Overcoming Sexual Abuse » fear

Dealing With Triggers of Abuse

Christina Enevoldsen — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 19:58:12 +0000

by Christina Enevoldsen

I’ve loved horror films since I was a child. Even though I wasn’t allowed to see them, something about those stories resonated with me and I managed to watch them anyway. Through them, I was able to express what I couldn’t even acknowledge to myself, the terror of a childhood haunted by sexual abuse. Scary movies confirmed that monsters really do exist, which I knew all too well.

The part that frightened me the most was watching the girl curiously walk toward the strange noises. Her companions disappeared, her candle flickered, and still she crept forward. I always squirmed in my seat, yelling at the screen, willing her to turn around, “DON’T OPEN THAT DOOR!!!”

When it comes to healing from sexual abuse, I’m the girl determined to search out the mysteries behind the door, but I’m also the audience member pleading with the girl to run in the opposite direction.

I recognize that the only way to stop being haunted from the ghosts of the past is to confront them. When something triggers me—a smell, a person, a situation, a touch, a place, a word—part of me is a Ghost-Buster, hunting down the things that threaten my peace. But when I walk down the dark corridor of a long-forgotten memory, another part of me wants to run away.

Before I’m even conscious of being triggered, the child within me fights as though it’s a life and death struggle and screams, “You’re going to die! Get away now!” To her, the trauma is ongoing and the threat is current. In that moment, it’s not merely a memory, it’s happening now.

In reality, it’s not the yelling that hinders me, but something much quieter; the little girl in me defends herself in the only way she ever could—through dissociation, denial and repression. I crave food when I’m not hungry, I suddenly feel an overwhelming need for sleep, I feel compelled to clean or to do some other kind of work, anything to escape.

From her perspective, everything is bigger and more powerful so running away from triggers is the only option. That was true then, but that’s not true any more. Running away doesn’t save me anymore; facing the memories that are triggered is the only thing that can save me now.

My adult-self knows that if I’m triggered at all, I am ready to face those things. I may not feel ready, but just as my mind locked this away so long ago for my benefit, it’s unlocking it at this time for my benefit.

The things I feel are what I would have felt during the abuse if I had been “present” enough to fully feel. It would have been too much for the child-me so I hid the feelings away for another time. And the time is now.

Even if I mentally will myself to pursue what dwells in the shadows of my mind, all my senses tell me it’s too much for me. My child-self was all alone and never comforted during the original abuse and she (I) still needs nurturing support.

When I feel overwhelmed, I do things to comfort myself before I move forward:

Deep breathing calms me. When I’m stressed I hold my breath, which creates more stress. Deep breathing gives me the nourishing oxygen my body needs and it helps me to focus on the here and now.
Sometimes, I withdraw in solitude to feel safe and other times, I reach out to supportive friends. Alone or with someone else, I listen to myself with understanding and compassion and let myself be loved.
I listen to my thoughts and feelings, whether they seem to make sense or not. Many times, I hear phrases that sound very juvenile. I recognize that they are feelings from the small child who never had a voice. Listening tells me that the things that happened to me really matter and that I matter.
I write down what I remember. Many times, I don’t feel any specific emotions until I write things out. There’s something about seeing it on paper or on the screen that connects me to my feelings and I’m able to acknowledge them, express them and release them. Sometimes I can’t cry, but it feels good to moan or to rock myself.

Once I comfort my inner child, I take her by the hand and we go through the door together. She shows me the horrors that happened there and I verify that they are every bit as awful as she believes them to be. My presence in her pain and fear allow her to join me in the present and to see that the monsters are long gone and it’s only the echoes from the past that we’ve been hearing. Behind the door, I don’t find death; I find my healing and my life.

Now that you’ve heard my experience and thoughts about this, I’d love to hear yours. Please comment below and don’t forget to subscribe to the comments so you can continue to partake in the discussion.

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]

Domestic Violence: The Signs I Missed

Patty Hite — Mon, 12 Dec 2011 07:29:46 +0000

by Patty Hite

The day we got married, Bill greeted me in our kitchen with a slap across the face that was so hard it knocked me to the floor. He grabbed my hair and dragged me into the bedroom where he raped me. Afterward, he told me that now I belonged to him and I would do what he said, when he said it, and how he said it.

When he finished, he told me to get a washcloth and wipe the blood off of him. My blood. He then told me to clean myself up, cover up my bruise and to stop crying. Like a robot, I did what he said. It wasn’t until I looked in the bathroom mirror that I could actually believe what he just did. The man I married, the man I loved, just raped me and beat the crap out of me.

I wish I could tell you that I fought him while he was raping me. But I didn’t. I often had fantasies of fighting back and he was the one on the floor with me standing over him and kicking the hell out of him. But that was only a fantasy. The truth is, I became totally helpless, submissive in fear. Instead of trying to figure out how to escape this torment, I convinced myself I needed to be a better wife.

I’ve often asked myself why I submitted to that abuse? Why didn’t I fight back? Why didn’t I walk away or go to the police? Physical and emotional abuse was the norm in my childhood home. My dad ruled the roost. Although I never saw him physically abuse my mother, he verbally and emotionally abused her. And she submitted. He would go to the bar, mess around with other women, and then come home and accuse my mom of having affairs. I heard him yelling at her in the middle of the night. The next morning, she would make him breakfast and he would treat her like a queen. My parents groomed me to submit.

I believed that a woman stands by her man, no matter what. My dad repeatedly raped my sister and I witnessed it. My mom stood by my dad and sent my sister away. I believed that family business—adultery, incest, and abuse—remain in the home. Cover up the bruises and put on a happy face and pretend that life is good and wonderful. I believed that asking for help was a sign of weakness and that crying, complaining and getting angry was not allowed. I knew that if I did any of those things, more punishment would follow.

By the time I became an adult, I knew my place in the world. I was to be the submissive wife and I would do anything and everything in order to please my husband.

This became the norm with Bill. At night, when the kids were asleep, he abused me in the most sadistic ways. He always found a reason to hurt me—if the mailman said “Hi” to me, if a button was missing on his shirt, if my mascara was smeared—any reason to let me know that I was a failure and I needed to be punished. I would make him breakfast the next morning wearing a smiling face for my kids. Bill would greet me with a morning kiss and tell the kids what a wonderful mother and woman I was—a copycat of my childhood. It was so familiar and I knew what to do and how to act.

I used to believe that there were no warnings that Bill was Satan in disguise. During the six months we dated, he seemed to be everything I could possibly want in a man. But the truth is, there were warning signs from the very beginning. The signs were everywhere, but at the time, I didn’t see them for what they were since they were familiar and normal.

I mistook attention, jealousy and possessiveness as signs of love. I had a distorted belief of what a husband, marriage and love should be. I was so caught up in the abusive world and the false beliefs that come from that world, that when abuse was going on around me, I ignored the signals that were as loud as a fog horn or as bright as a neon sign.

Before we ever started to date, Bill was grooming me. We worked together, (that is where we met) and in the lunchroom he would point out the failures of my friends—people I had grown up with and now worked with. As soon as they were out of earshot, he would tell me about their weaknesses. In front of them, he was charming. They were users or they were bad parents or they would always take advantage of me. I never saw these bad points in my friends, but after a while I was convinced. Bill was the only good, honest person in that whole company and I shouldn’t waste my time on such riff raff. He separated me from my friends.

It was the same with my family. They were too good for me. My brother had too much and flaunted it. My sister had too little and was trash. My mother was too close and wouldn’t let me grow up.

He loved me so much and couldn’t stand one second away from me. We should be spending every moment of every day together. That is what relationships were. We became one. Actually, we became “him.”

And then there was the jealousy. Every man I talked to was flirting with me and every woman I spent time with was trying to convince me to stay away from him. He told me that it hurt him when I talked to other men or when I went shopping with my girlfriends. It was wasted time that should be spent with him. He loved me so much and couldn’t stand one second away from me. We should be spending every moment of every day together. That is what relationships were. We became one. Actually, we became “him.”

In truth, I became his property. It didn’t take long before I realized that I was not capable of making decisions about people and I couldn’t trust anyone but him. Not only did my body belong to him, but my mind and my soul had his name imprinted on them and I was nobody. I became no one. I no longer existed.

As I look back on those times, I could honestly say that his jealousy made me feel all warm inside. To me it meant that he loved me so much and was afraid to lose me. Separating me from my friends and family meant that he was watching out for me and wanted to spend every waking moment with me. I was his girl. I was special.

The rest of my marriage to him was abusive in every way. There were no more hidden signs. They were out in the open now. I knew I was going to be beaten before it even happened.

I started to have flashbacks of my childhood. I started to see the familiar patterns. The false beliefs that I learned so well started to reveal themselves. I knew inside that these lies were the beginning of finding the truth of what a normal, healthy life should be. The more I healed, the stronger I became. I started to realize that I did have a choice. I was able to decide what was right and what was wrong.

Hopelessness and helplessness was being replaced with hope and strength. I needed to get out of this hell. I was strong enough to make plans and I was strong enough to leave. It took me three years to plan my escape and it was my friends and family who helped me do it—the same ones I walked away from. They saw the signs from the beginning and were waiting for me to give them the sign. The sign that said, “It is time.” The sign that said, “Help Me!”

Now thirty years later, with healing from my abuse, I am able to discern the signs. The more I heal, the more signs I see:

1. Abusers are extremely possessive and jealous. Those are not emotions of love. They are efforts to control. An abuser will not share you with anyone. They have to own you.

2. Abusers separate you from family and friends. If they can keep you away from supportive people, then you won’t tell others. (Deep down I knew this was wrong. Walking away and hurting my family and friends, kept me in shame. This shame kept me from asking for help.)

3. Abusers have rigid expectations of relationships. There is no compromise. You will behave accordingly and agree to agree with him/her. (I dressed the way he wanted me to. I cooked the way he wanted me to. I spoke the way he wanted me to. I pretended my marriage was wonderful—the way HE wanted me to.)

4. Abusers blame the victim. “He wouldn’t get angry if only I would do what he wanted me to.” (I was convinced early on that I was to blame for his behavior. I would get him so angry, that he couldn’t control himself).

5. Abusers act like they have a double personality. They can be overly charming or exceptionally cruel, generous or selfish. (I never knew what personality he would be. I spend most of my time trying to see what “mood” he was in and then trying to change it. I knew before the abuse happened. It was like a fog was surrounding me. I would prepare myself emotionally for what would happen that night).

6. Abusers are con men or con women. In front of others, they are charming and convincing. Cool and collected. (This was so confusing for me, because he would be so happy while entertaining others, but the moment they left, I got blamed for their faults. If someone said something wrong, I heard about it all night. I wouldn’t dare make excuses for them or their behavior. I soon learned to try and not entertain. Stay away from other people all together.)

7. Abusers stop calling you by your name. By separating you from your name, you are no longer a person. You are a piece of property. (The last time he used my name was the day we were married. From that day on, I was addressed differently: “Get” (Get me something to drink.) “You” (You did this and You did that) “F*&^*ing” (F*&^*ing Whore, Bitch, Good for Nothing, Piece of Shit, Worthless Piece of Crap, etc)

When I separated myself from abuse, I had every right to not trust any man. But, throughout the years, I’ve learned that life isn’t about living in fear. My life started when I began to learn to trust myself. Now I trust myself to see the signs and to listen to their warning. I’m not afraid of being around people because I’m not afraid of being hurt. Now, I know I can walk away before the danger starts. Abuse isn’t love; love allows me to make choices and decide what is best for me and who is best for me. The more I heal, the more signs I see now and especially the ones that were there all along.

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.

Patty Hite is a facilitator of Overcoming Sexual Abuse. A survivor of emotional, physical and sexual abuse, Patty has been tenaciously pursuing her healing for over thirty years. She’s a passionate advocate for all survivors and dedicates her life to inspiring emotional wholeness in others. As a former victim of spousal abuse, she’s delighted to have found the meaning of true love, a respectful relationship, and support with her late husband, Lonnie. She’s blessed with four children and six grandchildren.

[read Patty's story here]

Why Was I Afraid of Healing From Sexual Abuse?

Guest Contributions — Thu, 20 Oct 2011 17:02:47 +0000

by Penny Smith

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

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

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

Yes, my first instinct was to go running towards freedom, but then I looked at all the coping mechanisms I’d used to make my life bearable, to survive what I’d had no control over. These were what I perceived myself to be and I was afraid to leave them behind. I felt a sense of control over my life because I had learned to cope.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

UNDERprotected

Bethany Ruck — Sat, 26 Feb 2011 18:56:48 +0000

by Bethany Ruck

I had to cover my eyes during kissing scenes in movies until my teens. I couldn’t ride my bike more than two blocks away. All of my friends had to be approved. My mom would check all of my essays to make sure they were perfect before I even turned in a rough draft. I wasn’t allowed to date until I was eighteen. I was overprotected in every area of my life except when it came to sexual abuse. I was left completely exposed to one of the most dangerous threats a child can face.

My mom told me she knew about my abuse. She discovered blood in my diaper when I was an infant. Knowing that he had molested another girl, she confronted my dad about it and he admitted to sexually abusing me. I was told that instead of going to the police, together they went to one of the people they esteemed the most, the senior pastor at our church. After one counseling session and a quick prayer, my dad was sent on his way like nothing had ever happened. The abuse continued until my teens.

I recently found out that a few other leaders at our church were asked to counsel with my father during that time, but nothing came of it. They were told by the senior pastor not to report it and they complied. When I found that out, I was flooded with emotions. I already knew that our senior pastor, his wife, and my mom knew about the abuse, but discovering that two more people knew, overwhelmed me. How many adults did it take to protect a little girl?

In the last few weeks I’ve experienced a variety of emotions. First, I felt abandoned. I didn’t understand how all of these people who supposedly loved me could do nothing while my abuser was free to keep hurting me. I began making excuses for them: My mom was abused herself and in denial that the abuse had continued. And even if it did, she felt powerless to do anything about it. The two leaders who were asked not to report it didn’t know the steps to take and were fearful of loosing their jobs. I didn’t feel that they deserved me being mad at them. They were good people who did a stupid thing. I wanted to just erase it from my memory and go on with my life. But the more I thought about it, the more I knew I couldn’t suppress those feelings anymore.

How many adults did it take to protect a little girl?

I was watching Desperate Housewives this week. Eva Longoria’s character, Gabby, was visiting her hometown and the nun at her old school was still there. As a child, Gabby had disclosed her sexual abuse by her step-father, but the nun dismissed her by saying Gabby had an active imagination. She confronted the nun, “I did not deserve what happened to me. I was a child. But you were a grown up and you did nothing. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Tears streamed down my face as I watched Gabby’s empowering moment. I finally identified with the emotion of anger towards those who didn’t come to my defense. I was under-protected and had feelings about it that were completely justified.

I wanted to scream in the faces of those who didn’t protect me, telling them, “What is your problem? Don’t you know that I was just a baby? I couldn’t defend myself, but you could have and you chose to do nothing! Isn’t allowing bad to happen the same as perpetrating it? The abuse could have stopped then, but instead I suffered for most of my childhood. Every day of my life was filled with pain. Why did you let me go through that? I didn’t get a childhood because you were cowards! My father stole my innocence and you let him do it!”

Anger was this big, scary emotion to me. I had always seen examples of anger that turned violent and I didn’t want to become that person. I didn’t want to act on the passion that I had, and I didn’t have to. I was angry that they betrayed me and it was okay. I had no plans of rubbing their noses’ in their wrongs. I wasn’t trying to hurt them back. I just wanted to express my feelings about it for the first time. Now, I’m now facing the pain that this brought. I was wronged by more than just my abuser, and have a right to the emotions that correspond with that.

I began this process by reasoning away my emotions before I even acknowledged them or expressed them. That kept me stuck. I had to feel those things and then I could sort it out. To reverse the order is to invalidate my feelings and my experience.

Although I’m not completely out of this stage, being angry at them is not a forever thing. And facing the truth about how I feel gets me one step closer to where I want to be: WHOLE.

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]

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.

A See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil Frame of Mind

Patty Hite — Mon, 03 Jan 2011 14:56:49 +0000

by Patty Hite

Living in a dysfunctional home, I was taught by example how to deny and ignore the things around me. No one spoke about the fights and arguments that went on and I learned to not speak about them too. My mom did everything to protect us kids from the many women my dad had affairs with. But she couldn’t protect us from the fights and arguments that went on in the middle of the night. I heard my mom tell my dad to lower his voice so he wouldn’t wake us up. But that didn’t stop him from abusing her with his harsh words. There were many nights I would wake up crying and holding my little hands over my ears so I wouldn’t hear the fighting.

I understand the heart of my mother. She wanted to protect her children, but it was confusing to me as I became an adult. My dad got drunk, slept with friends and relatives of my mom’s. She would catch him and then he would abuse her. A child knows. I knew my dad was doing wrong because I could hear the excuses he gave her. She thought she was protecting her children by protecting him. She wanted us kids to respect him and honor him. She sacrificed her self-respect in order for him to be respected. She took last place in the home and it showed as we became adults. Although I know my brothers loved my mother, their time was spent with my dad. It was sickening to me because they made him the martyr. They idolized him and would do anything and everything to stand in the same room with him. They tried to out-do each other to get a word of praise from him, and there were times that I wondered if they asked him for permission to use the restroom. They heard no evil. I did.

Shortly before my mother died we talked about her life. I wanted to know if she was happy with the outcome. I wanted to know if she did everything she wanted to do. Her response to me was, “I should have never left your father.” It floored me. She was eighty years old and still loved this man. But more than that, she thought her life would have been more complete if she would have stayed with him. He molested her daughter, had affairs with her relatives and friends. He abused her verbally and degraded her.

She still spoke highly of my father after all these years and continued to live in a fantasy world with him as her king. I started to remind her of all that he did to her, and she reminded me that he was my father and I shouldn’t judge him by how he treated her. I was really confused because I questioned my loyalty to her and my sister. Why shouldn’t I be angry and upset at the way she was treated? Why should I honor a man who molested my sister? Why shouldn’t his actions have a reflection on my decisions concerning him? She couldn’t and wouldn’t hear me any longer. She spoke no evil. I Do!

I married a man who physically abused me and it was very important for me to protect my kids from seeing and hearing it. I knew I was going to be beaten so I would make my way to the bedroom. I did everything to muffle my cries of pain and caught myself many times, telling him that the kids would hear. He didn’t care what they heard or saw, and made a spectacle of my abuse in front of them. Of course it was to gain fear and control over them and me. It was so traumatic that I found out later that my children dissociated most of those times and only remembered a few of them.

I became a pro at covering up my bruises and started each day in the kitchen, acting like nothing happened the night before. I spoke well of my husband to my children and used words like “Respect your Father” and “Mommy made Daddy mad” and “Daddy loves you so much.” I contradicted everything they heard and saw of the abuse. I know now that I painted a false picture to them. I tried to convince them that they didn’t really see what they thought they saw and that the bruises I tried to cover up weren’t really there. I’m sorry that they saw evil.

When abuse reigns in a home it covers every aspect of that home. The walls are never thick enough to muffle out the yelling and crying and there’s not enough makeup to cover up the scars. I know now that there is no excuse for abuse. It doesn’t matter what I was shown as a child, and it doesn’t matter how much I tried to hide it, abuse should never have been allowed in my mother’s life, my life, nor my children’s lives.

I used to ask myself what I could have done differently to cover it up more—to protect my children better than my mother protected me. The only way I could have done better was to stop it from happening at all. I set my children up for abuse and years of emotional torment, the same way I was set up. It’s taken me many years to come to the realization that I am a product of my mom. My abuse, though more physical than hers, was a copycat by the actions I did to cover it up and protect the abuser. I WAS a product of my mom, but NOW I’m a product of my healing. I see abuse for what it is, I hear and recognize the truth now and I use my voice to expose and resist it.

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.

Dating After Sexual Abuse: Is This Love?

Bethany Ruck — Wed, 10 Nov 2010 19:09:31 +0000

by Bethany Ruck

When my last boyfriend and I began dating, we would see each other once a week. The in between times were filled with hour-long telephone calls before bed, a lot of getting to know you time and even more of the sickening, “No, I miss you more” fluff. One night the conversation led to just the right place, where I could tell him about my childhood sexual abuse. I remember prefacing it with a warning that I had something very serious to say; then I told him. He didn’t seem to have much of a reaction, so I assumed that he didn’t feel comfortable asking questions. Okay, change of subject. I guess he didn’t want to talk about it, so I went about the rest of the phone call as normal. The topic of sexual abuse didn’t come up again until much later in the relationship.

A year down the road, when I decided that I wanted to report my father for sexually abusing me, I sat my boyfriend down and told him my intentions. Our relationship had turned significantly more serious by that time, so I wanted his support. Instead of support, I was met with an attack. “If I would have known you were sexually abused I never would have dated you.” he said. I was shocked! I never fathomed that he would react like that, especially since I specifically remember telling him about the sexual abuse a year prior. The relationship soon ended, but not without further hurt.

Looking back I walked into that relationship with blinders on. I so desperately wanted to be loved, that I was willing to deny the warning signs along the way in exchange for some cheap replacement for love. I thought I took the right precautions. I told my boyfriend about my abuse at an appropriate time, but my failure to recognize key warning signs in a relationship led me right back into abuse.

Someone I date has the potential to be a partner for life – one of the core members of my support system. It is imperative to my healing that this be someone who is qualified to date me. I’m not saying he has to have a Ph.D. But there are certain warning sings that should never be overlooked. The following are qualities I now look for in those I date.

Comfortable with Emotion
Crying is healthy. It’s an expression of emotions. Something yucky on the inside is trying to come out, so let it! My boyfriend did not see it this way. Instead of letting me cry he would yell at me, telling me to stop. We were living together at the time, so when I needed a good cry I never had a safe place to do it. I couldn’t express my emotions because he was always there. Finding a partner who is comfortable expressing their own emotion and hearing mine is a prerequisite for a healthy foundation.

Supportive of My Healing
Healing from sexual abuse is not a quick fix. It’s a long road with bumps, low visibility and a whole bunch of people trying to cut you off. Embarking on that journey without a healthy support system is impossible. With my last boyfriend, I wasn’t looking for someone to hold my hand through the healing process. I just wanted someone to say every once in a while, “You can do it! Great job. Keep going!” Instead of being my cheerleader, I got torn down for my efforts. He only saw how my past abuse affected him, instead of how beneficial healing was to both of us.

Isn’t Abusive
I know this sounds so obvious, doesn’t it? But it’s so often overlooked. I thought I knew how to recognize abusive behavior. All I had to look for was someone who didn’t molest children or didn’t give me that creepy feeling, right? WRONG! Perpetrators generally have patterns of abuse that span over several areas. In my case, my boyfriend used his words against me, manipulating and playing on my weaknesses. Every time the relationship turned south he would tell me that a few days prior he had been shopping for engagement rings, in hopes that I would see what a grand gesture of love he was trying to make. In one fight I remember being referred to as “damaged goods” because of the abuse I had no control over.

In the end, I didn’t get what I wanted out of this relationship. Instead of love, I got rejection. I firmly believe that love is an action, not some gushy feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when that special someone comes near. He told me all the things I wanted to hear, but his actions showed me that he was more concerned with himself than with loving me.

I wish I would have seen clearly going into that relationship, but I’m now better equipped to do so in the future.

[read Bethany's story here]

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The Fear of Being Re-victimized

osa — Mon, 13 Sep 2010 17:06:53 +0000

by Christina Enevoldsen & Bethany Ruck

Childhood sexual abuse often leaves the survivor vulnerable to more abuse and afraid of being victimized again. In this ten minute audio discussion, Christina Enevoldsen and Bethany Ruck share how they turn their violations in adulthood into tools for healing.

“I had the belief that if I defended myself, I’ll get in trouble because the abuse taught me that even things like wiggling or squealing or doing anything got me in more trouble. As children, it was very difficult to protect our boundaries, but we’re adults now and we have that ability. So even though we were trained for so long that we don’t have that right, we do.”

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My Fight For Life Is Fueled By Hope

Patty Hite — Sat, 07 Aug 2010 18:15:43 +0000

by Patty Hite

The dictionary states: Hope is a belief in a positive outcome related to events and circumstances in one’s life.

I take this as meaning that I have to believe in a positive outcome. I have to believe in the healing methods in order to overcome the effects of my abuse. I have to believe.

I’ve always had someone or something invade my thoughts about hope. My abuser told me, “I know you are hoping that you can escape from me, but you won’t.” “I know you think you are smarter than me, but you’re not.” “I know you think you can stop me, but you can’t.”

When my daughter had leukemia, the doctors told me, “There is no reason to hope because she will die.” “I don’t want you to waste your energy on having false hope, you need to prepare yourself for her death.” “You think you are in hope, but you are actually in denial.”

My family told me, “Just get through high school. You’ll wind up getting married anyway.” “No, you can’t move back home, you made your bed, now lay in it.”

The loudest voices came from inside me. “I deserved to be abused.” “If I was a better wife, maybe he wouldn’t beat me.” “I have nowhere to go, I might as well just take it.” “If the kids would pick up their socks, I wouldn’t get so angry.” “If I smoke enough pot, I can drown out the pain.”

Now that I know there is a way to change my belief system into a new me, the voices still continued. It was a constant battle within me. Like the good angel and evil devil sitting on each shoulder. One would tell me I can do it. The other would tell me to give up. I battled with this for a long time. I would make great steps in healing, and then I would pull back. Take a few more steps, then pull back.

I remembered a dream I had shortly after my daughter was diagnosed with cancer. A robber broke into my home and grabbed my daughter. I heard a voice say, “If a robber came into your home and grabbed your daughter, what would you do?” In the dream I said, “I would fight with everything in me.” The voice said, “Then fight and choose life.”

It was this dream that kept me fighting for my daughter’s life. I spoke life into her. I wouldn’t allow any negative talk around her. The doctors and nurses were not allowed to talk about her prognosis in her room. Family and friends who visited were only allowed to speak life around her. I spoke daily to her about her future. She would ride a bike, go to college, get married and have babies. To this day, she doesn’t remember being sick, but she does remember believing that she would be okay.

This is what brought hope back to me. This is why I refuse to allow a negative thought in. If I can fight for my daughter’s life, then I need to fight for mine. This is a life and death choice as far as I am concerned. It’s dying to the old and living for the new. It’s saying goodbye to the voices of defeat, blame and shame and saying hello to the voices of value and worth, ability and trust, love and justice, creativity, knowledge, assertiveness and boundaries.

We have to believe in the steps we are taking toward healing. We have to have hope that we can overcome the effects of our abuse. It is more than just believing in hope, it is doing everything it takes to achieve healing. Re-visiting our abuse, reliving the pain, the emotions, the thoughts, and how we reacted to that abuse. It’s learning how to live a life with boundaries and making decisions. It’s accepting healthy relationships and learning how to trust. It’s doing. It’s being a partner with healing.

When the voices of defeat whisper in our ear, we need to be strong enough to tell them to shut up. To not obey them, and to have the courage to overcome them. It’s refusing to allow defeat to hold us back and keep us from hoping for a better life and a much improved us.

We are free now. And as adults, we are able to choose life. We are able to choose a new life.

[read Patty's story here]

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Power Play: How To Recognize An Abuser

Christina Enevoldsen — Sun, 25 Jul 2010 22:04:45 +0000

Christina Enevoldsen

by Christina Enevoldsen

It was the first time in weeks since my husband and I had been on a date. Don held my hand and I rested my head on his chest while we waited in line for the planetarium show at Griffith Observatory.

The young couple a few feet in front of us caught my attention. The woman appeared to be about seven months pregnant and was struggling to reach the price sticker that her companion stuck on her upper back. The man with her seemed to delight in placing the sticker just out of her reach. Abuser. I immediately saw the scene play out in my head and cringed. They were both laughing, though she was noticeably frustrated. When the sticker fell off, he flicked her hair. She tried to smooth it out. He poked her in the stomach. She poked him back but he seized her arm and forced her to hit herself. When he let go, she grabbed his arms, but he easily broke free and gripped her wrists tightly enough to leave red marks. She gave up and he won.

It was easy to recognize the true motive behind the seemingly playful exchange. It was the same ‘game’ my ex-husband played. I’ve lived with abusers for most of my life and though I wouldn’t have called them abusers at the time, I’ve come to easily recognize the quest for power in everything they do.

My former spouse placed a high value on good food. Part of his image of a good wife meant being an excellent cook. I’m a good cook, though I didn’t know it when we were married. He convinced me I wasn’t very good. He pressured me into cooking, but he was constantly dissatisfied with what I made or how I made it. Sometimes, instead of eating what I made, he’d make something else. Other times, he’d take over the cooking as a ‘favor’ to me. He won no matter what. If I cooked, I lost because it wasn’t good enough. If he stepped in, I lost because I wasn’t a good wife.

That gave him power. I felt like a bad wife so whatever he did to me, I deserved it. In my eyes, he was tolerant of my inferior quality so I was lucky to have him.

I was terrorized by the way he handled our finances. I craved financial stability, but when I asked about our bills or bank account, he talked in circles. I felt stupid. He made major financial decisions without consulting me, yet dictated how I earned and spent money. When I refused to work for him, he shut down his lucrative business in retaliation. I was defeated and deflated, but blamed myself.

Being in a relationship with an abuser was extremely frustrating. It was like trying to figure out the rules to the game, but the rules kept changing. I knew our marriage had problems, but I thought I was the problem. No matter how hard I tried, it never helped. I always felt like the loser.

In a healthy relationship, there is equality and mutual respect. Both people work for the benefit of each other. There’s a desire for communication, cooperation, participation, understanding, support and validation. When problems arise, they are solved together. Compromises are made. In a healthy relationship, nobody loses because neither party thinks in terms of winning or losing; it’s not a competition.

But you can’t have a healthy relationship with an abuser. Abusers must dominate. Everyone is either a superior or a subordinate; there are no equals. Abusers have no sense of personal power so they gain power by controlling others. Their personal worth is achieved by one-upmanship. If you try to assert your own power with an abuser, he will escalate until he wins.

The game you play with an abuser is really war. He may make light of things, “I was only joking,” or “You’re being too sensitive” but each move you make to explain yourself or question him is seen as an act of hostile aggression. The abuser thinks in terms of defending his territory. Attempts you make to understand the situation is a challenge to his power. He rarely shares his thoughts, feelings or plans and you don’t get the clarification you ask for because in the abuser’s eyes, that would make him vulnerable.

I know this about abusers now. Although my ex-husband was the most damaging abuser in my adulthood, he wasn’t the only one. I’ve had abusive friends, bosses, coworkers, teachers, and pastors. Abusers come in all packages, male and female, large and small. I’ve found them everywhere I go and they all seek power. But they won’t steal mine anymore.

[read Christina's story here]

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My Personal Alarm System

Patty Hite — Mon, 10 May 2010 02:25:49 +0000

by Patty Hite

Windows and doors, set. Beep Beep, Beep Beep. Motion detectors, set. Beep Beep, Beep Beep. Alarms set. Beep Beep. Beep Beep. My husband had an alarm system put into our home and I have to say, it helps me feel safe. He is ill and getting weaker and his thoughts were for me. He was afraid he wouldn’t be able to protect me physically if someone were to break in and wanted to make sure I could sleep at night. It does give me a sense of security knowing that if someone were to walk through the garage or jiggle the windows and doors an ear ringing alarm would sound and the police would immediately be called.

I started to think how wonderful it would have been to have an alarm in me when I was a child being sexually touched by family and friends and as an adult being raped and beaten by my ex husband. To have an alarm go off and the police called every time I was touched forcibly, sexually, physically and emotionally would have been worth every penny. Instead of being at the hands of my abusers, they would immediately be under arrest with validation by the police. I wouldn’t have to justify their touches to others and I wouldn’t be afraid to testify against them because the alarm and the police would be my witnesses. All the fears of exposure would be gone and, in a way, I think I would be a martyr or maybe even a hero.

As we all know, it isn’t that simple. I couldn’t stop my abuse as a child and didn’t stop it as an adult. The windows and doors to my soul were open and my abusers walked in and took what ever they wanted. Like thieves in the night they took the best of me. As they took what they wanted, they also left physical as well as emotional scars. Trampling on and scattering my self being. Trust was thrown in a corner, self-esteem was thrown aside, love was stomped on and boundaries were tossed out the window. My heart and my soul looked like a crime scene. I could have called the police to come and take fingerprints and give them a description of my abusers, but the damage was already done. An unrecognizable person, battered and bruised, scarred for life.

After many years and a new awareness for my own safety, I started to clean up the mess my abusers left behind. I put my soul, my heart and my physical body back together. But now, I rebuilt them with supernatural strength and an alarm system built to my specifications. Boundaries are being put back together with super glue, self-esteem with unbreakable thread, love is covered with a shield and trust is clamped with rivets of steel. My personal alarm system. The more pieces of my soul that I find and put back together, the more my alarm system covers. It’s a personal guarantee that the windows and doors to my soul are covered with bullet proof glass and laser-beam motion detectors. I can see out and others can see in, but I have a sign on my forehead now that reads, “ Beware! Alarm System Built by Patty – Covered Head to Toe, Inside and Out.”

[read Patty's story here]

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