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.