Overcoming Sexual Abuse » parenting

I Blamed Myself For My Abuse Since I Didn’t Tell

Christina Enevoldsen — Thu, 24 May 2012 09:10:01 +0000

by Christina Enevoldsen

When my daughter was nineteen and her father and I were in the middle of a divorce, she shared the horrible truth about what her dad had been doing to her for most of her life. As I tried to wrap my head around the fact that I had been completely blind all those years, a few words slipped from my mouth, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I know now how painful those words can be. They communicate that all would have been well if only she would have come to me. That question might have also meant, “If that’s really true, then why are you only telling me now?” But I never doubted the truth and I didn’t blame her. My reaction came from feeling like a fool for being deceived by my husband all those years.

Bethany didn’t want to feel responsible for the breakup of her family, so she held onto the secret until I left her father for other reasons. It was apparent to me that my daughter’s silence stemmed from an effort to survive the best she could, but I didn’t see things that clearly when it came to my own abuse.

For a long time after I started talking about my abuse, I felt guilty for not speaking up sooner. It didn’t seem as though it could have been so hard to tell someone that my dad was hurting me. I thought I must have either been a very stupid or weak child or that I must not have wanted the abuse to stop.

I didn’t believe I really had a right to complain about my abuse since I hadn’t complained about it while it was going on. If I hated it so much, why didn’t I say something then?

As an adult, I wanted to scream at my child-self, “JUST TELL!!!” I was blaming the little girl I had been for all my pain. I thought if she would have just pushed a little harder, she could have saved us both.

There was one time I remember specifically that I had a chance to disclose my abuse. I was ten years old and a psychologist from the school district pulled me out of class after observing students for a few days. I knew she had singled me out because there was something wrong with me. I already felt like I had some kind of sign on me that told everyone that I was bad and disgusting.

The woman asked me why I seemed sad and I struggled for an answer. I didn’t relate my sadness to what my dad was doing to me. I didn’t even consider that those things weren’t normal. I tried to come up with the “right” answer, so I told her I didn’t have any friends. That wasn’t really true, but I did feel very alone.

The woman seemed disappointed and annoyed with me. I didn’t know what she wanted or expected, but I wasn’t doing something right. She worked with me and taught me social skills for a few months and then I was on my own again.

I felt like the whole world was against me, so reaching out for help didn’t seem like a possibility. I felt like I deserved bad things. I didn’t have hope for my life being any less painful so I focused on not making it any more painful.

Even though I judged myself for not figuring out how I could be saved, I can see now that I was very smart in some ways. During those years of incest and other abuses, I adapted by developing my intuition. I learned to read people very well so I could prepare myself for what was coming. I could anticipate what they would do and sometimes avoid more harm. Without knowing how I knew, I knew certain people weren’t safe.

Looking back, nothing about that psychologist told me that I could trust her. She seemed to view me as a project rather than a person. I had the feeling she was more interested in her own success than in truly helping me. I couldn’t trust this stranger, but why couldn’t I trust my mom? Why didn’t I tell her?

When I was in my early forties, I stood before a group of people and named my father as my abuser. It felt good to let go of the secret, but when I went to bed that night, I felt horrible guilt for “betraying” my dad. I heard a little girl’s voice tell me that I was going to get in trouble. I knew that was a voice from the past and assured myself that I hadn’t done anything wrong, but deep down, I believed I deserved to be punished for telling.

I didn’t know what the “punishment” might be until I got a letter from my mom. For years, she’d accepted that I’d been sexually abused, but when I uncovered my father as my primary abuser, she accused me of lying:

Christina-
I am writing to inform you that your malicious slander of your father has not gone unnoticed. You have built an entire world out of your fantasy. In dreaming up your sexual abuse you have maligned your father’s character and deeply hurt his heart and mine. Your lies shall surely catch up with you.

I want you to know that if you have any plans of writing a book, we will sue you and anyone who has anything to do with it. Your defamation of your father’s character will stop. You will not enjoy one penny from any book published about this gross lie.

And I should let you know that we filed some of your inflammatory statements about your father and me, along with your threat against me, with the Mesa Police Dept.

And I will always be your mother whether you recognize me or not as such.
Your mother-
Mary Schamer

The violence of her words devastated me. The denial of my sexual abuse felt like a denial of my life and existence. She insisted that I remember that she’s my mother. Those words stung. I realized that I didn’t have a mother—not just now that I’d told my secret, but that I’d never had a mom who loved and supported me.

I felt invisible to her my whole life. I’d constantly tried to be good enough, to work hard enough, to live according to her rules. I was too busy trying to earn my mother’s love to notice that there was no love to earn. She hadn’t suddenly changed into a mean person. She hadn’t recently turned her back on me. She was treating me the way she always had.

That showed me another perspective. The closest thing to love I had as a little girl was from my dad. Even if I had to trade my body for a little attention and affection, my dad was the only source of anything that resembled love. Even though I didn’t like what he was doing to me, I felt more security from him than I did from my mom. Telling wasn’t an option when I was being abused since the punishment for breaking my silence was that I would be completely abandoned by both of my parents.

Examining the past has shown me the truth about myself and about my abuse. I know in my head and in my heart that I’m not to blame for what happened to me or for the abuse continuing. I’m content knowing that I listened to my intuition and even if I couldn’t stop the abuse, I was successful in surviving it.

Blaming myself was another method to survive. It was an attempt to take control of a situation where I had no control. Instead of admitting that I was a helpless child, I envisioned myself having power. I tried to change the past through self-blame, but as long as I did that, I remained a victim to the past. When I finally acknowledged that I didn’t have power or choices when I was a child, I was released from guilt and blame so I could be empowered now. I can’t change the past, but I’m very capable of healing from it.

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]

Do Kids Miss Out While Parents Heal?

Guest Contributions — Sun, 24 Jul 2011 09:03:07 +0000

by Jennifer Stuck

My childhood sexual abuse used to be something I rarely thought about. In fact, most of my time was spent finding ways to stuff my memories and feelings, doing anything I could to distract myself. I compulsively exercised, cleaned morning till night – anything to not think. Even though my past was something I rarely thought about, it affected my day to day life more than I knew. This became evident to me when I had children. More specifically, when my girls reached the age I was when my abuse started.

I tried to ignore all the new feelings that came up, but with little success. I eventually decided to seek help when I found out that someone close to my family might be a sexual predator. I didn’t want my children to ever be hurt the way I was, and knew I needed to learn more about abuse so I could better protect them. That is what led me to OSA.

I started asking questions, talked to other sexual abuse survivors, and I read everything I could get my hands on. This helped me feel capable to handle the problem with the possible abuser. I have kept my kids away from that person and drawn strict boundaries as to who can be around my children. The thing that I didn’t expect is, what started as a journey to be a better parent began to make me feel like a worse one.

The more I read about abuse, the more of my own feelings came up. It was hard to focus on being a mom when I felt so overwhelmed. I didn’t want to be touched or climbed on when I was going through so much. My self-doubt started telling me that I was being a bad mother to focus so much on myself and my healing. I thought things like “My kids are only young once and I’m missing out on this time with them by being sad all the time”.

However what I’ve come to realize is by taking the time I need to heal, I am being the best possible mom I can be. I am learning how to keep them safe, as well as bettering myself as a whole. Now that I’m a little further along in my healing, I’m noticing benefits to my healing work that I never foresaw. One of the biggest changes is how openly I can talk to my kids about abuse, or about anything for that matter. In the past I was just as scared to talk to them about abuse as my family had been to talk to me. But now I have a monthly practice sessions with my children about what to do if anyone approaches them or touches them inappropriately.

Even more importantly than teaching them ways to protect themselves, I have let them know that if something terrible ever does happen to them, they can tell me and I will support them. I know that my kids feel supported in a way that I never did with my family. Not only is that healthy for them emotionally, it helps protect them from abuse. They know what healthy love looks like and are less likely to be fooled by the fake “love” abusers offer as part of the grooming process.

On top of the safety of my children, there have also been several other benefits to my healing. I’m more confident and my kids are also becoming more confident. I’m happier and therefore they are happier too. Beginning to heal from sexual abuse was the best thing I could have ever done as a mother. If I could do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing.

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

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.

Grieving & Celebrating Father’s Day

osa — Sat, 18 Jun 2011 02:14:56 +0000

by Bethany Ruck, Christina Enevoldsen, Linda Pittman and Jennifer Stuck

Bethany: Father’s Day feels so empty to me–like one of those holidays like Flag Day or Secretary’s Day. Why should I pay attention to those? I don’t have a flag, a secretary or a father. My dad is in prison for sexually abusing me for most of my childhood.

Father’s Day for me has always been about going through the motions. I followed along even though I knew it wasn’t fair. I can’t remember the last time I celebrated a Father’s Day with my dad. After I moved to California, I made the obligatory phone call to him for the minimum fifteen minutes. But it was work to me. None of it came from my heart.

Why should I honor a man who doesn’t deserve honor? He contributed a seed, but after that everything he for me was destructive.

I remember writing Father’s Day cards that really gushed about what a great dad I had, but it was always what I thought I “should” have felt about him. I felt guilty for not being more sincere. I thought something was wrong with me for not feeling closer or more loving. I tried to work myself up to appreciation and admiration but writing those cards always felt hollow, as though I was trying to put something there that never was.

Christina: I remember writing Father’s Day cards that really gushed about what a great dad I had, but it was always what I thought I “should” have felt about him. I felt guilty for not being more sincere. I thought something was wrong with me for not feeling closer or more loving. I tried to work myself up to appreciation and admiration but writing those cards always felt hollow, as though I was trying to put something there that never was.

Linda: My father has been dead since 1992. It has been thirty-three years since I last saw him. The last time I saw him he didn’t act as if he had missed me in my fifteen year absence. In fact, it was like I never existed. I never had a problem with Father’s Day because I don’t and haven’t ever missed my father. I may have missed the idea of a father who is loving and caring but I can’t wrap my head around that concept, much. My father sexually abused me from the ages of three to twelve years and maybe even earlier because my memories are pretty fractured.

When people talk about their fathers wistfully, I remember the fear, the hiding and avoiding the dread and pain and shame and revulsion. When others say they miss their dads, I can’t relate to that idea, in fact I never missed mine when I left my home at twelve….just wondered if he ever even thought about me.

Jennifer: Linda, I used to always find ways to judge and criticize people who were close with their fathers. As if it was easier for me to convince myself that having a good father in my life wasn’t even something I wanted. The truth is I have no idea what it would be like to have a healthy father figure and the image of a father brings to mind a crazy drug fiend, so of course I wouldn’t want one of those around. If my father had been different, or if I could even imagine what it would be like to have a healthy father I might feel differently. Although, I have had a few good men in my life and am very appreciative of them.

Linda: I saw some really sweet things written about dads the other day and it really affected me. I have been okay for years with not having a dad who loved me and I accepted that mine was an abuser. I got to thinking how nice it would be to feel what this describes …just once:

“Being loved by a daddy is like having the sun kiss your nose while you’re eating sweet strawberries, running through sprinklers. You don’t need it, but it can change your world.” Bonnie Gray

Bethany: When my mom married Don six years ago, I got a new dad – or a step-dad rather. Don and I worked together in the same church office and when news spread that he was marrying my mom, a coworker thought it would be funny to put together a list of “dad” related names I could call Don. It was meant as a joke, but the idea of calling Don my dad was uncomfortable to me. “Dad” was a dirty word in my book.

Don isn’t like the original dad. He is kind, respectful and truly cares about me. I feel safe with him. There isn’t the same threat of betrayal that had with my first father.

When I broke off my relationship with my dad, Don was there for me, fully supportive of my emotional health. Even though he took on the role of a traditional father, I didn’t like calling him dad. I didn’t want to call him something gross or disrespectful or invite him into the role of abuser, so I skirted my way around the term.

Christina: I can relate to that. I don’t want another father figure in my life. That feels threatening. It really hurts that my dad’s lifestyle so colored my view of that role that I don’t even think of it as a good thing to have. Yes, I honor men who are good fathers and I believe that they exist, but as far as it relates to me, it’s a concept like a fairytale or some scientific formula that I can’t comprehend. Either way, it doesn’t make sense.

Even before getting my memories back, I thought the people who idolized their dads were so foreign—like from another planet.

Linda: Yeah Christina, I had trouble identifying with the ones who idolized their dads too. My neighbor (playmate) lost her dad when she was really young to a brain aneurism and I could not understand why she was so upset that she couldn’t even talk about it. I couldn’t fathom what a good relationship with a dad was.

Jennifer: Christina, that’s exactly how I felt. I either couldn’t relate to them, or wondered what they were hiding.

Christina: I wondered what they were hiding too or when they were going to remember what REALLY happened. While they were in disbelief over the things my father did to me, I was in disbelief that their father was so great.

Bethany: I grew up with friends who had great relationships with their fathers. They still talk about their fathers like they are their heroes and dream of marrying a man just like him. They run up to their fathers and give him great big bear hugs that seemed to last forever. And I think to myself, “Woah! Where are your boundaries?” The physical affection and admiration bothers me.

I don’t have too much of a problem hugging men, but I do have a problem hugging someone who is in a father role. For me I saw the physical affection between fathers and daughters as an all or nothing thing. Either he didn’t touch you at all or he hugged, molested, and raped. It was hard to comprehend a father who would just hug his daughter because he loved her.

Christina: I feel that same discomfort when I see father/daughter affection. It’s not only that I suspect there’s more to it, but just seeing genuine love from a father feels uncomfortable. It doesn’t matter if it’s with their son or daughter.

I know great men who are excellent fathers. My husband is one of them. So I know they exist and I applaud them. I can’t think of anything in life more important than being a good parent to the children you have.

I’ve been cleaning some things out lately and found a silver chafing dish that my parents passed on to me at least ten years ago. It was a gift commemorating a party to honor my dad. The lid is engraved with his name, the date and “In Appreciation.” I was too young to attend and I don’t know the occasion, but I’ve always imagined a large party at a country club where lots of “important” people gathered to pat my father on the back.

The thought of people gathering to celebrate my dad used to bother me. I resented him being treated as though he was a good person. I hated that the person who used to sneak into my room at night was so well-loved and admired. I wished that I could scream the truth about him or show a home-movie about the secret things he used to do to me.

I don’t feel anything right now. I’ve already accepted that he will be honored and supported by some and they will never believe that he sexually abused me during my childhood or if they believe it, they excuse it as something that happened too long ago to consider it important. They can feel and think about him the way they choose and I will do the same. I don’t have to honor him anymore and I haven’t spoken with him in years.

I’m content working through my process. I don’t know what other feelings may come up toward him or because of him, but I’m done with him.

I still am someone’s daughter, I exist, and no amount of denial will make me disappear. I am here until the last breath and here enjoying life in spite of the missing parts. I am enjoying watching the good fathers in my family and grateful that their children never have to experience what I went through. They get to enjoy hugs and play with their dads and experience their dad’s protection. It is okay to watch from the sidelines and I am content to do so now.

Linda: My dad gave me life and then he systematically took it away until I was left with no identity. I struggled through the years like a plane on autopilot with no one at the controls until the fuel ran out. I had to rebuild myself from my childhood onward through my 20’s and 30’s. The childhood I had to face was gruesome and cruel. The shattered remains of a little child were scattered everywhere showing up throughout my life and relationships.

I am still that little girl inside, the one who believed in fairytales and princes and make believe. The little girl that wanted to be a ballerina, and loved music. Sometimes that was all I had to hang on to because my reality was too horrific to look at.

I’ve had to look at that reality many times over the course of many years on my healing journey. If I told you I don’t feel cheated, I would be lying. But I’ve accepted the reality of what my childhood was like and my dysfunctional parents and family.
I have survived and grown without what many people will celebrate this Father’s Day.

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.

Having experienced healing from sexual, physical and verbal abuse, Linda Pittman has found joy in encouraging others in their healing journey and tells people that it’s never too late to start. She’s been married to her husband for twenty-one years and has four adult children.

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.

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.

Confessions of a Child Molester’s Wife

Christina Enevoldsen — Sat, 12 Mar 2011 16:33:48 +0000

Christina Enevoldsen

by Christina Enevoldsen

When my daughter was eight years old, she spent the night at a friend’s house. She and her friend spent hours swimming in their community pool and Bethany came home with her face, arms and legs red and burning. I was irate that the girl’s mother allowed Bethany to be exposed to the sun for so long, especially without sunscreen. Arizona, where we lived at the time, had the second highest rate of skin cancer in the world. Bethany blistered and peeled for a week. That mother failed to provide her with basic protection and I was so angry that she was so careless with my daughter.

When I look back on that incident, I still feel awful for how much Bethany suffered that week. I eventually discovered far worse things touching my daughter than the sun’s rays and this time, I was the one who left her exposed.

When I was fifteen, my boyfriend told me we needed to talk. Sixteen year old boys don’t usually have conversation on their minds, so I took it seriously. We had been dating about six months or so and I couldn’t imagine what he would consider so important. My parents let me close my bedroom door so we could have some privacy.

We sat on my bed as he revealed that he had molested his female relative sometime before we met. When the abuse occurred, the girl told her mom so most of his family knew about it. My boyfriend thought it was behind him, but the girl was talking about it again and he was worried. The girl’s parents suspected he was molesting her again, but my boyfriend claimed she was just having nightmares. It caused a lot of division; some relatives tried to protect her, while others tried to protect him.

When I sensed that my boyfriend felt threatened and I heard that some of his own family members turned against him, I felt so sorry for him. I considered his confession an indication of his trust in me and thought of it as a test of my love. I wasn’t going to fail this test. If he needed my support, he would have it. He was charming, thoughtful, considerate, and generous and I wasn’t going to lose him over something that was in his past. In my mind, the gravity of the offense was irrelevant since it wasn’t happening again, either now or in the future. No one who really knew him would doubt that.

That incident strengthened my bond with my boyfriend. That kind of intimacy was what I craved and I was eager to escape my lonely-making family. When he seemed interested in marrying me, I was relieved. I finally belonged. We married soon after I turned seventeen when I got pregnant with my son. Our daughter was born the year after our son arrived.

When my daughter, Bethany, was about one year old, I discovered blood in her diaper. I didn’t want to think about why my baby would be bleeding, but I guessed the source. My husband tearfully admitted that he had molested her but promised it would never happen again. He seemed very remorseful and I thought that since I caught him, he wouldn’t feel safe repeating the abuse. He seemed afraid of losing his family so I thought that fear would stop him.

A few months or maybe a year passed and I had a sick feeling that I knew what was happening. I came home to find out that Bethany’s dad had molested her again and that he bought her a little yellow outfit because he felt bad.

This time, I was angry. He thought he could make up for what he did by buying her something. I knew he wasn’t going to be able to stop without help, so we met with our pastor. I’d only ever known one person who talked about sexual abuse before this, but our pastor seemed to know something about it. He talked as though this was something that could be handled very easily. He said a prayer and told me to just focus on our marriage.

I accepted the pastor’s confident assurances that no further harm would come to Bethany. My assignment was to focus on my marriage and learn to trust my husband so I could save my daughter from his advances. Any suspicion on my part would only divide us and put Bethany in harm’s way. It was all up to me.

I tried to do everything I thought would help my relationship with my husband. I never said no to sex and I listened to everything he said.

After twenty-one years of marriage, I was emotionally exhausted. In spite of my best efforts, he still wasn’t happy with me and I was done doing everything his way.

Shortly after the divorce, when Bethany was nineteen, she told me she wanted to talk. I already knew by her tone that she was going to tell me her dad molested her. All those years, I didn’t know if she would remember those things since she was so young. If she did remember, I wondered if she would be mad at me for staying with her father after the first time I discovered the abuse. I felt so guilty that I hadn’t stopped it from happening the second time.

As long as I put my issues aside so I could “put my daughter first”, I still acted out of my brokenness. Leaving Bethany in danger was the result of my unresolved pain from childhood sexual abuse and neglect. As long as I was still thinking and feeling like an abused little girl, I didn’t have any power to help my child.

I never expected to hear what Bethany told me. Her dad sexually abused her until she was eleven or twelve years old and then again when she was sixteen. She kept silent for fear of splitting up the family.

It hadn’t stopped. She wasn’t safe. I didn’t protect her. I was shocked.

I called my ex-husband. When I told him what Bethany told me, his defiant response was “Yeah, so?” My daughter confronted him after I did and he showed the same lack of remorse. He only offered the excuse that he was abused by his parents.

We discussed the possibility of reporting him to the police. Bethany was still adjusting to the divorce, so she decided to wait until she was certain she was making the right decision.

Over four years passed and Bethany called me around midnight. Something was weighing on her and she needed to talk. She was ready to report her dad. Since it was going to be a matter of public record, she wanted to tell me exactly what he did to her so I’d be emotionally prepared to hear her testimony.

The things Bethany revealed made me sick. When she disclosed her abuse to me after the divorce, my impression was that her dad had done his best to resist, but occasionally gave into temptation. In reality, he abused her daily. On many occasions, he planned in advance to be alone with her. I also imagined that all he did was fondle her. Yes, that’s bad enough, but how did I think a little fondling would leave blood in her diaper? I had minimized the abuse in my mind in an effort to protect myself from the truth—and the guilt that came with it.

First, I was nauseated by what her father did to her, then by what I had done—or rather, neglected to do. Denial, mixed with naiveté about abuse issues, kept me from delving deeper into the molestation of his female relative before I even married the man. I was in denial when he told me it had stopped. Both times. But even after Bethany told me about the years of abuse when she was nineteen, denial kept me from anything but surface acceptance.

I was disgusted with myself. Being a great mom was so important to me, but I was a failure. I made Bethany vulnerable by marrying a man I knew abused another little girl and then I had allowed him to stay after he abused Bethany. Yes, I had been fooled by my husband, but I had also fooled myself.

Bethany was facing one of the most difficult times in her life, so no matter how I felt about myself, I couldn’t focus on that. I had failed her in her childhood and I was desperate to do better.

Yet my feelings about myself were in the way of doing what was best for Bethany. To be available to her, I had to stop punishing myself through my sabotaging thoughts. “Who was I to help her when I wasn’t there for her as a child?” My guilt would never let me be a healthy support.

I couldn’t let anything I did in an effort to “help” be a way to “make up” for what I’d done. No matter what good things I did for Bethany now or in the future, I could never change the past. Forgiving myself was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but removing my offense toward me freed me to support Bethany instead of digging myself out of my guilt-hole.

I faced the hard feelings I had about myself, but I still hadn’t faced what led to the choices I made in the first place. As long as I put my issues aside so I could “put my daughter first”, I still acted out of my brokenness. Leaving Bethany in danger was the result of my unresolved pain from childhood sexual abuse and neglect. As long as I was still thinking and feeling like an abused little girl, I didn’t have any power to help my child.

My first abuse memory is when I was about one and a half years old. My uncle got me alone and starting touching me in a sexual way. Terrified and confused, I squirmed and kicked. He mercilessly grabbed my legs, held me down and threatened me. My pain didn’t matter; he would have his way and I was terrified.

I had many abusers after that—the primary one was my father—but the lesson I learned from my first abuse was that I had to comply OR ELSE! Resistance was dangerous and useless. After that, whenever I felt threatened, I froze. As I got older, I still carried the belief that I was at everyone’s mercy. I still felt like a powerless child.

When I discovered that Bethany had been abused, I vegetated on the couch for two days. Finding blood in her diaper was finding blood in my diaper. I was transported to my own abuse with the same feelings and response: I froze as though my only choice was to lie still and stay quiet.

I didn’t feel capable of making my own decisions or of taking care of myself. I looked like an adult, but I was a fraud. Part of my attraction to my husband was that he was a take-charge kind of guy. I didn’t have to make any decisions with him.

When we turned to our pastor and he took command, I was comforted not to have to decide the best course. My assignment to work on our marriage gave me a sense of control. It was the same illusion of control that I clung to in childhood. In my mind, the abuse was my fault. Dad wasn’t bad; I was. If I tried really hard to be good, I could stop him from hurting me. That belief kept me from being swallowed by hopelessness, rage and terror.

I disconnected from my body and emotions during my abuse. My numbness prevented me from grasping the physical or emotional injury that was thrust upon me. Feelings weren’t allowed in our home and there was no safe person to confide in. I grew into adulthood as the walking dead.

Even motherhood didn’t awaken my feelings. I was cut off from Bethany’s pain, too. When she hurt herself, I ordered myself to scoop her up and soothe her. Comforting care didn’t come naturally. When I discovered her abuse, I was disconnected from it. I didn’t feel its gravity and I interpreted that to mean that it wasn’t very serious.

Believing those lies helped me survive my childhood, but they endangered my child. The truth freed me:
1. I was powerless when I was a child. Compliance was a smart response then, but I’m not a child anymore. I’m empowered to use my voice and actions to protect my life and anyone else who may be in danger.
2. I never had any control as a child and there wasn’t anything I could do to prevent my dad from hurting me. I didn’t do anything to bring it on myself and the abuse wasn’t my fault. Placating and appeasing abusers doesn’t stop them. I’m empowered as an adult to really affect change through direct actions instead of passive ones.
3. Shutting down my feelings during the trauma was the only way to help myself. There wasn’t any protection or refuge then, but there is now. It’s safe to feel. I listen to my feelings, express them and respond to them. Now, I feel compassion for myself and can empathize with others.

I continue to work on issues as they surface and I’m in a much better position to be a healthy, supportive mom now. Facing my own pain and healing from it has shown me what I can do for Bethany. I’m modeling healthy behavior to her and treating her with the respect and love that she always deserved.

My healing work resolved things within my heart, but it didn’t resolve anything in Bethany’s heart and it didn’t entitle me to a new relationship with her. She still needed to address her own pain, recognize my part in it and choose how that would affect our relationship.

Bethany’s working diligently on her healing and doing very well. My decisions from the past could have permanently damaged our relationship, but as we work through our issues, we’ve become much closer than most mothers and daughters I know. Today, we work together to defeat our common enemy of abuse and its effects.

[read Christina's story here]

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How Do I Disclose My Abuse?

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

by Christina Enevoldsen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Related Posts:

Why Do I Need To Tell?

[read Christina's story here]

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Getting To The Truth: The Role Of Truth In Our Recovery

osa — Tue, 17 Aug 2010 17:40:27 +0000

by Christina Enevoldsen & Darlene Ouimet

Abuse misinforms us about our identity and our value. Recovery is the restoration of our true selves. Find out how we uncover the truth in this ten minute audio discussion by Christina Enevoldsen and Darlene Ouimet.

“I became my own advocate and I believe that’s the only way we get to the real truth. I had to look at that situation and I had just accepted that she hated me because I was not an attractive child or I was some kind of a child that made this adult hate me. But was I REALLY doing something as a child that was so irritating to this teacher that she should threaten to cut my hair off or give me zeros on my test? She was humiliating me in front of the whole class. Was that really right? NO, the truth is that it wasn’t right and I wasn’t the one who was wrong. That was a big deal in the way I saw myself—whether I was important or not, whether I was loveable or not, whether I was worthy of love and protection or not. I grew thinking I wasn’t worthy of love or protection, that the defect was in me and I had to turn that around. And our abusers are not going to do that for us. We have to do that for ourselves if we are going to recover.”

Getting To The Truth: The Role of Truth in Recovery

Darlene Ouimet is an inspirational speaker, certified professional life coach and mental health advocate. While speaking in mental health seminars about her complete recovery from dissociated identity disorder, chronic depression, and a lifetime of low self-esteem, Darlene realized that her journey to wholeness had a unique kind of impact and she embraced a new life purpose—to deliver this message of hope, healing and full recovery to a hurting world. Darlene authors a high traffic blog called “Emerging from Broken—from surviving to thriving on the journey to wholeness.”

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Finding My Lost Childhood After Sexual Abuse

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

Christina Enevoldsen

by Christina Enevoldsen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[read Christina's story here]

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The Dangers of Gratitude and a Positive Attitude

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

Christina Enevoldsen

by Christina Enevoldsen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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[read Christina's story here]

Power Trip: How to Journey From Overpowered to Empowered

Christina Enevoldsen — Tue, 27 Jul 2010 22:02:12 +0000

Christina Enevoldsen

by Christina Enevoldsen

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

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

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

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

Click Your Heels Together Three Times

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pay No Attention to the Man Behind the Curtain

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

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

[read Christina's story here]

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The Wolf in Shepherd’s Clothing: The “Benevolent” Abuser

Christina Enevoldsen — Mon, 26 Jul 2010 22:03:35 +0000

Christina Enevoldsen

by Christina Enevoldsen

In the dark children’s tale “Hansel and Gretal”, a young brother and sister are abandoned in the woods by their father at the insistence of their step-mother. She convinces her husband that the whole family will perish unless they reduce the number of bellies to feed. Lost and starving, the children find their way through the forest to an isolated cottage made of candy and gingerbread. While the pair greedily feast on the house, an old woman opens the door and promises them warm meals and soft beds if they’ll come inside.

The children are happy to be welcomed, but are unaware that the old woman is really a witch who lures children inside to eat them. Hansel is locked in a cage, while Gretal is made a slave. In the end, the children become aware of the hag’s scheme and push her in the flaming oven intended for them.

Many survivors of neglect and abuse live a version of this story. We’re starving for love, acceptance, a sense of belonging, and relief from our pain. We encounter a seemingly kind-hearted soul who claims to want to help and support us. Desperate to lean on and trust someone, yet without the discernment to see the truth, we often end up in another dangerous situation. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Or oven.

My version of this started in church. As a victim of childhood sexual abuse by my father and neglect by my mother, I never felt like a part of my family of origin. I escaped my parents by jumping into marriage when I was seventeen. My husband was an abuser, too. Going to church was a way for me to fit in somewhere. I landed in the large women’s ministry and started volunteering right away. Almost immediately, an older woman, the group’s leader, took me under her wing to mentor me. I was flattered by her attention and belief in my potential. I loved to spend time with her, soaking up everything she taught me. It wasn’t long before she made me her assistant and brought me into her ‘inner circle’. It was a privilege that I was ecstatic about. I thought, “Finally, I’m worthy of love.”

The position required long hours and I spent more and more time away from my young children. This woman monitored my personal life. She had a subtle but unmistakable way of telling me when she didn’t approve. She pointed out other people’s flaws as a way to ‘teach’ me what to avoid. I knew from the way she spoke of them that I did not want to earn her disapproval. She called those people, “wolves” or “not faith”. If ever I raised an objection, she had a simple way to rebuff me. She’d “pray about it” and return with God’s approval on her own plan. That left me feeling unheard, but I couldn’t argue with what God supposedly said.

I never saw how much of myself I gave away and how much that woman used me to make herself look good. She manipulated me to get what she wanted and justified whatever she did by citing ‘the greater good’.

She exploited my hunger for a mother’s love and dangled her approval like a carrot. I gave up so much for nothing. In the end, when she didn’t need me anymore and I stood up for what I believed in instead of parroting her beliefs, she dropped me like a hot potato. That woman was my mother.

Abusers like that seem to be on the prowl for lost survivors. They come in various forms such as parents, therapists, support group leaders, teachers, mentors, or pastors. The seemingly benevolent helper plays on our insecurities and fears and enslaves us to the very thing we are struggling to be free of. “Benevolent” abusers have common methods for gaining power over vulnerable survivors:

Eat my Gingerbread House

Showers victims with attention, validation, affection, and acceptance
Is charming and overly sweet
Pretends to be all-giving and self sacrificial

Come into my Cottage

Offers protection from real or perceived danger ‘out there.’
Has an “Us vs. Them” mentality; ‘We’ are good and ‘They’ are bad
Loves to create a crisis to be able to come in as the savoir or authority.
Has an “I know what’s best for you” attitude, “I’m the expert”
Undermines the victim’s confidence and ability to protect or care for themselves
Creates an atmosphere of status–to belong is to be part of the elite
Nurtures dependence by finding fault with anyone who would raise questions

Locked into my Cage

Knows what’s best and because he/she cares, victims are obligated to listen
Coaxes victims into relinquishing their power for the “greater good”
Is all-consuming and victims lose their individuality
Expects excessive service to keep victims too busy, exhausted and invested to question anything
Discounts the victim’s needs and desires; it’s no longer what the abuser can do for you, it’s what you can do for your abuser
Withholds approval and sets the bar just out of reach
Creates a hierarchy so victims keep working for a higher level
Expects cheerful obedience
Condemns desire for praise, appreciation or reciprocation since “it’s an honor to serve”
Expects blind submission; victims are not permitted to think, feel, or choose for themselves
Increases his/her expectations and constantly changes them to keep the victim off-balance
Doesn’t provide a structure for airing of conflict, disagreement or questioning
Uses top down communication and doesn’t hear the perceptions and needs of others
Focuses on ‘don’ts’
Uses labels to discount anyone who opposes him/her so they are dehumanized and easier to dismiss
Doesn’t permit personal growth; victims must play assigned role

Throw Away the Key

Expects a lifetime commitment and those who leave the control of the abuser are criticized and ostracized

All my life, I jumped from one abusive relationship to the next, each time believing that I’d finally found someone good, someone I could trust. I was running too fast from previous trauma to look carefully where I was leaping. Every abusive situation left me less confident of my own ability to care for myself. My need to take responsibility for my own life increased, but my desire to do so decreased. It seemed easier to turn my life over to an ‘expert’ rather than face almost certain failure by working out my own way.

I never liked the story of Hansel and Gretal, yet its moral has value that I didn’t understand for a long time. When the children realized they couldn’t depend on anyone else, they had to learn to depend on themselves. And they succeeded. They became their own unlikely hero. So have I.

[read Christina's story here]

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