’m happy to cooperate with my inner child and provide her the playful expression she never had. I read Nancy Drew books and play Charlie’s Angels at the store with my friend. I give in to spontaneous urges to jump on the bed or spin across the room or doodle in my coloring book or make up funny endings to classic stories. Fun is FUN!

[read Christina's story here]

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The Dangers of Gratitude and a Positive Attitude

Christina Enevoldsen — Sun, 08 Aug 2010 11:00:01 +0000

Christina Enevoldsen

by Christina Enevoldsen

When I was a child, I was very well-behaved. I listened to my teachers and earned good grades. I got along well with other kids and followed all the rules. I obeyed my parents and did helpful things around the house. I never got in trouble except for one thing: My parents complained about my bad attitude.

At ten years old, I had no idea what an attitude was or how I was supposed to change it. This complaint ruined my perfect behavior record, so I determined to correct it. Eventually, I figured out the unspoken family rule: Thou shalt be cheerful. Looking back, I can see that the pain and secrets under the weight of my father’s sexual abuse were leaking out through my “bad attitude.” I had to endure the abuse and then conceal my feelings about it. The message was: “No matter what’s happening, smile about it because frowns make others uncomfortable.”

I knew that to be loved, I had to have a good attitude. I took this lesson into adulthood and ingested all the books and articles I could find on positive thinking. It was almost a religion—in fact, my church taught it too, except they put a twist on it. “Thou shalt be cheerful, lest God think you’re ungrateful and take away what little you do have”.

I learned to have a positive attitude about everything—things that I should have run from. I accepted circumstances without questioning them. Instead of making improvements to my life, I improved the way I perceived my life. My optimism helped me to cope with the powerlessness I felt, but it unempowered me to examine things realistically.

This coping mechanism that helped me survive as a child also followed me in big and small ways into my adult years. It tied me to an abusive marriage for twenty-one years while I convinced myself I was happy. I actively searched for good qualities in my husband and overlooked the fact that he was abusing me and my children.

This false grasp of reality also kept me serving in an abusive church for many years. I looked the other way while I was disregarded and dismissed. One of those times, I was serving in a very demanding role under the associate pastor, who claimed to be my friend. It was a position outside of my comfort zone, but she convinced me that it would be good for my growth. After years of serving dutifully in that role, I was dismissed without a word from ‘my friend’. She sent a message through someone else that she was finished with me. No explanation or thank you.

Did I allow myself to get mad at this pastor-friend? Did I confront her behavior? Did I learn that I couldn’t trust her? Did I refuse to participate anymore? Did I recognize that I deserved to be appreciated? NO.

I saw myself through the eyes of a helpless child with the only choice to smile about the abuse. I put on my happy face and told myself that this was a good occasion to stop taking myself so seriously. It was a character-building opportunity that would “humble” me so I was ready for the next position. My positive spin actually made me think I should be grateful for the abuse.

It was time to recognize my power and give myself permission to see the truth. Doing that required me to face the dysfunctional values my parents taught me. I had to face the lie that told me I was unworthy of love if I looked sad or that I would lose more if I was unthankful. I had to acknowledge my value apart from doing my happy performance. I had to confront the lie that I was still a helpless child. I reset my mind to the truth and recognized where I distorted the truth to avoid facing painful realities. Now that I know where they come from and how unfounded they are, I’m alert to those lies.

Now, my positive attitude serves me well. With it, I can imagine a better future than my current situation provides, knowing I’m empowered to improve things. I still think of the glass as half-full, but now I question what I can do to fill the glass instead of just assuming that half-full is all there ever will be.

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[read Christina's story here]