Bittersweet satisfaction...

Yesterday was one of many days, I have been searching the internet for possible newspaper articles about a sexual offender caught in the U.S. I wanted to know, if somebody finally caught this guy somewhere... Maybe finally somebody found out, what he did to me and maybe other young girls. It couldn't be that he ruined my life and simply got away with it. That he was living a happy life with wife and kids in a suburban house with a beautiful backyard, waving the newspaper-guy in the morning. I could not imagine this idyllic world for him...this couldn't be...

Almost every day I remember my friends' words, saying he was innocent and that I wanted to screw him...

So day by day I was searching for a hint. His name. A soldier based in Vilseck, Germany back in 1998/99. Incidents combined with his name. As finally yesterday a site popped up with registered sexual offenders in the U.S. ... there he was. There was his disgusting face in this mugshot... 

I felt relieved at first. Now somebody finally caught his pervert ass! Now the world knows! People know he is an abuser. There's no other way than to finally believe me now! There's no way he can get near young girls now. People are aware of him now.

But then I got sad somehow... I wasn't the only one... There were other young girls who got hurt, whom he laid his hands on. Maybe I could have done something to prevent this, if I only spoke up earlier... but I couldn't...no one ever believed me... I was a freak girl, they said, I only wanted attention. I dressed the wrong way and I was a whore, they said. It suddenly hit me again... I could't sleep... I had these flashbacks in my dreams and during the day... I remembered what happened back then. 

How he picked me up at my parent's house and nobody noticed... how he was driving around with me in his car and made me touch him although I DIDN'T want it.... how I had to hide in the trunk of his car to get to his room at the barracks. How his freaking camera was watching me all the time I was there. How I begged him to turn it away, to turn it off... How all his visits or mine ended with the same procedure... I had to touch him... How he talked and talked his sweet talk to poison my mind and nobody was there to wake me up and tell my little teenage brain: DON'T GO THERE, DON'T DO THE THINGS HE WANTS YOU TO DO, he is BAD, he will do BAD things to you. You don't get it now, but you will later. How he tried to buy me with buying me all the stuff I wanted and promising me to fulfill my dreams and help me with my music career. I was so young and so dumb... he took advantage of my teenage naivity and NOBODY could help, nobody could have stopped it... because he made me think he was "so good to me and I was ungreatful". He made me think I needed him in my life. And so he made me think it was normal. The things he did to me were ok. He made me... mute. So NOBODY EVEN KNEW....and as the accident happend... NOBODY CARED. He told everybody I was a dumb little girl and I wanted to ruin his carreer because I wanted attention. He told everyone he never had anything to do with me. I was a psycho, he don't even know me. He met me just once with my friends and said hello. And everyone believed him...

Years over years I punished myself and the ones who loved me. Years of depression and self-destructive behavior. Years of blaming. Years of prejudice and misunderstanding. Years of  trying to explain myself and now....

Now somebody out there, someone cared... and this pervert asshole got caught... The one who was such a good soldier, the one who was such a good man, and the one who was everybody's darling...finally there was somebody he could not fool! Someone who showed the world, who this man really was and what he was hiding...

I am so thankful to you, dear stranger!

...bittersweet satisfaction followed by unwelcome flashbacks...

Tips for Friends & Family of Survivors

It can be hard to know what to do to help a friend or family member who has been raped or sexually assaulted. Here are some tips on what to do (and what not to do) and how to cope yourself.
What to say to a rape or sexual abuse survivor:
I'm sorry this happened to you.
It wasn't your fault.
You survived; obviously you did the right things.
Thank you for telling me.
I'm always here if you want to talk.
Can I do anything for you?
What NEVER to say to a survivor:
It was your fault.
You could have avoided it had you ____________.
It's been so long! Get over it!
You wanted it.
It's not that big of a deal; it happens to lots of people.
I don't believe you. (that's the very worst thing to say)
DO respect him enough to not pity him.
DON'T assume she does or doesn't want to be touched. Some people can't stand a hug at this point; others can't make it without one.
DO comfort her. Bring a cup of tea and a blanket. Play soft music. Make the environment comfortable.
DON'T try to solve all the problems for him. He has had her control taken away from him; try to avoid doing that again.
DO offer to accompany her to her first therapy session.
DON'T demand to know every detail of the rape or abuse.
DO allow her to tell you as much or as little as she needs to.

Further Suggestions...
review facts and myths about sexual abuse and assault
It is crucial to understand the basic facts, and for secondary survivors to examine their own attitudes and feelings in order to be a positive support. Don't allow the myths to affect how you perceive the survivor.
as a secondary survivor, you are also affected
Crisis centers and lines are available to help you also. Call RAINN: 1-800-656-HOPE. Consider seeking therapy yourself (however, see don't see the same therapist as your friend). Pandora's Aquarium has a forum dedicated to secondary survivors, so do consider joining if you have not already.
helping yourself helps the survivor
There is no reason to feel guilty or selfish for taking care of yourself and your many emotions. It is normal to feel the following and more:

helplessness - guilt - shame - loss of intimacy - loss of routine - frustration - need for retaliation - overprotection - anger
aim to find the difference between being supportive and overbearing
I can't give you exact definitions. The supportive friend is there when I need to talk, is open to hearing what I have to say, and doesn't always press for more. The overbearing friend is constantly checking up on me, forces me to talk to her, and tries to solve my problems for me.
don't be afraid of silence
If you don't know what to say, that's okay. The most powerful statement a friend can make is by simply being there, not trying to fix everything or pretending it's okay. Silence often says more than words.

Depending on your relationship with the survivor and the trust she has in you, she may experience a flashback or panic attack in your presence. It can be frightening and difficult to know what to do during a situation like this, but here are a few suggestions.
Panic Attacks
* Remind the survivor of where she is. Ask her to sit down and place her feet on the floor. Describe her surroundings to her, and ask her to do the same.
* Remind the survivor to take deep breaths.
* If the survivor has medication she is prescribed to take during panic attacks, such as Xanax, remind her that if she needs it, it is available.
Flashbacks
Remember that during flashbacks, the survivor is often actually reliving the abuse or assault. Be cautious in your actions, and get to know the survivor and what she needs before you do anything at all. Here are a few suggestions.
* Name it. Not everyone realizes that what they're suffering is a flashback.
* Tell the survivor that you know it feels real to them, but that it is not really happening.
* Turn a soft light on.
* Turn triggering music or television shows off.
* Get to know the survivor's triggers as well as you can.
* Help to ground the survivor. Encourage them to take slow, gentle breaths. Tell them they are remembering. Talk softly to the survivor. Remind her of where she is. Ask her to describe her surroundings to you. Point out the fact that the abuser is not present. Remember that she may not be able to respond to you, but often is aware of your voice.
* Consider placing your hand on her hand or arm (not on the stomach, thigh, etc). This may trigger her further, but may also remind her of where she is.
* Inform the survivor of the importance of flashbacks. They are an opportunity to learn and understand. They are often seen as an indication that the person is ready to remember; that the body has information to share. Many people are very frustrated by lack of memory; flashbacks can validate a survivor's experience.
Most important is to get to know the survivor and what works and what doesn't. There's not a lot you can do during situations like this, which can be frustrating. Just be there for her during and after the flashback. Don't press her to talk about it, and avoid triggering her further. If she wants to discuss what just happened, be open to that, while at the same time being aware that many of the emotions she felt during the rape or abuse may be present now.


What survivors want you to know...
* We often take a lot of responsibility for the abuse. Telling us it is not our fault may help to lessen the guilt of shame, but it can't take it away.
* We deal with a lot of shame. Please don't shame a survivor. It is the pattern we are trying to break.
* The healing process for a survivor may take years. We may be in and out of therapy several times. New memories may surface, and new experiences may trigger us.
* People who are survivors are often caretakers. It is a survival technique. It takes a long time to unlearn that behavior.
* Survivors often resent being judged. We have judged and punished ourselves for years. We are usually harder on ourselves that anyone else can be.
* People who are survivors don't want your pity.
* Don't try to excuse the abuser's behavior.
* Don't categorize survivors. Each case of abuse, although it may be similar, is a unique case. We don't all follow the same pattern of healing or behavior.
* Not all survivors have clear memories of the abuse or assault. We may need to deal with that lack of memories on a regular basis.
* Even if we are safe now, we still may be fearful of our attacker or abuser.
* Talking about it means "breaking the secret." Many of us are faced with the terror "breaking the secret" every time we talk about the abuse.
* If a survivor chooses to talk to you about the abuse or assault, and you are uncomfortable about it, please say so. Let the survivor know you aren't uncomfortable with them, only the issue. The offer to find someone who is comfortable with the issue.
* Please don't ask a survivor to forgive and forget. First of all, there is nothing we would rather do than be able to forget. But we can't--we have to learn how to deal with it.
* Please don't ask a survivor if they are done dealing with it yet. That is a shaming question. The process of healing may take an entire lifetime.

Source: http://www.pandys.org/articles/tipsforfriends.html

On Marrying a Survivor of Childhood Sexual Abuse
Dealing with misinformation, feeling powerless, and slowly getting better together

I thought the article would validate my husband’s experience. That’s why I emailed him the link to the decade-old New York magazine article about his alma mater, the American Boychoir School for vocal prodigies, where alumni from as late as the 1990s estimate that one in five boys were molested. Boys like Travis.

“It used to feel like an isolated incident that affected just me," Trav said.

It was the end of my workday on an October afternoon; I had just set my keys on the kitchen table. My coat was still buttoned.

“Now I know I spent nearly three years of my childhood at a boarding school not just with random pedophiles, but in a culture that allowed it.”

As his wife, how do I respond? That he survived? That he’s brave? That he’s a hero for letting me talk about it? That I will stand beside him with a personal mission and public vow that nobody will ever hurt him, physically or emotionally, again, the way they did during his 30 months as a choirboy from 1988 to 1990?.He keeps a machete by the nightstand. A long pillow divides our bed.

Trav deflects these statements. He understands my protective instincts, but it makes him feel weak and uncomfortable when I say the words with such elevated drama. He is not brave, he says. Not a survivor, and certainly no hero. It doesn’t matter anymore, he says, so I suck in my breath and nod.

Mostly, I listen. I listen, and I do not laugh when my husband needs to secure the perimeter of our home each night. He keeps a machete by the nightstand. A long pillow divides our bed.


Trav believes his story is too familiar to be interesting. “I’m just another kid who got molested.” This breaks my heart to hear, but he’s not wrong about his story not being unique: The generally accepted estimate is that one in six men are sexually abused as children.


Search for Americana singers in our state, and Trav’s name usually tops the list. As a musician, he built a business on his terms, one small stage at a time, and now plays at least five shows a week. He has a kind energy that draws people to him. He is a Reiki master and meditates daily. He defuses bar fights with humor and loads heavy gear with confidence in and out of dim back alley doors. Our niece and nephew run to him, and our chiropractor once called him the nicest man he’d ever met. His shoulders and arms, muscular and tattooed, project strength and confidence. “You’re so lucky,” women tell me after they hear him sing.

There is a hum about Trav—Hawaiians call it “big mana”—so much so, people might be shocked to know about the other, darker parts of him. For all his bold stage presence, he is an extremely private guy.


My husband does not want to be a spokesperson for child sex abuse survivors. His experiences are his own, and he finds no comfort in commiserating with others. He only agreed to this essay as a way of taking the conversation into the light, removing the shame, and saying to some other little boy, “With help, you, too, can heal;” to parents, “Be careful;” and, to partners like me, “Please do not give up.”

Still, there is something in people that always wants details. Partners like me know that even if I ranked every distinct act of pedophilia from bad to worst, the emotions—fear, trauma, sadness, anger, shame— are exactly the same for every crime. While Trav’s experience might not equal the horror of some, I don’t believe in “molestation lite.”

Instead, I read statistics from the Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network and nod along. These are the details that matter:


“Victims of sexual assault are 3 times more likely to suffer from depression, 6 times more likely to suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder, 13 times more likely to abuse alcohol, 26 times more likely to abuse drugs, and 4 times more likely to contemplate suicide.”

Misinformation is the worst. Child sex abuse victims are not destined for deviance, but despite its repeated discrediting, a “cycle of abuse” myth persists. Put in the simplest terms by Houston’s Children’s Assessment Center, 500,000 babies born in the United States this year will likely be sexually abused before they turn 18. The vast majority of these victims will not grow up to be sex offenders.


“I have never, ever had feelings like that,” Trav once told me, as if I did not already know his character, and I was sad because he felt he needed to say the words out loud.

There’s also the guilt of not telling. He described the pressure he felt during his time at the prestigious school. “My folks borrowed money to send me there. If I quit, my whole family would have been seen as a failure.”This idea—that it was his fault for not speaking up—was embedded in my husband's psyche for years.

Both of us grew up in the same small community, and I remember seeing his photos in the local newspaper and the pride shown by our hometown. Looking back, I imagine that weight on the shoulders of a 12 year old, worried about his mom and dad. “I didn’t say anything to them or to the teachers,” he said. “If they knew what happened, I thought it would destroy them.”

This idea—that it was his fault for not speaking up—was embedded in my husband’s psyche for years. In an effort to survive, he buried the details deep, doing his best to forget the American Boychoir School. “Who would believe me?” he used to ask. “I was a scholarship kid.”

Newly into our marriage, and refusing to put more blame on that little boy’s shoulders, I said, “I believe you.”

This is the most important thing a partner can say. Almost 25 years after leaving the school, when Trav did tell his parents, they believed him, too. His mom had set out a pile of items unpacked from his school days to make a memory quilt. When Trav declined, his father asked why, and Trav told the truth.


As a parent, thinking you gave your child the opportunity of a lifetime, how do you watch that image corrode? How do you remember hearing your boy cry to come home, believing it was temporary homesickness? How do you process that despite doing your best due diligence, the organization you trusted with your child played a role in his trauma?

His parents’ immediate reaction—to hug him tight—was exactly right.***

Travis sleeps most nights now. Before, he didn’t. When we moved in together, he was 23 and midway through a second military band enlistment. Our apartment was a small cinderblock studio, and in such close physical proximity, I watched his sunny, gregarious stage presence lie dormant for hours under a blanket on the couch. I suggested Trav visit the Air Force base clinic, and he got a 10-question checklist. “You’re fine,” the clinician said and sent Trav back to our couch.

Frustrated, we located a private practice, and with a small dose of anti-depressants, information began to slip out. “I can’t remember all the details, but I have this feeling,” he said. I held his hand as his night terrors, hyper-vigilance and claustrophobia began to make sense.

When Trav’s enlistment was up, we moved back home to Maine.

“But you’re eight years in,” people accused. “Why don’t you just stay?”

We were told we were stupid and short-sighted, throwing away good careers. I preferred that oblique assessment to my reality: If Trav were to stay in the regimented, institutional environment of the military, void of any personal control while he wrestled with these memories, he would likely put a bullet into his head.


Partners like me have very few resources. There’s no recourse, no opportunity for revenge, or even forgiveness. My challenges are loneliness, impotence, and the urge to do something, somehow to make it right.

I said, “let’s go home” because I didn’t know what else to do.

We took a 75 percent pay cut when we moved, but Trav gained a lifestyle structure with no overt vestige of imprisonment or dominance, emotional or physical. He could move freely, and we found a therapist who specializes in post-traumatic stress disorder. Details continue to leak out, but Trav is stable enough to handle them now.

At a recent dental appointment, while filling out paperwork, Trav checked the PTSD box in the medical history section. “Service-related?” the hygienist asked. When Trav said no, he thought she seemed disappointed. No war hero. He could buy sympathy with the truth, but he would never say it out loud.I swallowed urges to find myself a small apartment, to have a discreet affair, or to book a hotel room for just one good night of my own sleep.

“It’s nobody else’s business, and I don’t want it to define me,” he said, “Plus, it makes people uncomfortable.”

Given the near-universal shame in the telling and the near-universal discomfort of the listener, as his wife, it makes me uncomfortable how we, as a community, fail to protect our little boys.

***

Trav tells me I’m the most beautiful, smart, sexy woman he’s ever met, and I know he believes it. Still, sometimes my husband cannot summon a desire to touch me in a way that doesn’t feel obligatory and rote. I’d be lying if I said I never wanted things to be different.


I swallowed urges to find myself a small apartment, to have a discreet affair, or to book a hotel room for just one good night of my own sleep. On his bad days, I dreaded opening the front door because I was never sure what I’d find. His secrets were now mine to keep, and the weight was heavy.



We are good now, and getting better, but there are still moments when I never know what to do or say. So, when I fell down the Google rabbit hole last year and was routed to the old 2002 New York magazine article, I sent the link to Trav. According to the article, there was a longstanding and widespread atmosphere of willful ignorance about sexual abuse.

Rather than bringing the solace of knowing he was not alone, the article put Trav’s mind back in a little boy place, trying to sleep in the dormitory, sensing what happened in the rooms next door and wondering if and when he would be next.


“It wasn’t just me. It was the entire school’s culture,” Trav said, the new awareness making his voice wooden.

I watched my husband move back onto our couch that day, and I thought of all the other partners like me, shifting feet back and forth in their own kitchens, arms useless and keys jangling, with no social script and no map—the desire for vengeance and policy change and a way out overridden by a bigger, immediate desire for their husband, son, brother, or friend to just stop hurting.I am grateful that "I" is now a solid community of "we."

“It was the entire school,” he repeated on that October day. And then, softer, “What if I remember more?”

I considered this. It took more than a decade for the emergence of his recollections to plateau, and I thought of our life stretched out for another 10 years, and then 10 more after that, dealing with this issue in perpetuity. Instead of anger or hatred or an urge to leave, I imagined a lifetime of my husband bolting straight up in the early morning hours and me coaxing him to breathe, assuring him he’s okay.

“If you remember more, I will believe you, and your family will believe you, and your friends will believe you, and we will figure it out together,” I said in my now-practiced whisper. I set my keys on the table, hung my coat on the back of a kitchen chair, and crawled up into the nook under Trav’s arm, nodding against his chest.

I know that this couch moment will pass, that it will never be as bad as those first early and uncertain days. I am grateful that “I” is now a solid community of “we” because now, most nights, instead of waking to sounds of Trav thrashing himself alert, I wake to find that at some point in those early morning hours, my husband’s hand has reached across our bed’s center pillow to rest on my waist.




Source: http://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2013/08/on-marrying-a-survivor-of-childhood-sexual-abuse/278967/

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Supporting a Victim of Sexual Assault

When someone is the victim of a sexual assault or rape and they make the decision to open up to you about it, it is not a decision they make lightly. There are very real fears that come with disclosing an experience so personal and shattering. The greatest gift you can give a person who has been the victim of a sexual assault or rape is support. Here are a few tips on how to respond if someone you are close to tells you their story or a fraction of it.

1. Don’t make it about yourself. You have every right to feel anger towards the perpetrator. You have every right to feel hurt, confused and even protective. But whatever you do, do not make the situation about you. Unless the victim specifically asks you about how you feel, you need to refrain from talking about how it affects you and showing your anger. If they do happen to ask about how you feel, keep it short and re-affirm that what matters is how they feel. They need to be heard and feel comfortable knowing they are your number one priority in that moment.

2. Don’t blame the victim. Do not, under ANY circumstances, ask them why they were drunk, what they were wearing, why they were with a particular person, whether they flirted, if they were at a bar, if they were watching their drink, why they walked the person home, why they didn’t fight back or if they did, why they didn’t fight hard enough. Don’t. Most likely, there is nothing you can say that they have not thought themselves. Remember - nothing justifies or excuses rape or sexual assault. Only rapists cause rape.

3. Do not define their experience/s for them. Don’t tell a victim it wasn’t rape or it wasn’t a big deal because of A, B and C. It is not your place and you would not only invalidate their feelings, you would be dismissing the trauma caused by the event. Don’t forget, rape occurs in the absence of a sober, enthusiastic, freely given “YES”. Regardless of gender, sexuality, ability or race.

4. Re-affirm that it wasn’t their fault. I can’t stress enough how important it is to tell the victim that what happened to them was not their fault. Most victims blame themselves at some point and some don’t stop blaming themselves. It is the result of a toxic society that tells people certain things or actions invite rape. Re-assure the victim that nothing they did encouraged the assault. There is no excuse.

5.Don’t bombard them with questions. Let them tell the story, with as little or as much detail as they are comfortable with. Don’t plague them with 50 questions as this can be intrusive and they may not be ready or comfortable enough to expose certain details. The best you can do is let them know they can tell you as much as they want to. If you’re unsure if they want to say more you can ask “Would you like to continue or is this as much as you can tell me?”.

6. Be patient. Allow the victim to talk at their own pace. Certain details may be difficult to discuss and there may be moments of silence while the victim collects their thoughts. Don’t push. Silence is okay and can be comforting. It shows you are listening. You can say “It’s okay, take your time” if you want to let them know your attention is 100% on them.

7. Don’t try to “convince” them to report. Reporting a sexual assault can be traumatizing in itself. Remember, the justice system is flawed. There a people in power who victim blame and will side with the abuser. Do not guilt trip them. If the victim feels they can handle what can come with reporting, it’s up to them. The main focus needs to be the victim and what they feel comfortable with.

8. Ask the victim what they need from you to help them. Let them know you are there to support them with whatever they need and make sure to ask them what you can do to help them. They may just want a listening, non-judgemental ear. They may want to let someone know so they have a support base.

9. Ask before making physical contact. Sometimes we feel inclined to offer physical comfort to someone who is hurting. Do not initiate physical contact without asking first. “Would a hug help you feel okay or do you need space?”. Respect their decision and don’t feel offended. They may not respond well, even to platonic touch.

10. You won’t always know what to say, and that’s okay. You don’t have to fill every silence. Letting them control the conversation means there will be moments where you won’t have anything to say.  As long as you let them know you will support them in whatever way they need, you are giving them the opportunity to let their feelings out in a safe space and that is SO important.

Listen, don’t judge and be the best person you possibly can. That is the side of you they need and deserve.

Source: http://webelieveyou.tumblr.com/

An open letter to sexual abuse victims from Mary DeMuth

Dear Sexual Abuse Survivor,

I don’t really like the word victim. Even survivor has a strange connotation. And I’m not too keen on victor. None of those words encapsulate what happened to you, the devastation sexual abuse enacted on your heart. But we’re strangled by language sometimes–even writers can’t adequately express horror.
I much like the word BRAVE. Because it’s so darn brave to walk away from something like that. It’s brave to forgive. Brave to live your life in the wake of sexual trauma. Brave to hold your head high.
First let me say I am sorry. I’m so terribly sad that sexual abuse is part of your story. It’s not right. Someone chose to take something from you–your volition and your body. That person (or people) violated you. They used their power and bully persuasion to overwhelm you with their sinful desires. And now you’re the one left feeling dirty and used–while so many perpetrators walk this earth free. 
It’s not fair.
Some of you feel shame and guilt in gigantic measure, heaped upon you. Some of you feel that you invited the abuse. The way you dressed. The hole in your heart that longed for attention. The equating of sex with love and affection. You feel you wooed the perpetrator somehow. Let me say this: A person who adores and loves you would NEVER EVER violate you. Never. Instead of violation, they would protect. They would pray for you. They would honor your boundaries.
Someone’s selfish gratification is not your fault. Don’t own that. Dare to believe your worth, and allow yourself the feel the grace that God grants you. Forgive yourself. Let yourself off the hook. You were abused. You didn’t want it. Someone took from you–like a thief. They may have used slick words, threatened you, persuaded you that you wanted it, but it’s not true. Thieves are often liars.
In sexual abuse’s aftermath, you’ve possibly thought of suicide. You’ve cut your skin until the blood came. You over-ate. You spent years hard as rock, bitter as horseradish, always vigilant–ready to fight. You’ve protected your heart with ironclad resolve. No one will EVER hurt you that way again. Not on your watch.
All these coping strategies had good purpose a long time ago. They protected you. But now they’re strangling the life out of you. I only say that because I’ve walked the path of isolation and withdrawal. Actually, I spent about a decade of my life keeping the sexual abuse secret. And once I let the secret out, I decided I’d been healed, so I tucked it back away for another decade and lived inside myself–not daring to deeply engage my heart.
An untold story never heals, friend. Isolation only masks the problem.
That’s not living. It’s existing. It’s pushing stuff down that you hope stays submerged forever. Unfortunately, our stories have a way of coming out–almost always in our actions. We end up hurting those we love. Some people become perpetrators because they never deal with getting better.

I know there are questions. I have them too.

• Why did God allow this to happen?
• Why didn’t He step in and rescue?
• Why do I have to suffer seemingly forever for something someone else did to me?
• Why can’t I ever feel normal?
• Will I ever be able to enjoy sex?
• Why does my spouse have to suffer for something someone else did to me?
• What’s wrong with me that I kept being violated?
• Was I put on this earth to be stolen from?
• Why am I here?
• What was it about me that perpetrators found irresistible?
• Why do other people keep telling me it was a long time ago and I should be over this?

I want to assure you that these questions are entirely, utterly normal. And you should ask them. You should wrestle with them. Some of them will not be answered this side of eternity.
When I feel overwhelmed by the whys and the whats, I stop a moment and consider Jesus. This may not resonate with you because you might be mad at Him. That’s okay. I hear you. But there is comfort in knowing Jesus understands.
He took on the sins of everyone, including sexual sin, upon His holy, undeserving shoulders. He suffered for everyone’s wicked crookedness. And when He hung on a cross, He did so naked. Exposed. Shamed. Humiliated. Bleeding.
That’s why, when I write about sexual abuse recovery, I have to involve Jesus. He has been the single best healer in my journey. He understands. He comes alongside. He “gets” violation.
Sexual abuse is devastating. It pulls the rug out from under your worth. It keeps you scared. It infiltrates nearly every area of your life, consciously and subconsciously.
But I am here to let you know there is hope. Though the healing journey is long, it is possible. When I tell my own story now, it feels like I’m sharing about another person’s sexual abuse. I’ve experienced profound healing. It didn’t happen passively or quickly. I had to WANT it, pursue it. I had to stop shoving it down and bringing my story into the light–with praying friends, with counselors, with my husband.
Today I enjoy sex. I can share my story without getting that vomit-y feeling in my stomach. The flashbacks are less and less. I still have moments, of course. But I am so much farther along than I had been.
I want to end this letter with this truth: You are amazing. You survived something traumatic and horrific. You are reading this letter blessedly alive, connected to others. Your story absolutely matters. Don’t let the trauma steal your story of hope today.

Joyfully free,
Mary