Patty: Thirty years ago, when I started to heal from sexual, physical, and verbal abuse, there were no support groups for survivors. No one talked openly about abuse, especially not about sexual abuse. I tried to talk to my friends. Although they felt compassion for me, they thought the best solution was to forget about it and try to move on with my life.

I lived in a very small farming town of 750 people so seeing a therapist or doctor who understood the effects of abuse was not an option. The internet wasn’t available at that time, so my only “friends” were the ones who shared their stories in the library books I read. I remember how deeply their stories of abuse and their courage impacted my life. Reading about their abuse confirmed that I was not alone. As they shared their steps toward healing and talked about the masks they wore in order to survive, I cried and laughed, all at the same time. They felt the same way I did and they weren’t afraid to talk about it. I felt like someone finally understood.

I never felt that I needed therapy because all the answers were in these books. I learned very early in healing that I needed to do what was right for me. I can’t tell you how many books I’ve thrown across the room because they were too overwhelming and how many times I’ve had to take a break from everything. I couldn’t see myself on a schedule, especially not forced or coerced into healing on someone else’s schedule. I was used to doing what others told me to do so I needed to be in control of my own healing.

I’m not saying I think there’s anything wrong with therapy. I’m saying it was wrong for me. And that is important in healing—finding what is right and what is not, what works and what doesn’t. Doing it my way and on my schedule is what I’ve needed.

Christina: When I started to heal from sexual abuse, I never considered seeing a therapist. I was still married to my abusive husband and there was no way he would have agreed to pay for anything that wouldn’t serve him and his plans for me. Even if he would have agreed to pay for therapy, I didn’t think I was worth the money. I often had trouble justifying just paying for a haircut.

I don’t think money was the real issue, though. I’d had two very bad experiences with professionals. The first time was when I was in grade five and the school district psychologist pulled me out of class to find out what was wrong with me. I couldn’t tell her the things my dad was doing to me, so I struggled to give her some reason for whatever she thought was wrong. I told her I didn’t have any friends, which wasn’t true. Over the next several months, she worked with me on how to make friends. I had the feeling that she didn’t like me and that she was annoyed with me most of the time. I’m glad I didn’t tell her about my abuse because she never felt like a safe person anyway.

The second time I saw a counselor was when I had an affair. I went to a Christian counselor for a few weeks (my husband was all for getting me “help” this time) and the counselor determined that my problem was that I had a demon of seduction. That didn’t help me at all, but that concluded my “help”.

In addition to my unfruitful experiences with mental health professionals, I was suspicious of people who were “experts” or authority figures. Those are the people who hurt me in the first place and I saw them as sources of harm, not help.

Jennifer: The truth is I would have loved to go to therapy and talk to someone when I was younger, but I never really felt like getting help was an option. I went to a small high school with fewer than 100 students, so there was no counselor to talk to, and I never felt like I could go to my family. I was the support person in my home and my family made it quite clear they weren’t strong enough to be bothered with my problems.

I opened up to one friendly teacher, but I never felt like she had the time or ability to help me. I truly wanted to face my past but I didn’t know how to do that. Since I had so little support, I shoved everything back down inside me. It was too painful to want the help I couldn’t get.

Like you, Christina, I never felt like I had the money to invest in therapy as an adult. It wasn’t until I discovered the world of self-help that I started opening up about my abuse again and was finally able to start healing.

I started reading every book about sexual abuse I could find at the local used book store, I joined Facebook and connected with other abuse survivors. I cut contact from the abusive people in my life and the people I knew wouldn’t support my healing, and really started looking at how my abuse had affected my life.

Christina: Books have been my primary tool for healing, too. I felt safe being able to pick them up and put them down when I wanted to. I wasn’t afraid of the book judging me or interrupting me.

I used to need to control my interactions with people and my memories felt too raw to share until I sorted them all out. Books gave me clues about the things I needed to look at. Each time I figured out some issue and faced it privately, I felt less vulnerable sharing it with close friends. There’s something about processing it that makes it seem more manageable and less threatening.

Earlier in my healing, I don’t know if I would have ever have the guts to say aloud what happened to me, so talking with another person seemed out of the question. Now, even though I’m comfortable sharing things I haven’t dissected yet, I still process things on my own and then share them with people I trust. Many times while I’m sharing, more truths come out and I can face another layer or another aspect that I missed.

Jennifer: That’s what I do a lot too, Christina. I usually work through a memory on my own by writing it out and making any connections I can between my abuse and how it’s affected my current life. But then I’m usually so excited about my breakthroughs that I have to tell my friends, and while talking I’ll realize even more! It’s great to have healing buddies, but I have to do the work of healing myself. Nobody can do that for me.

Patty: I learned that I had to do the work myself too. There were two important things that I grabbed a hold of. One was that I had to get it out. Writing was an easy way for me to do that and I still do a lot of writing. When I revisit my abuse, writing helps me to see more details. When I’m sad, happy or angry, I can express it so much better on paper. I’ve written angry letters to my abusers (I didn’t mail them) and I’ve written compassionate letters to myself.

And the other one was instilling boundaries into my life. I had to stop any further abuse. I always thought it was my fault, but by learning about boundaries, I was able to learn how to trust my judgment of people and have the ability to walk away from bad situations. Trusting myself to make decisions about people helped me to listen to the warning signs of abuse. That was a weak area in my life and I know that had a lot to do with feeling like I was an easy mark for abusers.

Christina: Writing is one of the tools I use, too. It helps me to sort things out and to express them. I used to have trouble crying, but by writing the words, “I feel so hurt and alone”, I was still able to get it out in some way.

I process an abuse memory by examining the memory in detail. What was done to me? What was said? If there was more than one person involved, what did the other person’s reaction tell me? What messages did I come to believe from the actions and words? What did those things tell me about myself and about what I could expect from the world? How did I adapt to the lies I believed? What is the truth? How should I have been treated? (When I don’t know, I think about how I would expect another child to be treated). Seeing the truth is freeing and healing.

Jennifer: I don’t have to have other people to heal, but having people I trust has made a big difference for me. A huge part of my abuse was feeling unlovable. I’ve had to face the things that made me believe that, but having loving people around during my healing sure makes that easier.

Patty: I would have welcomed a support group like Overcoming Sexual Abuse. It’s like opening a book at the library, only the survivors here are able to answer me back. Having the ability to hear so many stories of hope and healing is very empowering to me. This is real life and these are real people and I feel honored to be a part of their lives.

Christina: I used to feel that all the growth I’ve accomplished through my healing was somehow less legitimate because I didn’t see a therapist. Through healing, I’m excited to wake up everyday, my relationships are healthy, I’m finally able to love myself and feel great about myself, but I discounted all of that since it wasn’t validated by a “professional”. As I compared my process to other survivors who had therapy, though, I didn’t see inferior results. I noticed that no matter with a therapist or without, no matter with a support group or without, no matter what tools we use or what help we get, it’s up to each survivor to do the work and that’s where the rewards of healing come from.

Abuse teaches us that we aren’t enough in ourselves so many survivors falsely assume that we can’t do it on our own. The truth is that most survivors of abuse are capable of a lot more than we give ourselves credit for.

There are plenty of people who benefit from therapy and those who might not ever have the courage to face the past without a therapist, so I’m thankful they have a place to go. But since that wasn’t an option for me, I’m thankful that I found my own way to heal.

Patty: Yes, I’m glad that I don’t have to depend on anyone else to heal. For me, it’s been a personal reward—my work, my changes, my accomplishments. I can do this!!!

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.

Related Posts:
Is Overcoming Sexual Abuse Really Possible?
My Healing Journey: Stumbling and Getting Back Up
My Support System is Led By Me
Stand-in or Star: Taking Center Stage in Your Healing
Microwave Healing: I Want to Feel Better NOW

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

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.

by Bethany Ruck

I grew up watching Disney movies, dreaming that one day I could be the heroine of the story or wed a handsome prince. I yearned to live out an epic romance, where I would be swept off my feet by a loving man. I wanted a guy to see me and think, “Wow! That’s the type of woman I’ve been searching for my entire life.” And I thought I knew just the way to achieve that.

I have naturally curly hair—the kind of curls that go “boing” when you pull them. Ever since I can remember, I’ve been flooded with compliments from people who were jealous of my spiral, blonde locks. But for just as long, I’ve despised my hair. I was different from the other kids, and always found myself wanting smooth and sleek hair. I spent the majority of my life angry at genetics, wondering why I had to be born with this curly mess of a head.

I thought of curly hair as something that should be reserved for little girls, like Shirley Temple, Little Orphan Annie, or Curly Sue. To me, a little girl was someone who couldn’t protect herself—a victim. As a little girl, I had no control over the sexual abuse I experienced. It was terrifying to know that I never had a choice in what was done to me. I was powerless to stop my abuser, because I was a defenseless little girl.

I didn’t want to be that little girl anymore. I thought that if I could shed that image, I would have the control I craved. I wanted to become a woman—in control of my life and my sexuality. I saw beautiful woman with their perfect Victoria’s Secret-esque blowouts and wanted what they had. With their smooth hair and every lock in its place, they seemed like women who had it all.

By the time I was in junior high, I began experimenting with different straightening methods. My efforts only resulted in having a slightly less curly ball of frizz—not the look I was going for. Until my senior year of high school, I was still attempting to tame the curls I was born with, but with no luck. My battle with nature always left me defeated and frizzy. I finally retreated with my tail between my legs. I wasn’t happy to have curly hair, but I decided I would no longer make attempts to fight it on a monthly basis.

When I was twenty-one, I finally happened upon a blow dryer that made all of my hair dreams come true. Sure, it took me an hour, but I could get silky-smooth hair with a simple blow out. I’ve been concealing my curly hair ever since.

Everything seemed to change for me after that. For the first time in my life I felt sexy. I would walk into a room with the song, “Man-Eater” playing in my head. I no longer saw myself as a cute girl, but as beautiful woman, the object of desire, someone in control.

I’ve been taking a look at my dating life with a magnifying glass lately—or rather, my lack of a dating life. The type of men who approached me were the charmers, the players—guys who were just looking for a one night stand. I could see right through them, but I couldn’t understand why I kept attracting that type of guy.

The person I really am is a fun, quirky girl who is wholesome. The image I was trying to put on contradicted that. I was attracting men based on my false identity. I was walking around with the image of a femme fatale because I pictured that as someone who was in control, and that’s what guys were picking up on. My hair changed my perception of myself, but it also changed others perceptions of me. Until I changed the image I had of myself, all I would get was men attracted to me for the wrong reasons. There was nothing wrong with a beautifully blown-out hairdo. There was something wrong with the false identity I put on. 

I didn’t want a casual affair; I wanted a romance. I began seeing myself for the woman I had become, despite what my hair looked like. I’m no longer a little girl. I’m strong and outspoken. I came to my own defense when I reported my father for sexually abusing me. I stood up to my family. I protected myself. Those actions require a confident, independent woman–which I had become. As I changed my perception of myself, my perception of curly hair began to change. I no longer saw it as the mark of a victim. Curly hair doesn’t mean I’m out of control. Regardless of what my hair looks like, I’m not defenseless. I’m empowered to do something about my life.

I finally gave up trying to be something I’m not and embraced my curls. I own my curly hair. Instead of feeling like a victim of genetics, I feel like the heroine of a Jane Austen novel, written just for me. I now see my curly hair as romantic, something that adds to my beauty. For the first time in a long time, I feel like myself. I’m comfortable in my skin (and in my hair). I have hair that matches my spunky personality. Instead of seeing myself as different like it’s a bad thing, I see myself as set apart. Others are seeing me that way too. Since changing my perception of myself, I’ve changed the men I’ve been attracting. Now that I’m presenting my real self, I’m ready for a real relationship.

Related Posts:
Dating After Sexual Abuse: Is This Love?
Me and My Shadow
How Can I be Myself if I Don’t Know Who That is?

[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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 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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by Jennifer Stuck

I have come to believe that secrets are the enemy. They are the parasites that eat away at the human soul. We are meant to be social creatures, to share and express our complex emotions. Yet generation after generation of conditioning has taught us to repress our thoughts and feelings—to monitor every word that comes out of our mouths. We constantly worry about what we say, how we say it, and most of all, how others might react to it. So with all the influences keeping us from expressing ourselves, what are we supposed to do? How can we get it all out and clear our minds? For me, and many others like me, the solution has been writing.

What I love the most about writing is that it is always there for me. When I can’t talk to my family, when my friends aren’t as supportive as I would like them to be, or when it’s 3:00 am and no sane person worth talking to would be awake, I have writing to turn to. I can always grab a pen and paper and start pouring out my soul about whatever it is that’s on my mind. Writing always lets me say what I need to say. The paper never interrupts me to tell me something trivial about its own life. The sole purpose of the paper is to bare the weight of whatever I chose to write on it. No matter how shocking, no piece of information will be too overwhelming for it to hold. It will never throw my thoughts back in my face or use them against me. It doesn’t push me beyond my limits. It never puts its nose where it doesn’t belong, or try to direct the conversation where it wants it to go. The paper is my safest friend.

Most times when I begin writing it is not because I have a clear-cut image in my mind of what I want to say. Normally I only know that there is SOMETHING that needs to come out—some emotion that has been long trapped inside of me that is finally ready to surface. I can feel a voice deep down inside of me screaming, begging to be heard. When I write I provide a platform for that voice (my inner child) to speak out, to say all the things she was never allowed to say while being abused. After all these years she finally gets her chance to express the hurt, pain and anger that has burdened her for so long.

When I write down my thoughts I take what was a slippery, illusive memory and translate it into clear, undeniable fact. It’s right there on record in black and white. I can no longer forget it or push it to the back of my mind. Seeing my story on paper makes it feel more real to me. I’m able to separate myself from all the lies that I was told about myself during my abuse. I can see that what happened to me wasn’t nothing; it was something terrible. It wasn’t my fault; it was 100% the fault of my abusers. I was obviously the victim, and they were obviously the aggressors. Those basic facts that had eluded me in my thoughts became blatantly apparent to me once I wrote them out on paper.

One thing that I am particularly fond of is writing poetry. Now that I am farther along in my recovery process I find it fulfilling to look back at the things that I have written and the progress that they reflect. I recently started putting a date on every poem that I write. By doing this, I am making what I call a recovery timeline. I will always be able to look back and see what I was feeling last week, last year, or ten years ago. It’s amazing for me to be able to see how much I have changed in such a short period of time. Having that record of my progress makes me want to work even harder to move forward. It’s something concrete to show how far I’ve come and how hard I have worked. Every poem is like a trophy sitting on a shelf, a small reward for my efforts. Each one is something that I can look at and be proud of.

Writing has had many positive affects on my life. It helps me connect with my emotions. It allows me to express those emotions. It helps me remember new details about my past and to make sense of the things I already remember. Writing is freeing and empowering. Nobody can control what I write. I don’t have to second-guess myself, or worry that I might be saying the wrong things. I can just put pen to paper and let my thoughts flow wherever they take me. Sometimes I use my writing to express repressed grief. Sometimes I use it to share newly found joys. The important thing is that I never stop expressing myself.

Jennifer’s Poetry Collection

Related Posts:
If I Didn’t Write, I’d Have Died a Long Time Ago
Writing Is My Friend
Writing: My Power Tool for Rebuilding After Abuse

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.

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

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

Related Posts:
Power Play: How to Recognize an Abuser
The Wolf in Shepherd’s Clothing: The “Benevolent” Abuser
Power Trip: How to Journey From Overpowered to Empowered
Sexual Harassment and the Truth About Freezing in Fear

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.

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.

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.

Do you give more time to other’s healing than you give to your own? Are you so tired from reaching out to fellow survivors that you don’t take care of yourself? Join Christina Enevoldsen and Patty Hite for this ten minute audio discussion as they share “How To Help Others Without Hurting Yourself.”

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.
 
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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I live close to Beverly Hills, the plastic surgery Mecca, where the question is, “Are they real?” I’m also a few blocks from where the Academy Awards and many film premieres are held, where celebrities smile for the cameras and wave confidently to the fans, yet we know many of them are shy, quiet and prefer solitude. It’s not always easy to determine what’s real and what’s not. Bethany Ruck, Penny Smith and I sat down to try to sort out the real from the not-so-real in our own lives.

Christina: For as long as I can remember, I’ve faced the challenges in my life as someone else. I’ve worn an internal costume of someone stronger and more capable. One I used often was a pioneer woman, able to brave the many hardships of the American frontier. Channeling a pioneer spirit made me feel stronger and braver.

Penny: I’ve done the same thing since I was a little girl. I’d pretend I was a pioneer or an immigrant, especially an Irish immigrant because I have so much Irish in me and I was always reading about the hardships they went through. Or I was a slave girl, somehow enduring things that were too difficult or scary for me. Someone brave and strong.

Bethany: Mine was a tough girl, someone you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley— one that you wouldn’t mess with because you know she’s going to fight back. Even if I wasn’t wearing my leather jacket, boots and heavy eyeliner, I’d be a tough girl with my attitude, the way I’d strut down the street or hold myself or the way I’d talk. Even in social situations, when I didn’t feel comfortable I’d be reserved and act snotty in a way that kept people away from me and made me feel protected.

Penny: I can relate to the tough girl mask, too. I am quiet and mild-mannered most of the time but I acted tough even when I was crying inside. I used to use a mask when I had to walk through the ghetto of Oakland everyday to my bus stop. I was totally freaked out inside but outside I was all tough girl.

Christina: Another role I played was a captive in a prison camp. I’d play that role even though I wasn’t even in a dangerous situation. One of the main times was when I was facing deadlines in my business. It was exhausting work but I knew if I pretended to be in a life threatening situation with cruel guards pointing guns at me, ready to shoot anyone who showed signs of weakness, I could go on.

Penny: Yes, anytime something came up that I didn’t think I could do—like giving a report in front of the class—I would imagine myself as someone else who was comfortable with public speaking and could do it well.

Bethany: I always felt a fake though. When people would say, “Oh, my God, you’re so strong,” I didn’t understand how anyone could say that when I felt like everything I was doing to be strong was a facade. That was very confusing.

Penny: I felt like I was falling apart on the inside even though I had the appearance of strength.

Bethany: Wearing the tough girl for so long made me think I was really her. I put myself in some bad situations because I thought I would be safe. I was unrealistic about my own safety because I had a false sense of security. I was actually more vulnerable because I made unwise decisions.

Penny: It got me into some scary situations, too. After doing it a few times, I thought I really could handle those things. One time, I got off work late and instead of waiting for a ride, I took the bus and had to walk through this bad part of town where all the drug dealers were out. When I got home they told me I was crazy.

Bethany: What I faced was very similar. I saw how much the facade did not protect me. It hurt me because people thought I was a bitch. I was so closed off and unapproachable. That’s the only way I knew to protect myself. It’s like what I did to try to protect myself from the sexual abuse.

Christina: I relate it to my abuse, too. The abuse told me I was powerless and the effects showed me how weak I was. The shame trained me to put myself down so it was hard to recognize the good, strong qualities I have. I had to see them outside of me.

Bethany: One day I realized how much of a facade I presented to the world and I cried because hardly anyone knew the real me. I was hiding myself. Now, I’m finding my own confidence and strength to stand up for myself. As I’ve internalized that part of me and sorted through the parts of tough girl that I want, such as her ability to fight back. I can still access those things, yet filter them my through wisdom and discernment.

Christina: I’m finding my confidence and strength, too. I realized that the roles I’ve “put on” aren’t really external; they are internal and something I “pull out”. I drew from a strength I didn’t know I had. I admired it elsewhere, yet I only connected with it because it was something I already owned. Maybe it was undeveloped or unrecognized, but it was mine. I wore it like a lie, but it’s really the truth—it felt fake, but it showed me a part of who I really am.

Penny: It’s so true what you say that all these things are part of us…they’re facets of ourselves. We have these inner strengths and this is the way that we’ve drawn on them when we’ve had to. If it wasn’t ours to begin with, we wouldn’t be able to use it. No matter how developed of an imagination we may have, we can’t actually turn ourselves into something that we’re not. Maybe someplace deep inside of me I am a good public speaker. Lol.

I remember one winter in South Dakota as a teenager coming upon a terrible car wreck. My friends and I were the first ones on the scene and none of us knew what to do. I was so scared but something inside me took over. I sent someone for help. Then, I headed for the overturned car on its top in the snowy ditch. On my way, I found a man lying tangled in the barbwire fence that the car had gone through. He had been thrown out and I could tell was hurt quite badly. I stopped, spoke to him, called for the others to bring a blanket for him and continued to the car. The car was on its roof and there was a man trapped behind the steering wheel. He was struggling and I told him not to move. After leaving a couple of friends there with orders to keep him talking, still and to not let him fall asleep, I went back to the man in the fence. I managed to get him untangled, to tie jackets and whatever I could get to stop the bleeding, piled anything I could on him to keep him warm and kept him awake until help finally came. The ambulance personnel actually asked if I had been trained in emergency response.

I was the quietest, shyest one of the bunch, but when faced with trauma, I was the only one able to respond. I have often thought about that and wondered why. It was truly like I became someone else….someone competent and able…two things I never saw myself as. So, yes, it makes sense that we do have these unplumbed, undeveloped strengths inside of us that we’ve been able to call upon when needed.

Christina: The more I looked back on the things I accomplished while I was playing a role, the more I saw evidence in my own life that I actually did have those qualities. It wasn’t a pioneer woman who accomplished those things in my life. It was me. I saw what I was capable of. They were very real qualities I had, yet hadn’t recognized, acknowledged, or developed. Once I did start to see that, it started to feel natural and real, like me. It didn’t feel fake anymore. I didn’t have to put on those roles, they weren’t separate from me anymore; they were parts of me.

Penny: As I’m getting to know myself, I’m realizing that I need my coping mechanisms less and less. I see myself more as someone who can deal with things head-on rather than someone that has to hide behind a mask to survive. As I become more self-aware some of these things sort of take care of themselves. Maybe it’s because I am seeing more of my inner strength as belonging to me and not something that I have to “pretend” or “put on.” The roles are indications of who we really are, so that helps us to get to know ourselves better.

Christina: Once we see ourselves for who we really are, we don’t have to live in fantasy. The reality is that we do have power to do something about the things that we’re intimidated by. We can improve our public speaking skills, we can take self defense courses, we can say no to dangerous situations, we can improve our social skills. We aren’t vulnerable and helpless anymore. Acknowledging the power we have gives us other options so we don’t have to rely on facades.

Related Posts:
How Can I “Be Myself” If I Don’t Know Who That Is?

The Real Problem With Being Fake

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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.

Related Posts:
The Fear of Being Re-victimized
Power Play: How to Recognize an Abuser
Power Trip: How to Journey From Overpowered to Empowered

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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