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?

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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Christina Enevoldsen

by Christina Enevoldsen

When I was a kid, The Wizard of OZ aired on television once a year. I didn’t know any families who didn’t anticipate this event. My family never missed it. We’d eat dinner early, make popcorn and enthusiastically settle in.

The Wizard of Oz is an enchanting story of a twelve-year-old Kansas farm girl, Dorothy Gale and her dog Toto. They are transported to the magical Land of Oz, where she sets out for the Emerald City to ask the Wizard of Oz to help her return home. On the way, she meets a Scarecrow, a Tin Man and a Cowardly Lion, who join her, hoping to receive what they lack themselves.

When the Wizard is unable to give any of them what they search for, they discover that everything they were looking for was already inside them. In the end, Glinda, The Good Witch of the North, tells Dorothy, “You don’t need to be helped any longer; you’ve always had the power….”

I’ve had my own Oz experience. Like Dorothy, I had a “Meek and Mild” image of myself that led me to seek out “The Great and Powerful” to make up for what I thought I lacked. I didn’t know the power I had and set out to find others who would share theirs with me—many of whom turned out to be abusers. My childhood sexual abuse taught me that I was at other’s mercy and that I was powerless to do anything to help myself. Dorothy’s Wizard claimed to be able to grant wishes, but first she had to appease him by very nearly giving up her life. I didn’t have to bring any wizard a witch’s broomstick, but I had to submit to degradation, humiliation, and control. In the end, my abusers couldn’t offer me what I was looking for anymore than Dorothy’s Wizard could.

Click Your Heels Together Three Times

I never had a witch tell me I had the power I needed all along, but I’ve realized a little at a time over many years that I really am capable of improving my own life in big and small ways.

Some time ago, I made plans with my friend to see a movie. She planned to pick me up at 3pm, but phoned at 1:30pm to say she was an hour ahead of schedule and that she’d pick me up in 30 minutes. She thought it would be fun to go shopping first. When she called I was just making something to eat and her schedule change meant I wouldn’t have time to eat before she arrived. I had something planned right after my outing with her, so lunch was my last chance to eat until the end of the day.

After we hung up I got really angry. I’ve learned to pay attention to my feelings–when they start and where they come from– and I realized that I was angry because I felt powerless. I felt like I didn’t have a choice. In my mind, my friend was keeping me from eating. I challenged that thought. Did I have a choice? I realized I wasn’t being forced to follow her plan so I examined my options. I could eat first while she waited for me or I could just cancel if she didn’t want to wait. Once I realized that I had options, my anger went away. I was empowered.

I learned to listen to my thoughts and be alert to whiney expressions. As a childhood victim, I was at everyone else’s mercy and my only power was complaining. One day I was about to whine to my husband that he never spent any time with me, but I stopped myself. That sounded like an accusation, not the invitation that I intended. I was blaming him and placing all the responsibility for our relationship on him, as though I was powerless. In the past, whining didn’t accomplish anything other than drawing us further apart, which was the opposite effect I wanted. This time, as an empowered person, I said to my husband, “We haven’t spent any time together lately and I miss you. Are you free for dinner on Thursday?” I took responsibility for my feelings and my relationship and I had a date.

On another occasion, I remembered something I wrote in the eighth grade:
“I was passing by a bakery one Sunday afternoon,
The little cookies smiled with tempt but I couldn’t smile back
I was dieting to lose some weight and couldn’t give in now
I was almost to the corner when they caught me looking back
I had to eat their chocolate eyeballs out for torturing me like that.”

It struck me that I even felt pushed around by food. I personified it and made it more powerful than me. As long as I did, it ruled over me. Realizing how ridiculous my beliefs really were has broken its spell over me.

Pay No Attention to the Man Behind the Curtain

Though Dorothy imagined herself powerless, she found that she had power all along while the Great Oz portrayed himself as powerful, yet was an unsure, frightened man. That’s the way abusers are. The image they portray is just as much a facade as the terrifying image of a gigantic head, surrounded by flames and thunder. They hide behind the curtain of intimidation and manipulation, hoping we will yield the power they lack.

Knowing I’m empowered to take care of myself, to improve my life, and to be responsible has freed me of my need to be taken care of by others—especially those who are likely to exploit my neediness and cause me harm. My thinking no longer draws me to depend on abusers. I don’t feel locked into a certain position; I know I’m free to grow and develop to change my direction. I don’t feel imposed upon by other’s decisions; I speak my mind and express my needs. I’m no longer driven by circumstances; I’m an active participant in shaping my life. I’m on a power trip and I won’t be returning.

Related Posts:
The Fear of Being Re-victimized
Power Play: How to Recognize an Abuser
The Wolf in Shepherd’s Clothing: The “Benevolent” Abuser

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]

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.

My brother’s first memory was the adventure of crawling underneath the fence in our backyard to play with the neighbor’s dogs. I envy him. My first memory was of getting raped. I remember laying on the kitchen table with my open diaper covered in blood — an image that constantly repeats itself in my head. I was about nine months old at the time and my dad was scurrying around in panic trying to fix what he had done to me. After that horrendous experience my memories completely stopped.

My recollection picked up again at the age of four when I remember my dad pushing his penis against my genitals. He would ask if he could go inside as to imply that I had some sort of choice in the matter. The pain of him entering my vagina was too painful that I would cry until he stopped. This was an almost daily occurrence.

Then, life consisted of ample ‘father-daughter time.’ Whether by taking me to an empty parking lot or the open desert he went to great lengths to ensure no one would find out what he was doing to me. Most nights I would hear the jiggling of the doorknob into my room. Quietly, he made his way around to my bed and uncovered my body as I lay there with my heart nearly beating out of my chest. He took every opportunity he had as a time to indulge in his sick addiction.

Oftentimes, my father would suddenly pack my brother and me in the car and drive us to the nearest park in an effort to get a quick fix. My brother was let out of the car and told to go play while I was forced to straddle daddy’s lap. He constantly neglected my brother to focus inappropriate attention on me. Knowing my mom wasn’t too fond of the great outdoors, my dad planned frequent camping trips for just him and the kids. When my brother went off to play in the woods, I got molested. What seemed like the innocent fun of a camping trip was really just an excuse to get mom out of the picture. These were common occurrences until I was about twelve, when the abuse suddenly stopped.

When I was sixteen he used my parent’s temporary separation as another opportunity to get me alone. We were both sitting on his bed having a conversation about the troubled marriage. That’s when he just went at me, grabbing my breast. I was so shocked it was happening again that I froze up. Meanwhile he began the fondling. While paralyzed with fear he started kissing me. I’ll never forget the way his breath smelt of coffee and rotten teeth. All I could think was, “Make it stop! Make it stop!” But just like in any bad dream my cries for help were never heard.

Telling someone about the abuse was not an option. My life was unstable enough without being the cause of my parents’ divorce. When I was nineteen and my parent finally separated for good I wasn’t afraid to tell my secret anymore. I pulled my mom aside and told her what my dad had done to me all those years. My voice was finally heard. By this time it was too late to change the past, but not too late to change my future. When I decided to report my dad to the authorities I then made my voice known publicly.

A few weeks ago, I met with a friend I’ve had since second grade. After I told her what my dad did to me, she was shocked that she knew me while that was going on and had no idea. When I think about the much better her childhood was, I’m tempted to think it’s not fair. She didn’t have to suffer the way I did then or have to deal with the affects of abuse now. But I don’t have any control over what happened to me in the past. I was my father’s victim for long enough. I’m taking control of my future and I refuse to be defined by the past I did not choose.

I’m choosing a new path and while that path is filled with obstacles and residue, I’m finding that they are no match for the woman I’ve become. The very thing that tried to kill and silence me made me see that I can endure and thrive in spite of them. I’ve survived the worst. The journey has just started, but I’m determined to follow the healing path to the end.

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.

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Christina Enevoldsen

I feel like most of my life has been an effort to wake up from a nightmare.  I had a desperate need to escape to the light of day, to free myself from the strange dreamworld of an alternate reality.

I don’t remember thinking about sexual abuse until I was about fourteen or fifteen.  I was dating a boy and told him I had been raped.  It seemed strange to me since I didn’t have any memory of being raped and hadn’t planned to say that.  It came out of my mouth before I really thought about it.  In hearing that, I realized I had the feeling for a long time that something awful had happened to me and that I felt dirty.

When I was in my early twenties, I drove past a preschool in a neighborhood close to where I lived as a young child.  Suddenly I knew I was sexually abused.  It’s not as though I was abused at that preschool, and I didn’t remember a specific instance, but I knew it was a fact, not just a feeling.

I was married with two small kids by then, but when I visited my parents, my mom and I stood in the kitchen and I told her that I was sexually abused.  She responded without interest, as though I never said a word, but my dad yelled from his chair in the next room, “No, you weren’t!”  Okay, end of discussion.

For years, I couldn’t remember anything specific.  I knew that it was my dad who had abused me. I don’t know how I knew, but I knew.  But also thought I might have been abused by others.  I had the feeling of being passed around.

Although I didn’t have any specific memories, I could identify some of the effects of the abuse and began to address them.  I knew I had problems saying no to men, that I acted in a very seductive way, that I was full of shame, and had difficulty setting boundaries so I tried to deal with those things.

Years passed and my twenty-one year marriage to a man who was verbally and financially abusive ended.

Five years later, I was happily and safely re-married and then everything changed.  My twenty-four year old daughter, Bethany, called me one night to tell me she wanted to report her father, my ex-husband, for sexually abusing her.  While doing my best to support her, I started having graphic flashbacks and dreams about my own abuse.  I started seeing my childhood memories in a different light.  All along, I thought I had no memories of my abuse, but it slowly occurred to me that what I thought of as normal father & daughter activities were in reality acts of sexual abuse.

My father not only abused me himself, but also traded me to other men.  There were sex parties where young girls were exchanged. When I was about eight or nine, my dad bragged to a group of people that I would make a good call girl.  He said it like that was a good thing.  They all laughed.  Around the same time, my dad lost his job and a wealthy neighbor helped to keep us fed.  I was sent to the neighbor’s house, either as a favor or as payment for the food he gave us. The neighbor raped me with a pool stick in his basement.  I walked home alone, hoping nobody would see what a bad girl I was.

One of the biggest fears I’ve had my whole life was that I would end up as a prostitute.  I didn’t feel as though I had any choice.  I was locked into that future and there was no escape.  Remembering what my father did was difficult, but at least I knew I wasn’t crazy for fearing something that seemed so irrational.  My body being traded was part of my past, but since I’ve faced the truth, I don’t fear it anymore.

I’m still on the healing journey, but I’ve woken up from my nightmare and have learned to shine the light on my past. As I’ve faced the truth, my life has drastically changed.  I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.  I love myself. I have healthy relationships. I’m able to look at my future with excitement. The worst part of my life is over.  I’m an overcomer.

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.

Does this resonate with you? Please join in by leaving your thoughts and feelings about this in the comments.