Have you ever thought how ridiculous these three words are? “Forget About It!” I have been told to do this so many times over the years, especially about my abuse. I’ve spent so much time and energy trying to follow that suggestion and I have come to the conclusion that it is absolutely impossible to do.

How does one forget about it? It’s my past. It happened. I lived it. I felt it, I touched it, I smelled it. Tell me HOW am I supposed to forget it? Do I snap my fingers, click my heels three times, or pray that it leaves? Can I smash it with a hammer like an old computer hard drive or do I try to replace it with more happy memories? Can someone tell me where the delete button is, because I have tried everything possible to remove my memories of abuse and it hasn’t worked.

Forget about it? As a young child, I witnessed my dad raping my sister, and that was the beginning of my efforts to forget about it. My mind locked that away along with memories of my own sexual abuse and I did forget about it until many years later.

But those memories came back like a flood and from that moment on, my life changed. Those experiences are locked in, never to leave. Sure, I wish it never happened. But it did. There is no doubt about that. My memories don’t lie. No one planted them in my head. I didn’t read it from a book. It happened.

Even after my mind unlocked those memories, I spent many more years trying to forget. I stuffed it in the back of my mind and did everything to try and keep it there. I started doing drugs at a very young age, and then I tried alcohol. Yeah, I became someone else during those times. I didn’t think about the abuse I saw and experienced. I could actually go a few days in between the hurt and pain that would try to sneak up on me with flashbacks and triggers. The more they surfaced, the more drugs I did.

Drugs were getting harder to find and I was getting scared because of the chemicals in those drugs. So I would forget about it by going to my happy place. I would zone out mentally from my surroundings and my past. Although my body performed as though I was present, my mind was not there. I could communicate with others only to walk away and not remember the conversation. There was no fear of what happened, no fear of what may happen, nor fear when something bad did happen.

Clinging to abusive men and abusive friendships was a way of forgetting about it too. Fighting each day for my life and learning how to walk on eggshells, living with extensive drama helped to mask the past pain. Except then, I had more traumatic memories of abuse piled upon my childhood memories. Forget about it? That only caused more pain.

So, here I am. Fifty-nine years old with the memories of my childhood and adult abuse. They aren’t going anywhere. I can continue to spend more wasted time on trying to forget about them, or I can face them. Relive them. Instead of trying to push them aside, I can look at them with my adult eyes.

So I’ve pulled those memories out to the forefront and dusted off the cobwebs. The pain has been unbearable at times. There have been times I couldn’t breath and I cried for days. But I faced it.

It wasn’t so much the physical pain of the abuse—it was pain of my broken heart that hurt so much. It was the pain of knowing that my dad had gone from father to predator. The pain of remembering the uncle I loved and cherished had crossed the line from hugging to fondling me. Understanding that the men I loved and trusted didn’t love me. Yes, there is pain in remembering my abuse. But there is much, much more pain in trying to forget about it.

Revisiting my memories of abuse and my dysfunctional upbringing is like finding a box in the corner of my closet. I don’t know what is in there, but I get so excited when I open it. Each time I revisit my memories, a new awakening happens. It’s facing facts and it’s facing truth. I’m able to find my hidden emotions that I pushed aside. The smells and things I saw during my abuse no longer torment me. I can actually walk into a room and smell his cologne and not have a panic attack. Wallpaper with little flowers doesn’t make me dizzy, and hearing kissing sounds don’t cause me to throw up anymore.

Each time I revisit those memories, I release more pain and reveal a part of me that was hidden. I am in those memories I tried so hard to forget. Pieces of me. Whether it be an emotion or something I touched, or smelled, or even a thought. Me. To forget about IT, means forgetting about ME. I’m remembering and healing and rescuing myself from the past. I’m my whole self in the present. Forget about it? NEVER!!!

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 six grandchildren.

[read Patty's story here]

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I recently moved from Florida to Ohio. My husband and I thought it would be a great move. I was raised in Ohio, so I was ready and willing to move back. He is ill and wanted me to be around my family.

It was a hard move. The dream that it would be “greener on the other side of the fence” turned out to be untrue. We drove through snow and ice in a convoy of two U-Haul trucks. We arrived to find that the home we rented has a landlord from hell. Everyday has been a struggle to get things fixed. The weather is too drastic for my husband. We realized that we need to go back home—home to Florida.

The thought of going through another move caused many coping mechanisms to surface. I had to choose to succumb to them or to overcome them. Fear was rising within me—fear of having no control over the situation.

I’ve been healing from my abuse long enough to know what I need to do in order to feel empowered again, but the truth is, I didn’t want to deal with healing. I’ve already dealt with my past—the dysfunction of my family, the sexual abuse of my sister and me, the physical abuse from my ex-husband and the sexual abuse of my children by their father. I don’t have flashbacks, triggers or nightmares. Anxiety attacks are taken care of, behavior and boundaries are renewed and I love who I am. The past doesn’t hurt anymore. I can talk about it without pain and sometimes it feels like it happened to someone else.

But sometimes the patterns from the past, the old behaviors, try to invade my thoughts and try to rule and control my emotions. I am aware of them, I know what needs to be done and I know how to control them. But sometimes, I just don’t want to.

The first thing to surface was the desire to dissociate. I’ve dealt with this, especially over this past year. I know when I am being wooed to escape and I have learned to overcome it. This past week, it came in like a flood and all I needed to do was open the gates. Part of me knew that if I gave in, I could escape, but the other part of me knew that it would become my “sick” friend again. I knew that if I invited it in, it would fight to stay. Dissociation is like getting drunk. It feels good at the moment because it offers temporary relief, but I have to face the real world when I wake up.

Then I had thoughts of “Woe is me!” “This isn’t fair!” “No one understands what I have to go through in order to make this move!” “No one cares!“ I didn’t give any thought to what this is doing to my husband. He is the ill one, yet I wanted to be ill. I wanted all the attention and I wanted everyone to feel sorry for me. I hung onto that for a few days and made life impossible for everyone around me. There was nothing they could do to make me feel better and I rejected every great idea they had. “It’s not going to work.” “There is no way to make this happen.”

Isolation was another thing trying to woo me. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I wanted to be left alone to wallow in my self pity. When anyone talked to me, I pretended like I didn’t hear them or my answers were so sharp they cut like a knife. I imagined putting on my coat and boots and walking until I got lost. Then everyone would wonder where I was or else they wouldn’t care and be glad I was gone. Would anyone even miss me? I was becoming a stranger to them. They didn’t know who this crazy woman was anymore. Dang. I didn’t know who I was anymore.

I hate being isolated. Not only do I stay away, my family stays away. I put up my walls that they won’t cross. Then they feel unwanted and unloved. I understand this pattern since it was a close friend of mine. I always wondered why I wasn’t invited places and why people didn’t want to be around me. I stayed away from them, then they stayed away from me. Then I’d get angry because they stayed away.

After a few days of feeling weak and wanting to crawl into bed and not get up, I faced ME. Every one of these were patterns from my past. I went back to that time and remembered how badly I wanted to run.

I was an escape addict. It started with the first time I dissociated during my abuse and it grew from there. As a child, I was only allowed to be a victim in my own world. I couldn’t physically escape, but I could escape in my mind. I escaped from my abuse and the misery of it.

But I didn’t stop dissociating when I grew up. There were times in my life when I wanted or needed someone else to take over. If I escaped, maybe things would be better in the morning or maybe someone else would take care of it. I wanted to be rescued like I never was during my childhood.

I have always been the one to take care of things. Every man I was with passed the buck. Any turmoil was left in my hands. So I handled it, but I found ways of escaping in my mind for a while. I wanted to be a victim so someone else would take over. I wanted a chance to be the carefree child I never was allowed to be.

As the youngest of nine kids, I didn’t get much attention as a child. But I’d get one-on-one time with my mom when I was sick. As I got older, it became a way of escape from stress. When I got older and in high school, I was so afraid to stand in front of the class and read. I could literally make myself ill so I didn’t have to go to school. It was almost like willing myself and it happened. My body always followed my emotions. If I got depressed or scared enough, my body would break down. I would be nauseous and run a fever and have body aches. It would last for days. If I gave it an inch, it always took a mile.

When we lived in Florida, being outside and walking to the lake where we live was a way for me to nurture myself. It brought calmness to me so I could think and relax and make plans. But here, I couldn’t do that. It has been miserable outside since day one. There are other things I do, but spending time outside is my solitude. I plan on doing a lot more of this when we get to Florida. I don’t want it to be a way of escape, but a way of life.

I wasn’t taken care of as a child and my coping methods were the best I could do then. But keeping them around kept me from taking care of myself now. I can’t undo the past, but I can give myself the care I never got as a child. Doing that helps me face my adult responsibilities.

So, here I am now. I took the time to face them all and I am glad I did. I feel strong again and I’m ready to make the plans to move again. I’m actually looking forward to it. I know I can do it.

My mind is clear and focused. I am actively involved with the thoughts and ideas of my family. My husband feels secure and safe again, knowing that we are a team. I am back. I’m laughing and hugging and kissing and holding. I am ME again. I found my “moving” notebook (I threw it behind the television in a fit of anger and self pity.) I crossed out “Ohio – Here We Come” and replaced it with “Florida – Homeward Bound.”

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 six grandchildren.

[read Patty's story here]

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

Last night I received a phone call from the leasing agent in Ohio who told us that we’re approved to lease her house. As much as I love the beaches and sunny days of Florida, this just never felt like home. My husband made Florida home but I have always felt like this was a temporary visit. So Ohio, here we come.

Ohio was my childhood home. I was born and raised there. Ohio is the place I was sexually abused and where I caught my dad in bed with my sister.

I have very few good memories in my life—especially from my childhood. I remember every act of abuse I suffered throughout my life. I can tell you how I felt, what I was doing, what my abuser did, but I can’t remember many good times. It was so traumatic for me to see my dad in bed with my sister that I succumbed to dissociation frequently. I can’t help but think that I escaped to my happy place—a dissociated place in my mind—most of my life.

My children remind me of times in their lives and I can’t remember them. I’ve looked at photo albums and I can tell you what picture is on what page, but I can’t remember what was happening or where we were when those pictures were taken. I remember being in the hospital when they were born, happy times, but few adventures during their young lives.

I’ve lived a stressful adult life and I’ve found that stress was a trigger to depart from my surroundings. When I was overwhelmed by neglect from my husband, stressed over lack of finances, or worried about cooking a good meal, I escaped. It was second nature to me. Trying to decide what to buy at the store or getting to the gas station before I ran out of gas triggered me into dissociation. I realized a few years ago that I was in a dissociated state of mind more than I was out of it. It hurts to know that because of that, I forgot the good times—precious times that I should have had, especially concerning my children’s early years.

The last time I was in Ohio was about eight years ago. Going there brought back little girl Patty. I drove by the home where we lived when my mom discovered my dad was having sex with my sister. I felt sad when I saw the two story house—no great, overwhelming feelings—just sadness. I drove by my grade school and saw the playground. It was the after-school hang-out and where they held daily activities for the neighborhood kids during the summer. Memories came flooding back of learning to play chess and four square bounce, and of the swings and the field where I played kick ball.

One day, I saw a sign that pointed to a park. The name wasn’t familiar, but I wanted a break from driving and thought I would take some time and walk around. There was a path that led to a small bridge that crossed over a little creek. I stood in the middle of that bridge and saw a small but beautiful waterfall. Suddenly, I had an overwhelming feeling that I had been there before and tears started rolling down my cheeks. Before long, I was crying uncontrollably and had to find a bench to sit on.

After a few minutes an older woman sat beside me and asked if I was okay. I told her that these were tears of joy and that I had been searching for something good from my childhood and I finally found it. She patted my shoulder and left, but I sat there for hours as the memories of my childhood came flooding back. Good memories. Happy and joyful memories. This park and the bridge and the waterfall was my happy place. This was the place I went in my mind when I was being beaten and raped by my ex-husband. This was my safe place. This was my escape. Welcome home, Patty Jane.

I asked my sister, who lives in Ohio, about that park. She told me we used to take a bus there. Mom would bring food and we’d spend the whole day. It was before I saw my dad with my sister. Things changed in the house after that. Mom started to work and couldn’t spend much time with us. Their marriage was strained. I think I started dissociating then and it became an everyday thing for me.

Finding that happy place and realizing it was a real place from my childhood was wonderful and traumatic at the same time. I always pictured it as a focus point when I was being abused, but to realize that it was a real place—wow! But to know that I couldn’t consciously remember such a happy, real life place was sad. I had thought it was a fantasy. I had no idea it was a real place. Just thought it was my imagination.

I have spent most of my life searching for my abused childhood, recapturing the memories of my sexual and physical abuse and reliving the false memories that were instilled in my head. But I want to remember the good times.

I need to find the little girl who soaked in the mist that sprang up from the waterfall. I need to find the little girl who learned to play chess and felt the breeze in her hair while on the swings at the school playground. I need to find the memories of holding my children in my arms and I need to experience the good times that they tell me about.

When I discovered the “real” happy place at that park, it was the beginning of a balance in my soul. It was no longer one-sided. Yes, the memories of my abuse outweigh the good memories, but it was a start.

Before healing, everything is unbalanced—our emotions, our relationships, our memories, giving and taking, asking and helping, our boundaries and limits. The more we heal, the more we become balanced. I think it is just as important to remember the good times in our lives, even as few as we may have, as it is to remember the bad times. If we focus only on the bad times, I think our views can become dark. We see enemies everywhere we look, and we expect bad times to overtake us, even if we are having good times. Balance. I think that is where I am headed. I feel it the more I find anything good about my past and remember it. It’s like the pieces are coming together.

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 six grandchildren.

[read Patty's story here]

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