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.

Related Posts:
Rebuilding My Boundaries After Abuse
Serving Others Was a Disservice to Me
I Never Believed That I’m Beautiful
My Healing Journey: Stumbling and Getting Back Up
Healing From Sexual Abuse: Celebrating My Victories
My Support System is Led By Me
Is Overcoming Sexual Abuse Really Possible?

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.

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.

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.

 Related Posts:
Preparing to Heal from Sexual Abuse
Six Million Dollar Healing: Completely Invested in the Process

[read Bethany's story here]

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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.

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.

Related Posts:
What Is My Anger Telling Me?
Confessions of a Child Molester’s Wife

[read Bethany's story here]

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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]

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I remember quite a few years ago, I was watching Oprah while she was telling her story about her childhood sexual abuse. She had come back from visiting her family and stated how she sat at the same table with her abuser, talking to him over their meal. Her guest asked her why she had done that. Why did she converse with her abuser as though nothing had happened? Oprah was stunned when the guest asked her that and I realized at that moment that I was too.

I waited for her answer but she couldn’t give him one. He told her that she had the right to refuse to sit with her abuser and that the reason she didn’t was because she didn’t value herself. I was stunned. It never dawned on me or obviously to Oprah either, that we had a right to stay away from our abusers. We could put our foot down and make a statement that we refuse to be a part of their lives.

With this epiphany, I couldn’t help but reflect on my life and the many times I continued hugging, having conversations with and sharing a meal with some of my abusers, as well as the abuser who molested my sister. It seemed like a natural thing to do. There was never any doubt that I shouldn’t treat them any differently than I always had. I wasn’t even angry with them. My uncle, who molested me many times, would hold me on his lap while conversing with the other adults, and I sat there laughing at his jokes.

Even after I remembered my sister’s abuse by my dad, and my dad blaming her for it, I continued to have a relationship with him. I wanted him to love me, to hug me. I wanted him to accept me and would even go as far to stand toe to toe with anyone who would dare have a harsh word about him. I continued to respect him as my dad and as a man. I knew what he did, I saw what he did, yet, I continued the same relationship with him.

Many years later, after seeing the effects the abuse had on my sister, I started to question my relationship with my dad. I saw pain and hurt in my sister. She never sought healing and spent her life being promiscuous, fearful, erratic, and as an alcoholic. She started to announce her anger at our mother because our mother had allowed her to be sent away while my dad remained in the home. Even though she had every right to be angry at my mom, I asked her why she wasn’t angry at my dad, since he was the one who abused her. She did everything to get close to my dad. When they were in the same room, you could feel this “thing” between them and there were rumors that they were still having sex. It became very confusing to me.

I didn’t understand the emotional ties that bind a daughter and her father, even after the father becomes the predator. But I did understand the effects that sexual abuse and false beliefs have. I understood my sisters “acting out” behaviors and I understood the fears and the pain that she tried to hide behind the alcohol and sleepless nights. But I didn’t understand her loyalty to him and why she wanted to be near him.

It wasn’t until I saw Oprah that day that I found myself doing the same thing that my sister had done. I wanted my dad’s love and affection. Not only I, but all my siblings. We would tap dance for him if he asked us to. It was then that I started to get angry. I felt like such a fool. I knew my thoughts of disgust for him were becoming real. I wondered how he could live with himself and sleep at night. I wondered if he had sexual thoughts about me like he did my sister. I questioned the times he gave me a hug and wondered if he was fantasizing about raping me. There was no end to the daytime nightmares that infiltrated my thoughts. I could not stop thinking about how my dad had betrayed me by being a molester.

I knew that the only way I could ease my pain was to speak about his molestations. I talked to my siblings about him and all but one wanted me to keep quiet. They honored him and respected him and did everything to remind me of what a wonderful dad we all had. No matter how much I talked about it with them, they would not take up the offense of my sister. All they saw was the after-effects of her sexual abuse. To them she was to blame and she deserved to be abused because she asked for it. I realized now that the more I tried to change their opinion of my dad, the more it caused them to focus on the infidelities of my sister. She died a few years ago and hearing my siblings bad mouth her was more traumatic to me than my justifications of having them fight for her cause. I may have lost the battle, but I didn’t lose the war.

It doesn’t matter who believes me, and it doesn’t matter if others still support the abusers. I can’t change their opinions nor can I make them fight my cause. All I can do is tell them the truth and hopefully they will guard their children and grandchildren from him. What does matter is that I know the truth and I do not have to sit at the same table nor talk to the abuser. I don’t have to tap dance or honor or be loyal any longer. I am free to talk about it and I am allowed to get angry over it. Thank you Oprah for that show so long ago.

Related Posts:
What If My Family Rejects Me? Part 1
What If My Family Rejects Me? Part 2
What If My Family Rejects Me? Part 3
My Parents Are Dead (To Me)

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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 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.
 

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. 

Related Posts: 
Sexual Abuse Invaded My Marriage
Is This Love That I’m Feeling?
Power Play: How to Recognize an Abuser
Prince Charming Was a Murder Suspect
Dangerous Men, Red Flags, Victim Mentality
Emotional Abuse and Identity Hunger  

[read Bethany's story here]  

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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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Christina Enevoldsen

by Christina Enevoldsen

“In every block of marble I see a statue as plain as though it stood before me, shaped and perfect in attitude and action.  I have only to hew away the rough walls that imprison the lovely apparition to reveal it to the other eyes as mine see it.” Michelangelo

It’s completely fascinating to me to consider how Michelangelo created.  The sculptor imagined the finished work before he lifted the chisel to the stone.  He didn’t see the marble block; he saw the image underneath. He recognized what it was, and then simply removed what it was not.

I’m no Michelangelo, but I am creating a masterpiece—or rather, revealing one.  My childhood sexual abuse encased me in a false identity and covered me in a shroud of lies. My false self wasn’t stone, but it imprisoned me just the same. My healing process is the chiseling away at the falsehoods to free my true self.   

The trouble is that I’ve never had the clarity of Michelangelo.  The only Christina I’ve ever known was the one who adapted to the abuse.  The lies entrapped me for so long that I felt I didn’t exist apart from them.  How could I have a vision for someone I’ve never seen?  That was my question when I began my healing. I didn’t know the answer but I was determined to rescue my true image just as the great artist rescued his beauties from the stone. 

The lies were layered. First, the abuse told me lies about myself and then I told other lies about myself to cover up the first lies.  The lies from the abuse told me I was only good for sex, that I was somehow flawed as a person, too dirty and used for someone to love me.  I wasn’t aware that it was the abuse that told me that.  I thought I was abused because those things were already true.  I thought I was inherently worthless so I deserved to be passed around. 

I reacted to those lies by trying to ‘prove’ they weren’t true.  I knew they were—they were true to me—but I was hoping people would be fooled by my facade. One of my false selves was the “hard worker”.  I projected an image of responsibility, maturity, and dependability.  It was my uniform that informed people that they needed to keep me around because I was useful. The more shame I felt and the more I thought my masks were ‘slipping’, the more I asserted them. They became hardened around me.  I didn’t know where they stopped and I began. 

As I recognized that I was misinformed about my value, I shed the lies.  The truth is that I am valuable because I exist.  My value isn’t affected by what happened to me.  I didn’t do those things; they were done to me and it was not a reflection on me.  It wasn’t because I was bad.  It was because my abusers were bad.  I don’t have anything to conceal anymore because I’m wonderfully made. 

I thought I needed to perceive who I was supposed to be before I could make myself into that image.  The truth is that I don’t need to see or ‘make’ myself into anything.  I am who I am.  I was so used to contorting myself into certain roles that I thought I would ‘achieve’ the real me the same way.  All I’ve really needed to do is remove the lies.  Then the truth is revealed. 

The real me is emerging.  I’m learning more about myself every day and the sense of wonder and excitement and expectation fill me.  The real me is coming out without even really thinking about it.  It’s natural and unrehearsed.  It’s effortless.  As I heal and the masks fall off, the genuine Christina is revealed.  She’s been there all along.

It’s ironic that I thought I’d prove my value by covering myself up, yet a work of art can only be appreciated when it can be seen.  The healing process is referred to as recovery, but I’ve been covered up long enough and I don’t want to be re-covered.  Maybe it’s more accurate to call this my uncovery—the grand unveiling of this masterpiece.  BEAUTIFUL!

Related Posts:
Getting Real: Can Our Survival Roles Help Us Find Our True Selves?
My Fear of Being Alone
The Real Problem With Being Fake

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: 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.

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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.

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. 

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.

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.

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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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