True Stories From All Angles
"Anna's" Story
"Anna" was stunned by the news that her son had abused his step-daughter. She thought nothing good could come from such a tragedy, but this experience taught her a lot.
Editor’s Note: This is a true story written by “Anna” (not her real name)
My name is Anna and my story began on Mother's Day 1997. My husband and I went to a cabin in Northern Minnesota to relax for a week. That Sunday evening after a day of fishing, boating and just enjoying life we received a telephone call from our daughter-in-law telling us that our son had been arrested for sexually abusing our step-granddaughter. We were packed up and in our car heading back home within fifteen minutes. Our adult daughters were waiting at our house when we arrived.
As convinced as I was that this was some horrible mistake of my step-granddaughter rebelling or some other unforeseen misunderstanding, I had this unexplainable lump in my throat. Yet, I was sure this would be straightened out by morning. My granddaughter, who had been taken to foster care, would be home and my son, who was sitting in jail, would also be home and this entire mess would be resolved. Since I am sharing my story, I am certain you know that those thoughts were a Grandmother and Mom’s heart praying that this did not really happen!
Our family consists of Mom and Dad, several children and a dozen grandchildren. We have lived in the same community for over thirty years so we also have many dear friends. We were certainly not the "Beaver Cleavers," yet on the outside we appeared to be the average middle-income suburban two-parent family. Mom and Dad both worked, the children were in sports, we went to church, and we spent our holidays as a family. And, yet, behind the walls of this seemingly happy family home were the same struggles that many families face. There was not sexual abuse or chemical abuse but there was physical abuse. Of course, I stayed in the marriage to keep the family together, never realizing that my children were victims by witnessing and suffering the mental abuse that resulted from the frequent fighting. They also felt helpless to stop the physical abuse.
Growing up, my son had many friends and was a gifted athlete, but he struggled in school. However he graduated from high school, and worked part-time while continuing his education. He lived at home, played sports, and his quick wit kept us all smiling. When he began working a second part-time job he met a woman with a young daughter. With his big heart, he fell for her and in three years there were three children, a wedding, debt and drinking!
Looking back, I recall my son’s behaviors toward his stepdaughter sometimes concerned me. As she became a teenager, he would often tease and put her down unmercifully. I talked to him about how inappropriate this was, but he said “oh Ma, we’re just horsing around.” We also saw less of their family and heard many excuses why they could not attend family functions. Were there other signs to cause concern? Only one comes to mind, when my son was in junior high. I received a call from a counselor informing me that he and four buddies pushed a classmate and made a comment about her breast size. I was furious! I called the girl’s mom and asked if I could bring my son over to meet with her and her daughter. He apologized and was grounded for two weeks. I was shocked when the other parents shrugged it off as the normal behavior of a junior high boy! I now wish I had sought professional advice on why he disrespected this young lady. I know that his father did not set a good example of respect for women with his abuse, and by allowing it I sent a message to my children that this was acceptable behavior.
I had always, and still do talk to my grandchildren about school, goals, friends, drugs, alcohol and many other topics. I wish our conversations had included cautions about sexual abuse. I assure you that we discuss all kinds of abuse now! We talk about the importance of “NO SECRETS!” Yet, I have learned that we cannot put the responsibility to tell upon our children and feel the situation is handled. I will never forget when I asked my grandchild, “Why didn’t you tell Grandma?” She replied, “I didn’t want to hurt you Grandma!”
We need a nation of educated adults to know and watch for signs of sexual abuse so all children in our families, neighborhoods, and communities will be safer! We also need to educate the media and public that the only concern is not people that have offended. The watchful eye needs to be with your family members, your neighbors, your educators, “internet friends,” and the population in every single class, occupation and age that your children are in contact with! The people that abuse who have been prosecuted are just a small portion of the people guilty of the sexual abuse of children. Do we find them and help them through treatment before they offend, or continue through our media to place such fear that they stay undercover and continue to seek victims?
I have given you a little family history of our lives before the crime, but I really want to share the impact my son’s arrest, trial, incarceration and treatment had on our entire family. After my granddaughter came forward, another victim, who was a friend of our granddaughter, came forward and a second charge of first-degree criminal sexual conduct was filed against our son. My husband handled the situation as he usually did with anything unpleasant; he did not want to talk about it during or after. He had a series of medical problems during the year of court hearings, trials and our son’s conviction. I began taking nerve pills to get through at least part of a day without being in tears. I was constantly worrying; would this would this have a lifelong effect on my granddaughter and her friend, how would my son’s family survive emotionally and financially, would he be safe in prison, what would everyone say, and would he or any of us ever have a "normal" life again? I cannot begin to explain all of the various emotions that our entire family went through. Anger, disbelief, embarrassment, concern, lack of understanding, worry, helplessness and guilt were only a few.
I have always been a confident person, but after the trial I felt uncomfortable doing many things I enjoyed in the past. Our entire family was sitting in the hallway of the courthouse while our son was in the courtroom. An officer that knew our family came up and asked how things were going. A lady from the prosecuting attorney’s office grabbed the officer by the arm, spun her around and said, “What’s your name? This will be reported!” For several days as we sat there, we received looks of utter disgust from many staff members. We must all give a ton of love, support and compassion to victims of sexual abuse. But I ask also that you give an ounce of compassion for the accused person’s family. They are also innocent victims.
You always hear that something good comes out of even the worst situations. I could not see how anything positive would impact our family with the nightmare we were living until my son began treatment in prison. I will never forget the impact that the first family session had on me. Tom spoke very candidly with his Dad about how, when we was a child, he felt guilty and helpless being the only boy and too afraid to try to stop the physical abuse. He also told his Dad that he had never heard him say "I love you" and he never felt that he could do anything good enough for his father. After tears and hugs, Tom’s Dad was able to tell him how much he loved him and that he had always been very proud of him! Then it was my turn. When answering a question my son’s therapist asked me, I made the statement, "before Tom got into trouble." Tom interrupted my sentence and said "Mom, I did not get into trouble, I raped two girls!" The awful, ugly truth was finally put into words that I had to digest. Before that time, I was able to tell people my son was in prison, but when asked what he had done, I could not say the words, Sexual Abuse. I knew then, that I must accept the fact that Tom had committed his horrific crime and learn how I could be a support system to help prevent any other child from suffering sexual abuse.
We had additional family sessions where each of Tom’s sisters was able to discuss their feelings, questions and concerns. Also, Tom was able to say, "I am sorry" to each of us. The group and family sessions gave us some tools of understanding and knowledge that helped us cope. We all learned things from each other that had not been discussed in the past. So, good did definitely come by being part of my son’s treatment programs.
At my son’s request, I joined Al-anon to gain a better understanding of alcoholism. I was shocked when I told my story and found two of the twelve people attending had children that were incarcerated. I was more surprised when I learned this group would not teach me how to take care of the alcoholic in my family, but how to take care of me! My husband went to therapy twelve years ago to learn how to stop his abuse. However, I know I am now strong enough that I would never again allow anyone to abuse me.
I pray that my granddaughter and all victims of sexual abuse will have love and peace every remaining day of their lives. I miss the close relationship that I once had with my granddaughter. She is now a beautiful married woman! We talk and hug and say I love you, but she needed the distance to heal and I understand and respect that. It is difficult when you love both the victim and the offender.
My son was divorced during his incarceration. After serving five and a half years in prison, he was released. He recently said, “Mom, I know that I have an angel sitting on my shoulder.” He is so blessed to have found a wonderful wife that can accept who he was and believe in who he is now. He has the love of his children, a job he enjoys and friends and family to love. Many of you may think he does not deserve that; he should have been locked up for life. I understand, because I was there before this story became my life. I pray every day that he will remain sober and continue to make healthy decisions.
I heard about Stop It Now! from one of my son’s counselors, and knew that I wanted to be involved. The thought that sharing my story may help one innocent child or encourage a potential offender to seek help before they abuse makes my heart smile!
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"Charley's" Story
When "Charley" abused children, he never admitted to himself that he was hurting anyone. But when he got caught, and got help, he began to realize the pain he had caused.
Editor’s Note: This is a true story written by “Charley” (not his real name)
I am very open about the life I lived only a very few short years ago. I am this open because it helps me to stay grounded in the reality of what I am capable of, and, because I want to do what I can to help stop or prevent others from sexually abusing children.
I’ve been incarcerated many times. The first 2 times were as a juvenile for runaway and assault, then came 3 more times as an adult for; theft and drug possession, attempted burglary, and 1st degree Criminal Sexual Conduct. My whole life centered on doing the things that I believed would make me feel better in the right here and now. I was very proud of the quantities of drugs I used and how much alcohol I could drink without passing out or getting sick. I was proud of the things I that I stole and never got caught for. I had an outlook on life that was also something of a motto… “Anything is legal as long as I don’t get caught.”
For just over 20 years I sexually abused young boys and girls to make myself feel better. Initially, these children were the sons and daughters of people I knew. After a while I began getting to know people just so that I could get access to their children. I worked hard to portray myself as someone they could trust… someone who would even fight to protect them and their family. Later on I would use these friendships to meet other children at swimming pools, beaches, or parties hosted by the friends of my friends.
In 1991 I was arrested for sexually abusing a 10-year-old boy. I had been abusing him for over a year when he told another family friend who encouraged him to tell his mom and to then go to the police. As I was being arrested I was very angry. Even though I knew it was wrong to do the things that I had to that boy and that most people would be outraged and hate me for doing it, I didn’t want to admit that I had actually harmed him in any meaningful way.
I lied to myself. I had always told myself that as long as I didn’t physically hit any of these children they wouldn’t really be hurt. I believed that, at worst, they would only feel some confusion and unease, and that they would get over that very quickly. I even hoped that they would eventually come to enjoy the things I did to them and that they would come to me seeking sex.
After just a few hours in a jail cell all those years of denial began to unravel and I was faced with the realization that I had hurt this boy and many others and that I was now going to pay a very heavy price for what I had done. I felt some shame and guilt for what I had done but I was overwhelmed with the fear of what the consequences might be. And then, mixed in with all of that, was what seemed at the time to be a very weird sense of relief. Knowing that I would no longer be able to hide… that I no longer had any reason to hide somehow made me feel freer.
I made one of the most difficult decisions in this process; I chose to confess to what I had done. Honestly I hoped that the court would be lenient but it also felt like an important first step to getting my abuse out in the open. I was sentenced to 10 years and 2 months in the Minnesota Department of Corrections. Of that I spent just over 7 years inside prison plus 4 years on parole. But, it turned out to be enough time for me to learn about myself and to make the changes I needed to make to stay safe when I got out. I have been out of prison almost 10 years now.
In prison, I applied to, and successfully completed long-term chemical dependency and sex offender treatment, and I went looking for God. I had never tried to do anything any other way but on my own. I knew that I would not be able to change on my own. At that time I was running on a small hope that the treatment programs would be helpful and that God might be willing to help some, too. I certainly didn’t have anything to lose by trying.
Both treatment and God helped me to see just how the things I had done were wrong and hurtful to those children, their families, and even to their friends, neighbors, and to some degree the community as a whole.
I learned and I am still learning to tell the difference between truth and opinion, between reality and outright lies or justifications. I came to understand how I sexually abused so many children, what I got out of doing this, and how all of that hurt others, including myself. Treatment forced me to look at the specific sorts of events, feelings, and attitudes that trigger my desires to abuse and, maybe even more important, how to interrupt those desires in their earliest stages or avoid them all together.
I learned a lot about how I had damaged or destroyed these children’s ability to trust other people, especially adults who want to be nice to them. But it wasn’t until I began working on my own issues as a victim of sexual abuse that that I began to see how I had become so disconnected emotionally.
My whole family is an emotionally detached group of people. We rarely even said nice things to one another and we usually only touched each other when we were trying to hurt each other. As young as age 4 I knew that I could not trust anyone around me. I know that it was age 4 because that is when I was first sexually abused and I can remember thinking to myself that I had better not tell anyone or I would get into trouble.
From the time I was first abused at 4 until I was 16, I was sexually abused by many different people. None of them were family. For the most part, when I was being sexually abused, I did not see it as abuse. I felt somewhat uncomfortable and numb, but I was also excited that someone was touching me in a gentle, even pleasurable way, and they were saying nice things to me. Until I was 16 I was very quick to accept sexual advances from any adult that approached me in that way.
The more comfortable I got with having no personal boundaries the easier it was to believe that the same was true for others. When I began sexually abusing younger children, I was 10 and it did not seem like such a bad thing to do. I did the same sorts of things to them that had been done to me. There was a time in my early twenty’s when I recall thinking that “a whole bunch of people had been sexual with me when I was just a kid and it didn’t hurt me any, so the things I am doing can’t be hurting anyone either.”
I give a lot of credit to my wife for helping me to actually feel the pain I have caused others. She has very graciously given me an awesome gift. She lets me ask her all sorts of questions about how she sees this or that and what does it feel like or what do you believe about all sorts of things. She knows that I am looking for a perspective that is not filtered through a criminal mentality. Through her eyes I have learned to feel what it is like to be innocent and truly vulnerable. I have finally come to a place where I can I think back over the specific things I have done. And when I do, my heart hurts like its being squeezed and torn. And I feel a deep sense of sorrow, guilt, and shame.
These days I live a very full and meaningful life. Somewhere along the line I stumbled across a set of values hidden away inside me that goes something like this, “a man’s life ought to amount to something. And that something ought to be meaningful outside of himself.” I try to give of myself rather than take for myself.
My hope is that if I can turn my life around, if I can meet and marry a woman who believes in me, then maybe my story will help others.
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"Mike's" Story
When "Mike" was a child, a family friend sexually abused him. He hopes sharing his story will prevent such abuse, and comfort those who have experienced it.
Editor’s Note: This is a true story written by “Mike” (not his real name)
I am 49 and have worked in social services in one way or another for my entire professional life. I am divorced and have two wonderful daughters. I was sexually abused by an adult male friend of my family. What started as inappropriate touching and fondling when I was 8 led to a full-fledged rape when I was 14. I had known this man for several years. Although it was awkward when he placed his hands in my pants or made me pull my pants down, I didn’t fight because I trusted him. “He would never do anything bad to me,” I thought. The man that abused me pursued me for years and attempted sex with me several other times. He told me after the rape that “this is our secret” and never to tell anyone. Other than the woman I married 12 years later, I didn’t tell a single soul…for 20 years. My two brothers and I were all abused by this man, although unlike me, neither of them was actually raped. He played games with the three of us together in the same way when we were growing up. At the time, I saw that he was doing the same touching of them as he was with me. I didn’t think much about it then. Maybe he didn’t mean it that way…maybe he’d just stop doing that…maybe… When I came out with my story to my family, they both then also admitted abuses by this man.
My father, now retired, was rector of an inner-city church. The man that abused me was the organist and choir director at the church. My father was not only his boss, but he and my mother were close friends as well with him and his wife. It was not uncommon for them to visit our house after choir practices on Thursday evenings and then again after church services on Sunday afternoons. They’d even join us on some family vacations. This man was around a lot. What my parents saw as playing around and “rough housing” between my brothers and I and this man was actually this man’s strategic process of gaining our increasing trust and comfort with him, and ultimately opportunities to sexually abuse us. I remember my brothers and I would wrestle on the floor and play in swimming pools with this man. He’d consistently grab or hold us between the legs.
I finally told my parents what had happened when I was in therapy at 35 for low self esteem and intimacy problems. My parents’ response in ending their friendship with this man (and his wife) was rapid. But, other than a few words of sympathy expressed to me, my folks did nothing more. I wanted them to talk to me, ask about my feelings, offer me support and even confront their friend about what he had done to their child. Even when they ended their friendship with the man that abused me, they didn’t tell him why. Although, he knew the reason why. I grew up in a family that proclaimed to always be so close; we could talk about anything and everything and would always be there for one another. So imagine my feelings of betrayal and sorrow when my folks (especially my dad) didn’t want, or know how, to talk about my sexual abuse and then simply didn’t do anything more. I love my parents dearly, forgive them and don’t blame them for what they did or didn’t do. They knew no better, plus this was very painful for them as well. It was several years later when another friend of my parents, after hearing what had happened to me some 30 years earlier, contacted the man who abused me and told him he must call my parents and talk to them about it. My folks reported that he did indeed call them and, after a time, he did admit what had happened. Strangely, I felt victimized again when my father said, as though everything should be fine now, “he said he did it, was very upset and even suicidal about what he’d done.” What my father was saying non-verbally was “it’s time to get over it and move on.” At the time, I felt like the man who abused me had been let off the hook…like some type of absolution. What about me? I had paid a hefty price and still had to continue to live with the damage he’d done to me.
Although the event was far in my past, the trauma was still very much with me. Along with guilt of “having let him do this to me,” I clung to negative feelings about myself, was unexplainably anxious and had suicidal thoughts. Although I could distract my conscious mind off the memories, I couldn’t budge my sub-conscious off of the feelings of being disrespected, taken advantage of and exploited. I couldn’t feel comfortable in adult sexual relationships because I couldn’t trust and I felt sex was dirty and bad. I was a dirty bad boy when I had (even unwanted) sex at 14. Why should that be any different at 35? I grew up believing sex was something special that happened only between two people who loved each other. I lost my virginity before I got the chance to share that part of me with someone I loved. I felt used, damaged, unclean in any genuine sexual relationship after that. Feeling this way I felt I deserved everything bad and was undeserving of anything good.
I was divorced from my wife of 20 years four years ago. What part of my being sexually abused over three decades earlier played in my marriage ending I’ll never know. My healing has taken a long while and I can’t genuinely trust to this day even my closest friends and family. My two daughters are my life. I’m so glad I have them in my life. I am very protective of them in large part because of what happened to me. Even though I am a man myself, I have held on to an overly negative impression and distrust of men in general. I feel most can’t be trusted and just want to take advantage of girls and women and little boys any chance they get. Although never having even a vague desire, I believed for a long while that I would myself sexually abuse others. I terrifyingly, however falsely, held on to the belief that those that are abused will also abuse others themselves.
I am now, many years later, learning to honestly cope with what happened to me. I had no idea, but with the help of therapy, I have come to realize how much of my life has been affected by being sexually abused as a child.
I’ve had no contact with the man that abused me since moving to Minnesota 20 years ago. I don’t know what I’d do if I ever saw him again. I understand he was forced to retire from his main job with the public schools and he and his wife moved away. I don’t know for sure, however, I’ve been told he abused again (and again) and was finally caught. Faced with the possibility of being exposed and prosecuted, he chose to leave his job and relocate.
I live daily with the huge guilt of not telling on this man when I was 8, 9 or even when I was raped at 14. At first I was confused, wondering over and over again why this happened to me…why did I let it happen to me. I couldn’t come up with any good answers. The pain became nearly overwhelming and it was easier to just close off that part of my life. To forget about it and pretend, in a way, that it never happened. I thought to tell someone would be worse because the trauma of others knowing would bring negative attention to me and worsen the pain I felt. Unfortunately, I discovered, denying…repressing the truth doesn’t end or even soften the pain. Remembering what happened to me and convincing myself it wasn’t my fault has led to healing. The culprit is the abuser…the once trusted family friend…not me. Telling others about my abuse and years of suffering with it has helped my recovery. I don’t have to be quiet any longer…I don’t have to keep the secret.
I now hope by sharing my story I might help children, parents and others identify the signs of sexual abuse before it happens. I never saw it coming and I was devastated and lost when it did. Being abused changed my life forever. Also, if sharing my story can bring even an ounce of comfort to those that have been abused and inch us closer to an end to this travesty, then any pain of sharing my story will have been worth it many times over.
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"Andrew's" Story
“Andrew” finally confessed that he abused children, and got the help he needs to live a better life.
Editor’s Note: This is a true story written by “Andrew” (not his real name)
My name is Andrew. I am 39 years old and I am an alcoholic and a sex addict who has sexually abused children. I am sharing my story with you in hopes that I can affect both abusers and victims to come forward. I do not want to be part of the problem. I want to be part of the solution.
I grew up in a small town, in a family where sexual, verbal, and physical abuse was common. My older siblings were physically abused and I was verbally and psychologically abused. My dad had a short temper and was very violent at times, so no emotional attachment between my dad and me was ever formed. My mom was also abused by my father, but couldn’t or didn’t stop it. My mom sent mixed messages because she tried to protect us, but she also made it sound like the abuse in our family was part of everybody’s life and we were to live with what we where dealt. I was often told, “you’re a little bastard,” “you’re not worth a damn,” “and “I brought you into the world, I can take you out.”
When I was three years old, my father went to prison and did not come back until I was eight or nine. When I was 13, after my dad died, I learned that he had been in prison for raping two of my sisters. My parents showed no real kindness to each other. There was always a fine line not to step over otherwise you could get a burst of swearing blasted at you. As far as attachment, mom and I have some, but I feel like I’m the primary caretaker of my mother because she was alcoholic.
I hid my feelings of anger, fear, sadness, and rage. As a child, I had no emotional connection to my family.
I had my first sexual experience at 13, when another boy initiated sexual contact with me. I was thrilled by the sexual feelings but also confused. There was no one in my family to talk with about my feelings, concerns, or confusion about my sexual orientation. Alcohol was easily available at home, so by fourteen, I was using alcohol to cover up my feelings. When I had friends over, I had to be center of attention. If something did not go my way, I would yell and swear or tell them to leave. When someone said they would come over and not show I would go find them and try to embarrass them in front of others.
I started sexually abusing younger boys when I was between 15 and 16 years old. I abused five boys over the course of 16 years. All of the children I victimized were within my extended family. I did not stop abusing until the older brother of one of the boys suspected that I had abused his brother and reported it to the sheriff’s office. I denied the abuse initially. As the interview went on, the detective kept on saying, “tell the truth and the system will be easier on you.” I think deep down I was so sick of hiding the truth about all the abuse and damage I did to family members and friends that I just gave in and confessed.
After my interview with the detective, I went home and told my mom and my sisters about the allegations. I asked my sister for the name and telephone number of her therapist. My sister went with me to the first appointment. Seeing this therapist saved my life. He was not judgmental, but told me “you need to get sober, because you are going to need to think clearly with all that is going on.” To this day, I credit him for opening the door to my recovery in Alcoholics Anonymous and Sex Addicts Anonymous and the treatment I received.
I served 180 days in jail, received 30 years of probation, and attended sex offender treatment. During treatment, I learned to deal with my feelings, my resentment and anger, my fear, my low self-esteem and my rage. I learned that it was okay to ask for help, that people do like me for who I am and I do not have to force myself on others. Therapy taught me that secrets could be so harmful, that lies can snowball. I also came out as a gay man during treatment.
Towards the end of treatment, I admitted that I had abused four other boys. My Probation Officer reported this to the District Attorney who started a new criminal investigation. A few months later, I learned one of the boys had decided to press charges. At first, I was very angry, almost in a rage. All the old feelings of blame, anger, resentment, self- pity, and rage came back and I wanted to revert to my old ways of not letting people know how I felt. After a couple weeks of thinking like this, I started slowly talking and writing about the feelings I was having. Even though I wanted to blame the boy who decided to press charges, I knew it was not his fault. My second court case took a year to settle.
Now I live a very well rounded gay male life with many friends and lots of support from friends and family. My sisters have been the driving force behind me all my life. If they had turned their backs on me, I really do not know if my world would be the same.
The treatment has changed the way I think, act, plan my day and live my life. I work hard at my recovery. I live my life to the fullest, with no secrets and lies. I am dating, which I have never done. I have friends that truly love me for who I am not for what I am.
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"Maria's" Story
"Maria" was raped by her father when she was a child. She gradually learned how to recover, even without any resolution with her family.
Editor’s Note: This is a true story written by “Maria” (not her real name)
Today after much work and recovery, I am sharing my story, something I never thought I would do. For a long time, I feared being seen solely as a victim or a survivor a fear that kept me silent for thirty years. Several things have prompted me to open up. First, I remembered what it felt like to be isolated and wish I could see a woman who survived this and went on to have a good life. Well, now I am that woman, and I want to share that experience and that hope. Second, I have been blessed with access to the best assistance and healing available, so perhaps others can benefit from my experience. Third, I feel complete and strong enough that I am no longer afraid that if I share my experience I will be seen only as a victim or a survivor. My life is so much more than that, and so I am ready to share.
When I was seven or eight years old, my father began to rape me. I don’t know the exact age, because like so many women, my memories of this returned much later. I was in my twenties and in my last year of grad school when I first began to re-experience the rapes. I would waken early in the morning then I would fall back into semi-alertness and it would start. I physically re-experienced everything, as fully as if it were happening just then. The pain, the terror, the shock, the sound of his voice, the body heat and pressure on the bed, feeling astonished that he cared so little about his daughter that he was willing to do this, the words that he’d used to intimidate me (not that it took much to intimidate a child so young), and once, a blood stain on the sheet. I believe I re-experienced most or all of them, in sequence, over a period of eight or nine months.
Those months were about pure survival. I felt so alone. I was afraid I would end my life just to stop the pain. I didn’t want to die—the pain was so unbearable I was afraid that through some almost involuntary impulse I would try to stop it. So I stayed away from bridges and sometimes away from traffic, to stop myself from leaping in front of a car. I took all of the sharp objects in my apartment and all household chemicals and stashed them in the back of a closet, trying to create enough impediments to self-injury that I would get through each night.
For months after the rapes began to recur, my reality would periodically shatter in an instant and I’d have to steady myself to wait for it to re-constellate so that I could continue to function and somehow I’d survive. Sometimes I’d sit in my grad school classes biting my lips and with my hand over my mouth because I was so afraid that I would scream out that I was being raped. I was dealing with a new rape each week and trying to keep the entire experience secret from everyone except my therapist and my closest friend. I had been silent for too long.
In the first few years after I re-experienced the rapes, I went through a lot of effective therapy. While I was re-experiencing the rapes, I called my therapist and told him I’d need to see him more often just to get through this. He agreed to see me three times a week, which was one of the things that kept me alive. I also went through a family alcohol treatment center, because alcohol played a role in my family’s dysfunction. Both of my parents were alcoholics and drank heavily throughout my life. My father was also physically violent and abusive as well as sexually violent.
I did eventually confront my parents about the incest. Neither parent ever admitted or dealt with the truth. I believe they knew that admitting or denying the truth each carried risks, and they didn’t want to take them and adopted an “I don’t remember” defense.
I’d like to tell you that things turned out well with my family, but they didn’t. My mother died two years ago, and my father is still living, but neither of them ever dealt with anything that happened in our family, and neither of them stopped drinking.
During the years since I confronted my parents I have tried various strategies to deal with their lack of response to me. When the second effort failed as well, I understood that recovery would probably not be a family undertaking. For several years after that, I attempted to carry on a polite, limited relationship with my family, with very strong boundaries. I realized I was paying too high a price for having contact with my father and I severed all contact with my family for five years.
At the end of that time I realized having no contact also did not work. I believe we bring into life ties with and obligations to family members, karmic, if you will, that cannot be merely set aside, that must be faced and worked through, provided the individuals involved are not actually dangerous to one’s well-being. And while it is still difficult for me to deal with family members, and I have to establish clear boundaries that I can manage, I made a decision to resume contact with my family.
The sad news is that this family’s story is not likely to have a satisfying resolution, at least not if that depends on my father’s honestly facing what he did and making amends for it. On the other hand, the good news is that my ability to recover and to make a whole new life has not been dependent on the cooperation or recovery of anyone else in my family. And since I suspect that there are other women whose families have also been unwilling to face and work through sexual abuse and violence within the family, I hope it may be helpful to them to know that one can successfully work through all of the damage and related interpersonal issues, and have a full and healthy life anyway.
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"Ellen's" Story
When “Ellen” was 8, her brother began molesting her. At 28, she hated her brother and blamed him for everything that went wrong in her life. Eventually, she realized that hatred was ruining her life, and she learned how to forgive her brother, and see him as a human being again.
Editor’s Note: this is a true story written by “Ellen” (not her real name)
When I was 8 and my oldest brother was 13, he began molesting me. It lasted one year and I don’t know what started it and I don’t know what stopped it. What I do know is it has had a profound effect on my life, my family’s life, my daughter’s life and my current marriage.
I am amazed at what I recall as an 8 year old. For instance, I knew what my brother was doing was wrong and yet I took the blame and the shame of it all. His threat was simple. Don’t tell anyone or he would. No one suspected that he had molested me. I did what ever it took to insure he wouldn’t tell on me. I also knew that my mom wouldn’t believe me if I told--so I kept quiet regardless of the pain it caused me. I was the perfect victim. I was so good at protecting “my” secret that if anyone saw my brother and me, they would say we were good friends.
I grew up in a seemingly perfect family. Two parents (never divorced) two brothers and one sister. I was the youngest. We lived an above average lifestyle with a nice home, a cabin in the north woods and annual vacations around the United States. My dad always told my brothers never to hit a girl, especially their sisters. He didn’t tell them they shouldn’t touch us sexually.
Before my brother molested me I remember being daddy’s little peanut! He would tuck me into bed with my favorite stuffed animal du jour and give me butterfly kisses on my cheek. I felt very loved, protected and safe. Afterward I remember declaring to my parents that I no longer wanted to be hugged or kissed. I segregated myself from my family. Looking back, I think my parents might have seen this as a warning sign, something to at least ask me about.
Because of my experiences, I grew up with three worldviews that I carried into my adulthood: I can’t trust anyone. I’m not worthy of love or protection. If I ask for help I won’t get it. Friendships were, and still are, a difficult thing to manage for me because I found it hard to trust others. As an adult I made horrible choices. I became promiscuous and reckless. I didn’t understand how my choices would affect my future.
Flash forward to my 22nd birthday. I went into my mom’s room and told her that my brother had molested me. Her first words were “We can’t tell your dad. It would kill him.” I was devastated. She didn’t seem to care what it had done to me. She explained it by saying my brother was just curious because he was thirteen.
By the time I was 28 I had a full head of steam built up about what happened to me. I blamed my brother for absolutely everything in my life and I hated him. I didn’t realize how much I did until I heard myself utter the words, “I wish my brother would contract AIDS and die a slow, lingering death.” No sooner did I get the words out when I gasped and began to cry. I was shocked and appalled at my own words. I couldn’t believe I had so much anger and hatred festering inside of me that I’d wish anyone dead. My anger and hatred were keeping me from truly living my life. At that moment I knew that to heal myself, I needed to forgive-- forgive him, forgive my family and especially forgive me.
Once I decided I wanted to forgive, I spent months researching forgiveness, from reading the Bible to children’s books, to asking others how they forgive. As I learned and prayed about forgiveness I began to craft a letter to my brother. After nine months of writing and re-writing, I finished the letter. Finally at Christmas time I requested some time with my brother to confront him with the truth and forgive him. On Christmas Eve my brother and I found a room in our house to talk privately. The room happened to be my childhood room--where all the molestation occurred. I was terrified and yet I knew I was strong enough to confront him this time.
He read the letter and said, “I don’t remember this, but if it happened I am sorry.” I thought “What! That’s it! You don’t remember, but you’re sorry?” Then I realized it didn’t matter what he said. My healing came from actively pursuing letting go of all my pain and forgiving him. Gradually my resentment and the bondage of victim-hood melted away and I was able to accept him as a human being again.
My journey to recovery had been a long and twisted one. At a very young age I was instilled with a very strong faith. I truly believe God gave me an unshakeable faith so I would have the armor I would need to get through life. But my shield of faith did not mean I lived a charmed life. I always believed that God doesn’t give me anything that I can’t handle. Knowing this has helped me during the low points in my life. I have been able to lean on this understanding and pull myself out of the deepest holes of depression.
Being molested has resulted in such a magnitude of issues that I could go on for hours. But we don’t have that kind of time. What I want to share is the biggest ongoing challenge that incest has created in my life. It is the issue of intimacy--especially physical intimacy. Shaking hands feels like an invasion of personal space to me. Hugging my daughter for too long feels sexual. When she was a child it was very difficult for me to hold her in my arms and not feel weird. I am currently married for the third time and intimacy is a difficult challenge in our relationship. The lines between normal, healthy affection and sexual affection are completely blurred for me. Because I was sexualized at such a young age my relationships are complex and difficult at times. I pray and hope that one day this part of my life will be healed also.
Through the many difficult years I found compassion and love for those who have abused. The work I did to forgive and understand helped me to realize the people who have abused are human beings also. I am not condoning what they have done. Nor am I saying they shouldn’t be held accountable, because they should be held accountable. But I do believe they deserve to have the help they need to recover from their afflictions and choices. Who of us has not made mistakes? Who of us has not hurt another person? I myself have done some terrible, despicable things. Does this mean that I don’t deserve love, compassion and forgiveness? No! And I believe the same goes for the abusers.
About three years ago I had a vision of helping abusers. First by bridging the gap between abusers and the communities they live in and secondly by building programs and facilities to help the abusers truly recover. As I proceeded to make phone calls to learn where I could plug in, I was directed to Stop It Now! I am currently on the Advisory Board for Stop It Now! and on the Faith Community Alliance board, which bridges the faith communities with the victim advocacy communities. I also have been collaborating with the Dept. of Corrections and speak at the community notifications when they release a level 3 offender.
Currently I have my own speaking business. I speak publicly about my journey in life as it relates to adversity and sexual abuse. I have developed a program that teaches people the skills needed to thrive through any type of adversity. Breaking my secrecy and silence about sexual abuse is tremendously empowering, healing and freeing. Every time I speak, a place of my brokenness gets repaired and I feel like I help someone else with their healing journey. I am proud to say that I am one who triumphantly overcame sexual abuse!
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