Survivor Stories
A Measure of Justice
Three years ago, my sister told my mum that her husband, my brother in law, had confessed to having a consensual sexual affair with me when I was 16 and he was 35. Over the next two weeks, my sister went from ‘I will have to divorce him’ to ‘We have to forgive him to save the family’ which probably meant save reputations, save the business. Ultimately, she wanted it all to go away. Mum and I couldn’t accept that.
Cutting Ties
I have a second wound that cuts so deep, which has left a black hole in my heart that I accept will never go away and I’m learning to live with it and thrive in spite, as well as, because of it. I’m a survivor of sexual, emotional and psychological abuse. I’m in recovery from Complex PTSD.
Silenced
I didn’t know there was something wrong with me when I was a child. I didn’t know that what had been done to me when I was age 3 to age 8 had made me bad somehow. Eventually, that is exactly how I felt though. The only thing made clear to me as a child was that I was not to talk about what had happened to me. My mother demanded complete silence. I was not to tell my sister, grandma, cousins, friends, church leaders, school teachers, boyfriends, or even later my husband.
It Was Not Okay
I was 33 and had my first daughter. My mother said, “I can’t wait till I can have her spend the night.” And there it was. A huge eye-opener. So I plunged myself into seeing a therapist. I stopped talking to my stepfather after he blatantly did something I specifically asked him not to, in regards to my daughter’s picture.
I hadn’t told my siblings about the sexual abuse.
Just So Sad
It’s just so sad that there are some people that you can’t explain yourself to. These people that no matter what you say will see things differently. Who will box you up, pigeon hole and label you. Who seek not to understand. Who will call your boundaries unreasonable. Who will make you alone responsible for the status of things. Who will not have conversations with you. Who will pretend to be the “loving” one. Who will blame you. Who will attempt to guilt you.
Grieving for a Family That is Still Alive
It’s the hardest thing, grieving for a family that’s still alive. For me estrangement came in stages, cycling over 27 years. It’s hard to even see that written on the page, but that’s how long it took me to be able to understand the collateral damage caused by denial, minimizing, blame and broken trust.
Time to Speak Out
Ya know what scares the shit out of me? Sharing my story. It’s strange because if we sit down over coffee, I’ll always spill everything (but only if you ask). Face to face, I’ll tell it all… I grew up in a broken home… I was molested for many years of my childhood… I drank through high school. Smoked too… I tried to run away (multiple times)… I was self-destructive… I’ve been homeless…