Tired

I'm so tired.  I’m not supposed to be.  That’s supposed to be next month, when my anniversaries hit, and I wait around for the shit to hit the fan.  When I wait so much that I can't sleep, and walk through the month in a haze. But this month has already been so hard.

I watched a brave woman testify in front of the world about her experiences as a teen.  I was moved when she said that she had trouble with her schooling, like I have. Online, friends state she should have remembered more, that her limited memory makes her less credible.  It doesn’t matter how long I explain how memory works after a traumatic event, the swiss cheese like holes we are left with, people still think she should remember everything with picture perfect clarity.  I'm tired.

A former friend states that he will support survivors as long as he knows a rape actually happened.  I get mad, and told him it's irresponsible to demand proof before offering support. His friend says I am twisting his words.  He then tells me that women who don’t report are contributing to the problem. I remind him that victims are in control of who they do or do not tell, and that the only person responsible for raping, is rapists.  I tell him that forcing victims to come forward doesn't always help. I tell him that his exact attitude only hinders the healing of survivors who never told. He decides “he’s out" and ends the conversation. He has that luxury.  I'm tired.

An out of state relative posts a long post, the gist of which says “innocent until proven guilty.” This family member has always been supportive, so I decide to ask her about proof.  I ask about the rape kit backlog in her state. I ask what should be done for the survivor in cases where they don’t have physical proof. She tells me that my views on false reports is troubling, even though that's not what I was trying to discuss.  She tells me she is sorry that I am unable to move on, and understand that not every man is guilty. She refuses to discuss what we can and should do for survivors, seeing my views as problematic. She discusses with me no further, breaking my heart just a little because I know how capable she is of having a discussion that is not biased and free of politics.  I am tired.

I watched the news as the FBI put on a sham of an investigation, in which neither the accused nor the accuser was interviewed.  I watched as parties either praised or denounced said investigation, aligning pretty much as I had expected them to. It doesn't matter that sexual assault happens on both sides of the political aisle.   The left blames the right, and the right blames the left, and we are left with people in between who, like me, are so tired.

Today I watched 50 senators show how little they care about the plight of the survivor.  I watched people everywhere wonder why we even bother. I have seen my peer's exhaustion, and I feel that.  I wonder honestly if roles were reversed, if this would have gone the same way, and am disheartened when I think that the outcome would have been the same.  The whole situation almost makes me want to give up, and stop fighting, and just resolve myself to the reality.

But then, I see the new activists.  Survivors who have just found the courage to come forward.  Survivors who are ready to take on the world and whatever it brings.  These people give me strength. I am still so tired. But I will drag my tired body along with them, and fight beside them, holding them up as they become as exhausted as me.  We are not alone. We have millions of people to lean on throughout our exhaustion. We have people who understand exactly how difficult this last month has been. With them, I will continue fighting, speaking, writing, until we can make a positive change in this world.

Celebrating Tragedy: How I am Celebrating my Sexual Abuse

I remember driving in the car with my Mom, just a few days after my life turned upside down.  I stared out the window at nothing, and finally voiced one of my thoughts out loud.  “I’m just another statistic.”

“Don’t say that.”  My Mom’s voice pulled my gaze from the window.  “Don’t start thinking like that.  If you think like that, you’re letting him win.”  It was hard to think of a life where he didn’t win.  He had already pulled us from our homes, severed us from our family, and effectively ended my childhood.  “You are so much more than a number.”  Her words brought comfort to me, like a mother’s words should, and I decided then to strive to be more, to make some good out of this.

(Me and my amazing Mother)

Now, I embrace those statistics I once feared.  One in four women and one in six men will be sexually abused or assaulted before they turn eighteen.  I am one of the one in four.  It’s hard to say exactly when the change happened, but at some point, I decided that being a statistic was better than ignoring the problem.  Ignoring the problem will not make it go away.

This year is a big anniversary for me.  Because this year, on November 13th, marks ten years.  Ten years since I made that decision to tell my Mom that her husband was molesting me.  Ten years since I decided that situation was not ideal.  Ten years since I escaped the hell I had been living in for so long.  So I need to do something big.  I found something, and it is so poetic, it’s like it was set up for me to succeed.

The plan: run a half marathon.  What better way to show that I can persevere than by running for 13 miles?  Sure, I’m not the best runner, but anyone can do it, I have done some training, and I’m not walking in blind.  I have faith in my ability to finish this.  On top of it all, I can run for a charity.  The Joyful Heart Foundation is always something I planned to run for at some point, why not for my anniversary?

The race:  The race I chose was a RunDisney event.  Why Disney?  Well, for me, Disney was a huge part of my healing process.  We went the summer after I told my Mom for the first time.  She took us so we could see there was still joy in the world.  Boy did it work.  The cast members had no clue why we were there, they just treated us with respect and made our visit as magical as they could (Shout out to Recneps Gamazing!).  I left with the hope of making that magic some day.

Spoiler alert! I did!  I completed not one, but two Disney College Programs.  One I spent making magic at Animal Kingdom, at Restorantosaurs, the other hanging with Buzz Lightyear in Tomorrowland.  My two favorite memories were singing Christmas Carols with guests in the Resto dining room, and announcing the Galactic Heroes who maxed out their scores on Buzz Lightyear Space Ranger Spin.  Each time I made numerous friends, and created bonds that i will never forget.  As much as Disney was there for me during that time, I hope that I, as a Disney Cast Member, was able to make magic for a family like mine.

To top it all off, the RunDisney event is superhero themed.  I can be a real-life superhero.  I can run a race that means so much to me, donate money to an organization dedicated to improving the lives of survivors, and heal some more in the process.  It seems like a win-win-win situation for me!

I do need some help.  I need help fundraising to meet my goal.  The race is in 6 days.  Yikes!  I have a shirt, it is pictured at the bottom.  I plan to run with names of survivors on my shirt.  For a $10 donation, I will write the first name of any survivor you know somewhere on my shirt.  I truly believe that all survivors are superheroes in their own right, and I want to carry them with me for 13.1 miles. I need you to share this campaign.  Share it everywhere you can, the more exposure the better.  And I need you to pray for me as I tackle this next chapter of my healing, and celebrate my victory as I compete.  Thank you!

https://secure.joyfulheartfoundation.org/page/outreach/view/jrac/JennasDisneyHalf (Donation address)

Coping

Some of you may be wondering why I have shared this picture of frogs.  Others, who are disnerds like me, may be wondering why the photo of Tiana and Naveen.  They are not my favorites, it's not a covert message that I thought I would share.  Instead, last night, they were a coping mechanism.

I was triggered last night at the Magic Kingdom, the one place in the world that my problems don't tend to affect me.  Part of it was because I have discovered one of my triggers in the last year.  That nursery rhyme that starts, “star light, star bright, first star I see tonight.”  It was part of our nightly prayers with my abuser, and the day I heard his voice in my ear is the day I realized why I hated that rhyme.  I hear it and immediately want to be sick.  It makes me angry, and afraid, and my reaction tends to be out of control.  Part of me thinks that being consciously aware of it should help, but I fear the anxiety that grips me every time I hear it, wondering whether I'll be okay this time or if I'll have a meltdown.

Last night, I had a meltdown.  I called my Mom in hysterics, unsure of what to do with myself as I waited for my bus home.  Now, I've said it before, but I'll say it again now.  My Mother is the best.  She talked me down, reminded me of my strength, and made me tell her all the wonderful things I had done with the rest of my day, even though I'm sure it wasn't easy to listen to me like that.  And when I got home, she told me to get some sleep, and reassured me that she loved me.

I didn't sleep though.  Instead, I grabbed the coloring book I have of Disney animals, and colored a page, blasting Carrie Underwood’s So Small in my ears until my roommates got home.  I talked with them, and continued my coloring after they went to bed.  I colored and listened to that song until all traces of him were scrubbed from my conscious thought.

Now you may be wondering why I am telling you all this.  I tell you this because I worry that I am falling into a trap that I don't like.  When I created this page, I did it because I always wanted people to know that someone out there gets it.  Because we don't always see how this may affect our favorite celebrities who have been through the same thing on a day to day basis.  And I worry that by being an activist, people may not think that I struggle with the healing process.  How outspoken you are or aren't doesn't show all the work that you’ve done.  Having a bad day doesn't mean that all the work you have done is invalid.  Healing is a process.  It's never the same for any one person, and I never want anyone to discount their healing because they think that someone else is doing better.

Today is a better day.  I made food for the week, I'm going to work, I got to know one of my roommates a little better, and I'm still in a better spot than I was a few years ago.  And I want to thank every single one of you for listening to my ramblings about a subject people don't want to talk about.  I'm thankful for you, I'm thankful for life, and I'm thankful that I'm in the spot I'm in today.

For anyone having a bad day today, you're so much stronger than the shit that life is throwing at you.  I believe in you.

Dear Olivia Benson

So, nerdygirlnotes.com is doing a Fan Mail Project. They're taking a bunch of letters fanmail to all the badass female characters that we know, and are making them into a book. I missed the deadline, but I wrote one to one of the most badass detectives I know:

To Olivia Benson,

This seemed like a weird concept to me, but as soon as I decided to do it, yours was the first name that came to mind. I haven’t watched your show for as long as others in the world have, but I have watched it long enough. Growing up, I never would have believed that a show about sex crimes would bring me such comfort. 

That was, until I told my Mom about my Step-father, and what was happening to me at night while she was at work. And how I suddenly felt like I was all alone in the world. And how, when he decided that he didn’t want to face the consequences, he took himself out of the world, instead of allowing me to feel some sense of justice. I was angry, confused, ashamed, and an all around mess while I figured myself out. And it took some time, but I’m no longer ashamed.

I contribute some of that to you. Watching SVU, and how you supported other survivors helped me to feel validated. The show helped me realize that survivors feel all sorts of emotions, and no two people react the same way. It helped me to understand that I wasn’t alone, and that these horrible crimes happen every day. But that there are scores of people willing to help out and really make a difference.

How you do everything, even toe the line of the law, to bring a character justice is somewhat therapeutic. I will never have that opportunity, but at least I can have an idea about what that is like. And I think that when a scumbag defendant gets acquitted, I am just as let down as you are.

But your show did something even more amazing for me. Your show gave me a voice. It inspired me to speak out, to spread the statistics, and to become the activist that I am today. Your character has inspired me to push through my PTSD and fight to support other survivors. Liv also taught me that some days are tough no matter what, and that’s okay. It doesn’t mean that I am weak, in fact, it means that I am strong. So thank you, for being flawed, and for working with them to support a cause that you love. Thank you for refusing to give up on the survivors. Thank you for always fighting for justice, even when it seemed futile. Thank you for helping me decide to fight back, instead of staying silent. It means more than I could ever put into words.

Speaking up

So, last night I had the night of a lifetime (thank you Genevieve!) at a Carrie Underwood concert.  It was absolutely amazing, I was awestruck, and I'm pretty sure my jaw was on the ground when she finished Amazing Grace at the end of Something in the Water.  Her song, So Small was instrumental during my healing process, so it's always a treat when I get to see her in person.  And my problem wasn't with her at all, but with one of her opening acts.  

While talking about musicians that had influenced him, he brought up Michael Jackson.  "I always wanted to dance like Michael Jackson.  That didn't work out so well for me.  But there is something I do better than Michael Jackson.  I'm a much better babysitter."  You could tell by listening to the crowd, the joke didn't go over that well.  But why tell it at all? 

It can be hard, when people make jokes, to be able to speak up in a respectful way.  Hell, it is hard to speak up at all.  The most I can usually choke out is a "I don't like that, please don't say that," before running off.  But people don't realize how prevalent this issue is, and they don't think that the people around them have ever dealt with it, so they make jokes.  

Me being me, I decided to speak up.  So much to Genevieve's surprise, I found this opener on Facebook, and I sent him a message.  So far it has been read but not responded to, but I thought I would post it as an example here so you might have an example of what to say when people joke.  And I'd love to hear what people think.  

"I'm almost positive that this won't get a response, but I'll hate myself if I don't put it out there at least.  I was at the Carrie Underwood show that you opened for today.  And I was enjoying your set, getting geared up, but was extremely put off by the Michael Jackson joke.  I'm a survivor of sexual abuse, and it really rubbed me the wrong way.  

I know it can seem easy to think of us as faceless people, or to think that there are only a few of us in the crowd.  But the reality is harsh.  One in four women and one in six men will be sexually abused or assaulted before they turn eighteen.  So chances are, I wasn't the only one in that audience that the joke hit in a bad way.  

And I'm sorry if this seems pushy at all.  I intern at a rape crisis center, and have pretty much focused my education into helping other survivors like me.  I feel that it's better to speak out against it, and to normalize the discussion.  The problem with joking about it though, is that every person in the audience who may have those bad thoughts in their head, can now see you as an ally.  

And I'm sorry if I brought down your night.  Please, enjoy the rest of your tour, and have safe travels. 

-Jenna"

Sometimes people are assholes...

My response to this post shared on Facebook.

Okay, anyone else notice the bible verse on the bottom of the shirt? Galatians 6:8- "The one who sows to please his flesh, from the flesh will reap destruction; the one who sows to please the Spirit, from the spirit will reap eternal life." (NIV)

It seems to me that what this person is saying, is that if you have sex outside of a marriage, you actually deserve the destruction that comes with a rape. That you deserve to be hurt for making a decision to be an actual human being. That's harsh.

But what if you read the whole paragraph? Galatians 6:7-10- "Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows. The one who sows to please his flesh, from the flesh will reap destruction; the one who sows to please the Spirit, from the spirit will reap eternal life.Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good to all people, especially to those who belong to the family of believers." (NIV)

The heading for the 6th chapter (is that what they are called??") is Doing Good to All. Yes, that says all. To me, what this is telling me, is that if I spend my money and time on things that are frivolous (binging Netflix, buying snacks, needing the latest technology, etc.) then my life will not be fulfilling. It tells me that I should instead donate my time and energy into helping the needy, because if we all helped the needy we would all have fulfilling lives. This is yet another verse that tells me I should love an help all people, regardless of what they believe, who they love, what they look like, or any other factors. This verse does not say to me that I deserve to be raped for wearing revealing clothing, or deciding what I do in my relationships.

After the fallout from dealing with my abuse, I fought long and hard to find my faith again. It took a lot of praying, and a lot of thinking, and plenty of faking until I was able to love God again. Sometimes, I worry it's not quite the same as it once was, so I begin to fight again. And this kind of thing kills me. That people take verses out of context, twist them, and make me worry that God says that I deserved to be sexually assaulted. I'm sorry, random asshole in a shirt. What did I do? What did 14-year-old me do to deserve the treatment I received?

After I made a comment online about how I felt like the bible told me to love everyone, someone told me that I was wrong, and I needed to "go back to bible study." I don't know, maybe I'm not the only person who needs to do that.

No Such Thing

I want you to indulge me for a minute.  For those of you who don’t know, I am a psychology major, and I would like to try out some word associations!

Okay, first word.  Child.  What does that make you think of?  Hopefully it reminds you of some good memories from your own childhood, a time when you were truly innocent.  Maybe it makes you think of your own children, carefree and excited to see what the world has in store for them.  All around, the general feelings that surround this word tend to be happy, innocent, free.  

Now the second word.  Prostitute.  Maybe it disgusts you.  For me, it takes me directly into the world of Law and Order, of seedy motels and men who only want to hurt people.  Maybe it makes you think of all the stuff happening behind the scenes, the pimps who abuse the women, the drugs that numb the pain and keep them coming back for more.  Maybe you think of the women who do this because they feel like they have no other choice.  But all around, it’s not one of those words that gives you an airy feeling in your chest.  

Now put them together.  Child prostitute.  It doesn’t make sense!  It shouldn’t exist, right?  I mean, children are innocent and pure, and prostitutes usually make that decision by choice.  Unfortunately it’s a term I’ve heard used far too often, and it makes me sick.  

These victims of sex trafficking are referred to by many different names in the press, including “child prostitute,” “child sex worker,” and even “teen hookers.”  These terms paint these victims as criminals when they are far from it.  It makes it seem like they had a choice, when they didn’t, and makes the crimes committed against them seem less important.  

Now the federal government has made strides, calling child trafficking victims what they are, victims of child rape.  The federal government does not charge underage girls with any crimes.  The state governments haven’t caught up tough.  Many underage girls are being prosecuted for sex crimes that they couldn’t stop.  All of this only adds to their shame and guilt  (not only were they raped repeatedly, but now they have a criminal record).  This needs to stop!

I’ve been learning how language has an impact on the world around us.  If the Associated press would stop using these misleading words to report on child trafficking, maybe people would realize how bad the problem is and rally to stop it.  So I urge each and every one of you to sign this petition aimed at the Associated Press.  Check out and share the No Such Thing campaign.  Start working toward making a difference in the lives of these young girls.  Thanks.  

More than just a survivior

So I read this incredible article recently, and it got me thinking.  I started thinking about the labels we use to describe ourselves.  The biggest one being the whole victim/survivor debate.  I personally feel like victim has a more negative connotation, so I refer to myself as a survivor.  It sounds strong, like I fought to the death to defeat my demons.  In a way, I did.  I'm here, I'm safe, and after a lot of work, I'm thriving.  

One of the hardest things about going public for me was the thought that people wouldn't see me as me anymore, if that makes sense.  I worried that people would pity me, and only see me as a victim.  I saw myself like that at first.  I remember the day I looked at my Mom and told her that I was just another statistic.  It took time before I saw myself as anything else.  

I think it's important to take the time and recognize what else we are, other than survivors.  I am a student, a daughter, and older sister, a four-year-old at heart, an activist, and a friend.  Sexual abuse survivor is NOT the only label I have.  Yes, it makes up who I am but it's not all that I am.  

"None of us survived a traumatic event just so we could spend the rest of our lives defined by that event. We survived it in order to move past the event and on to the other stories that are still out there to be told, whatever they happen to be."  My stories include getting my Psy. D and hopefully raising a family.  My stories consist of concerts with friends and writing late into the night.  My stories will include as many of my hopes and dreams for the future that I can accomplish.  What about you?  What else are you, other than a survivor?  

Five Things You Believe if You Were Sexually Abused

So, I read this article recently about five things you believe if you were sexually abused.  The points are clear, and yes, they were thoughts that I have definitely had, but I feel like there are ways to change those thoughts and make them more positive.  I thought I would share my ideas with you, and if anyone else had any other ways that they may have mostly eliminated these thoughts.

1) You could have done more to stop it.
This one is a tough one because of the very nature of sexual abuse.  Some survivors are threatened, or their family members are threatened so that the secret will be kept.  For me, it was framed as a punishment, and punishments were final.  You aren't supposed to enjoy being punished, and it's supposed to teach you a lesson (the joke is on him, my room is still a mess).  That doesn't mean I didn't have thoughts of trying to live with my Dad in California instead.  That doesn't mean that I couldn't have told my Mom that I was uncomfortable with said punishment, revealing it for what it was.  At least in cases of child abuse, the cards are sort of stacked against us.  Our abusers are usually someone that we love, or trust, someone we see as an authority figure, someone we can't disobey.  And the truth of the matter is, there was nothing we could do to stop it.  Honestly.  Threats to ourselves and our family members are frightening, and taken seriously, no matter what age we are.  We can't reasonably expect a kid to come forward if they are being threatened, so why are you beating yourself up for doing the same thing?  I wouldn't expect my kids to disobey punishments or authority figures, so why should I be upset with myself for doing what I was told?  Yes, it was used against me, but that's not my fault, and I shouldn't beat myself up over it.

So when you find yourself thinking this, maybe instead you should think of where you are now.  The next time your brain decides to tell you that you could have done more, tell yourself that you are out of it now, and your life is so much better now that you are safe.  Remind yourself that you were younger then but stronger now.  Tell yourself that you are brave, because you are (I mean that.  Whether you have told somebody or not, anyone who lives through this ordeal is a brave individual.  Take pride in your bravery.)  And understand that the very real possibility is that there was nothing you could do, and that's okay.  It's really okay.

2) Your body is damaged.
Okay, I completely understand this.  Damaged goods, am I right?  Sometimes I fell like once I've told someone, that I somehow break in their eyes.  I worry that people will pity me, or treat me with kid gloves.  All I want is to feel normal again.

This thought takes some effort to get rid of.  I remember that my self-esteem had dropped so low at one point that I literally ended the night crying on my bed wondering why I hated myself so much.  I still work at this thought, and I think that I will continue to work at it for quite some time.  First, I put some words up on my wall right next to my bed, so I could see them all the time.  In the middle was a notecard that said "you are..." and surrounding that were other cards with words like kind, beautiful, brave, talented, and wonderful.  Seeing those every day helped me to believe it.  The other thing, that I am still working on, is making myself look good on the outside.  I am 22, and just started wearing makeup on a regular basis.  I am also slowly working on phasing out the juvenile t-shirts and focusing on a more adult wardrobe.  I have learned that if I can feel good about myself on the inside, I can reflect that on the outside.  That works in reverse too.  If I think I look good, I feel better about myself.  Pick out something that is on point about how you look and compliment yourself.  this is all about raising your self-esteem, and realizing that you are not, in any way, shape or form, damaged goods.

3) What you went through wasn't that bad.
Can we please stop thoughts like these?  I am so sick of people comparing what they went through to what another person went through.

Guess what?  Nobody's life is perfect.  Everyone deals with some sort of life altering thing in their life.  It's our job as human beings to support one another through the tough times.  So the next time you are helping a friend who is suffering from illness, or hear about some horrific car accident or a terrible tragedy like a shooting, don't compare your trauma.  It's not the same, and in the end, we all have to overcome it anyway.  My sister has a nice analogy.  Everyone has their crap (I'm censoring it a bit).  We shouldn't compare each other's crap, because in the end, it's all the same.  A big, steaming pile of crap.

4) You should be over it.
It doesn't matter what the trauma is, I don't think anyone ever gets over it.  One never completely gets over the pain of losing a loved one.  We always have that ache in our hearts for said person to still be around.  Soldiers come home all the time with PTSD, reliving the trauma from their tours.  We don't expect those people to just get over it, so why should you be expected to?  I think I have realized that I will never be completely over this.  My bedroom door will always have a lock on it, I'll have weird nightmares in November, and I'll never move to Connecticut.  These are facts of my new reality, and I've come to accept them.  Some days are easier for me than others.  Bad days usually have me grumpy and less talkative, and I'm more likely to retreat to my room and binge watch something on Netflix.  But tomorrow will be a better day.  Just take it one day at a time, focus on you, and understand that with time, it gets easier.

5) You deserved it.
You really don't need me to tell you what a pile of crap this is, right?  This is probably one of the hardest thoughts to get out of your head, and I feel like it's the most damaging.  What did I do to deserve this?  I didn't clean my room?  Seriously?  No one deserves this.  I say all the time that I wouldn't wish this trauma on my worst enemy, and my worst enemy is my abuser.

My advice to you is to really pay attention to your thoughts, and look out for this one.  When you hear yourself think it, shake it off.  Tell yourself that of course you didn't deserve this.  Say three things about yourself that are wonderful instead.  Eventually you may find yourself catching the thought and rolling your eyes, telling yourself that "yeah, yeah, I guess I didn't deserve it."  Someday, you may stop thinking it all together.  And when you catch it enough, when you dismiss it for the ridiculous thought it is, you will one day realize that you know in your head and in your heart that this was never your fault.

Just a heads up!

If you want to keep up with the blog, I made a mailing list! On the right side of your screen, you should see a box that asks you for an email address.  if you are interested in being notified when I post things, just enter your email address there, and you will be notified!  Thanks so much for the continued support, and please help me continue to spread the word!

Brian Banks

Stories like this run up one side of me and down the other.  I found it while I was browsing tumblr, and thought it was important to share.

1) They make people believe that this is the norm, that false rape allegations happen all the time.  It makes the real problem less important because everyone would rather think that it doesn’t happen.  Statistics say that only 2-8 percent of rape allegations are provably false.  Yes, there are problems with that statistic.  It doesn’t include allegations that there just wasn’t enough evidence to convict either way.  Another one that people like to throw out is 41%, but that is an extremely old study done in a small town where only 109 rapes were reported.  And the criteria for calling those allegations “false” were that the women making them had to withdraw the complaint themselves, which may have had nothing to do with them being false and everything to do with not wanting to proceed forward with the stress of a trial.  Back then, it was okay to ask dumb questions like “what were you wearing?” “Were you drunk?” “Did you get aroused?” which are all questions that prove nothing other than she may have been dressed skimpy, and that her body did it’s job. 

2) That girl is the scum of the earth.  people who pull this shit drive me up a wall.  I was sexually abused.  I know what it feels like to be broken, confused, angry, hurt, and I had to deal with all the repercussions afterward. I went through therapy, I still can’t sleep throughout the month of November, I have freaky dreams, I am afraid of relationships or even getting close to men, and I hate the way people look at me after they find out. Lately, it’s been better, since I’ve started to be an activist, but it killed me before!  And let’s not even start on the guilt I felt because my family fell apart.  I lost an entire half of my family.  My brother was so angry at me.  We had to move, my Mom changed jobs, my brother and I changed schools, I saw my sister less and less.  People who use this as a way to get something, or as an excuse to commit a crime piss me off.  People who pretend to understand this pain drive me up a wall, because I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.  My worst enemy is the man who did it to me, and I wouldn’t even wish it on him.  Don’t pretend to get it, don’t fake it because you think it makes you cool.  It doesn’t, it hurts, and it just makes me angry.  

I’m glad that man is free.  He didn’t deserve to be imprisoned for something he didn’t do.  But please don’t read things like this and think that it happens all the time.  Because it doesn’t, and we survivors need all the support we can get. 

Helping My Wife Survive Childhood Sexual Abuse

I read this article this week that made me really hope for my future.  It was probably the first positive thing about relationships after sexual abuse that I have ever read. I'm not going to lie, relationships scare me. Which isn't fair.  I didn't choose to be abused, and I shouldn't have to deal with the consequences.  Sometimes it seems like I am being punished, when I am not who should be punished.

And this man, this wonderful man, was there for his wife every step of the way.  From her confession through the crisis stage of her healing, and through to the end.  He supported her and her feelings, never pressing her, just listening and offering support.  He gave her space when she needed it, and stayed attentive.

This is what I hope to find someday.  I didn't really think about dating when I started this page.  I posted a video outing myself and plastered it all over my Facebook.  Through donations (thanks to anyone who has donated, by the way!) I have also boosted that post, sending it all across the country.  Anyone that I potentially date will have the opportunity to see that post, and they will know all of my baggage.  And that is scary.  It's always a conversation I imagined myself having on a quiet night in, when I could look him in the eye and talk about it face to face.  He could ask questions, and I would do my best to stay calm, and hope and pray it didn't scare him off.  Now, I could potentially scare him off before we ever get to that point.  This article gives me hope.  I hope that I will find a man like Grant, one who will listen to me when I need him to, give me space if I need it, and understand my concerns.

I would love to hear other thoughts about this.  If anyone has stories about their partners helping them through a crisis like Liz's, or stories of unconditional support.  They give me hope, and hopefully they give other survivors hope as well.

Anecdotes of a Girl

This article was sent to me by a person in my church, one who heard my sermon and thought it would help someone.  I found myself relating to it a lot, and thought I would post something about it here, as well as on the actual Facebook page.  
The author tells her own story, about her father, and about growing up.  She talks about all the ways she just wanted to escape, from Peter Pan taking her away, turning to her faith to guide her, and even wanted to develop other personalities, stronger personalities so that she could escape the hell her father was putting her through.  Despite all of this, she loved her father, and when she asked for him to stop the abuse, he guilted her, by treating her badly.  When she told her mother two years later, he was arrested, but she still felt guilty and embarrassed.

So much of this spoke to me personally.  I loved my step-father, I called him Dad.  And yes, my actual Dad had been a part of my life, but I felt lucky because I had two.  One near me and one far away.  And even in the midst of my abuse, I craved that normalcy, that relationship.

He framed my abuse as a punishment.  He also made me promise that I would let him do it whenever he wanted.  The one time I refused, he left my room, and stood ominously in the doorway, telling me "I guess you don't keep your promises."  I felt so guilty, I cried as I kept myself in my bed, because who was I to break a promise? I wanted to go flying through my door, apologizing and begging him to come back.  I have always hated disappointing people, and he played right into that.  I didn't chase after him that night, but I never refused again.  This makes me feel for the author.  "He nodded his head slowly and said that he understood and he was sorry, he would never do things to me again, but that of course our relationship would change and he couldn’t be that nice to me anymore. He said he would have to treat me like shit because I obviously didn’t love him and that I better not say anything to my mother."  Same guilt trip, used only to manipulate her into doing what he wanted.  She was strong enough to continue refusing even through all his mistreatment of her.  I gave in to the manipulation.  

Her description of telling her mother is what really spoke to me.  I know the look she described.  It's a look I saw on my own mother's face, one that still brings tears to my eyes.  Her description of telling is something I also relate to.  I had stopped praying to God, God hadn't helped me.  But the night before, days after my Grandfather had died, I asked him for help instead.  When I told my Mom the next day, I felt this surge of strength directly before, starting in my toes and working it's way up through my body to my head.  My mouth sort of fell open and my voice was talking and the words just sort of fell out.  After they did, the strength was gone.  Telling my mother is one strength I have never been able to take full credit for.  To me, it's all the stuff afterward that took courage.  All the work I did on myself, all the talking, the coming forward, that is what I have done.  Telling my Mom was all Grampy, and I am so happy he helped me.

I would love to hear more of your thoughts.  What do other people think?  Did you relate to this like I did, or not? Let me know in the comments.

The Hunting Ground

A documentary opened this weekend that sheds a light on sexual assault on college campuses.  These stories are some of the most disturbing stories of assault I have heard.  Many times I hear of fraternities and athletes taking part in a gruesome sexual assault, complete with alcohol and sometimes drugs.  Yes, those are things that are on a college campus.  But we need to make sure that people are aware that when someone is drunk, they can not legally consent, and that using the "She/he was really drunk" defense is wrong and despicable.

A lot of people think that these reports are false, that someone just regretted what had happened the next morning and pointed fingers.  But that happens so few times.  It is estimated that for every 1,000 women attending a college or university, there are 35 incidents of rape each academic year.  I personally think it would be an interesting documentary to watch.  What do you all think? Let me know!

I want to change the world

It seems daunting.  And I don't think I realized exactly how daunting until two days ago.  I stood in front of my entire congregation and told them my story, and it was truly scary, but so much more rewarding than I could have imagined. 

So, for those of you who don't know me, my name is Jenna, and I am a survivor of sexual abuse.  My step-father was my abuser, and he worked really hard to manipulate me.  He framed it as a punishment, and also made me promise to let him do what he wanted so that either way, I would feel like my abuse was all my fault.  

My Mom was incredibly supportive.  She, my brother, and I packed our essentials and moved across state lines, escaping the situation.  Now, I was conflicted.  Part of me felt like I was just another statistic.  I didn't know the statistics then like I know them now, but I felt like I was just another random person facing a tragedy.  I also felt completely alone due to the silence that surrounds crimes like these.  I talked with a few of my closer friends about it, but let's be honest, I was moving to a different state, and I didn't know anyone, and it's not usually something you tell to people you just met.  

A week after I told my Mom, my step-father took his own life, meaning that my family and I did not get the justice that we so badly wanted.  On top of that, he had a daughter, a girl that I shared a room with for five years of my life, that I was terrified I would never see again. (spoiler alert, I saw her again today, she's doing pretty great!)  So now, on top of all those conflicting feelings, I felt like my family was falling apart, and I just wanted to take it all back.  

I'm so glad I didn't.  Not like anyone would have believed me if I suddenly said, "Nevermind, nothing happened, I made it up."  But I have come to understand that as difficult as all of that was, I am so much better off now.  I know that should go without saying, but before I came forward, I didn't know what to expect.  

So, changing the world.  I want to see if more people will come forward with stories.  I want to have a ton of stories for fellow survivors to read, so that they don't feel as alone as I once did.  I also hope that some fourteen year old girl will stumble across this blog and find that if all of us can come forward, then so can she, and she will get herself out of that very dangerous situation by using whatever means necessary.  I truly believe that by survivors speaking up, we can save lives.  So, if you are with me, I'd love for you to join me on this journey.