"Why come forward after all these years?"
"Get over it."
"Why write about it, what good will it do?"
These are things I have heard since I publicly revealed I was sexually molested by a family member. When these words are spoken, it cuts deep. I feel I'm being denied my truth all over again.
Something happens to you when you are abused and told to keep a secret. Secrets in general, they tend to build. Until the truth comes out, it sits there, rotting inside of you, robbing you of an authentic life.
I promise you, sexual abuse is not something you ever "get over". That doesn't mean you walk around with a crutch, going, "My life sucks because I was abused" either.
Nor do you blame every bad thing that happens along the way on your past abuse. You don't sit around rehashing the horrific events that took place, but there are bad days.
If you were abused? It matters. It changes you. The subject is so yucky and so uncomfortable that everyone hopes you'll keep your mouth shut, that you will simply "move on".
But living a life of fear, of being made to do things and have things done against you, it carries an impact. At first it really screws you up. It destroys your self-esteem. Your ability to have a healthy sexual relationship with another human being is ruined; instead of having a positive experience, it's tainted and marred.
You see sex as a way to earn love. Do what you're told and you'll be loved. So you sleep with people you shouldn't, desperate for love.
There is also anger. If not resolved, it comes out in various ways. At times I've over reacted to slights, or when people don't do the right thing. My moral compass is set pretty high and my anger towards anyone who doesn't fulfill those expectations? They felt my wrath.
My emotions were often all over the place as a teenager and young woman. I was tormented by my past. Outwardly I looked like I had it all. A three-sport athlete, blonde, tall, good student. My marriage looked solid, I had a cute house, two adorable children. I've always presented funny, intelligent, strong, good looking--someone with their shit together.
But inside I felt like a fraud.
I felt like something was wrong with me; that everyone could see past the facade and how dirty and disgusting I really was.
Most of my life I was told not to cry, not to talk. I was called "moody", "too sensitive" or "emotional". Fortunately I had sports as an outlet. There I let out my aggressions, my frustrations, and my anger in a positive way. I was applauded for my aggressiveness. Little did anyone know where the fuel for my fire stemmed from.
I often wonder had I not been molested how different my life would be. I might have been just another pretty face, another tall blonde athlete. I might have relied solely on my god-given good looks and natural athletic ability and intelligence. I'd like to think that isn't the case.
The pain I endured changed me. I carried so much shame and embarrassment because of what was happening to me behind closed doors. I'm not sure I would have been an exceptional athlete. I don't know if I would be as strong, empathetic, open minded, caring, sensitive and driven as I am.
For better or worse, being abused has shaped me into the person I am today.
So why do I openly talk about it? So others who still suffer will know that there is a light on the other side. Sometimes that light is going to be blocked by the clouds, and there are going to be days it rains. But eventually the light breaks through.
Why do I openly write about it? Because the victims living it, those currently being abused, they need to know it's okay to "tell" it's okay to talk about it. You will survive. It's not an easy journey by any means, but you will be okay once the truth finally comes out. No one will judge you, or think less of you.
And shame on anyone who blames you, who doesn't back you up and let you own your truth.
No one deserves to be abused. No one asks to be abused. It isn't your fault.
If it happened one, five, 10, 30 years ago? If it only happened one time? It still matters. Holding onto all that pain, guilt, fear...it can ruin your life if you let it.
So if you feel the need to share your story, you might be surprised how it changes you. When I finally was brave enough to tell, I received validation from unlikely sources.
Complete strangers reached out to me.
Survivors who lived it, who also weren't protected and were forced into silence. Hearing my story, many felt comfortable enough to finally open up and share their own stories.
It's not a club I would wish anybody into, but there is support out there. You just have to ask.