Why Are We So Afraid to Talk About This?

It happened when I was very young, four or five years old. I don't remember much about it. But it taught me to fear. It taught me so many lies. Like these.

You are bad.

There is something wrong with you.

You need to hide.

You can't trust people.

You are of no value.

It does not matter what you want.

There is nothing wrong. You are imagining things.

You are weak. You are helpless.


I believed these lies so much that I didn't like myself. I didn't see how others could like me. And so I pretended that it never happened. I hid it, even from myself.

If you capture a princess, lock her in a dungeon and dress her in rags, does that change her identity? Only in her mind. Even when freed from the prison, she may hold onto the lie. She may cling to the rags because without them she feels exposed, not knowing that under it all, she wears a royal robe. But as long as she does this, she will never be free. She will carry the prison in her head.

The greatest lies of abuse are these: This is normal. This is your fault. This will end on its own. This never happened at all.

It's strange how they can all exist simultaneously in one brain. Abuse causes confusion.

I have come to understand that they are all lies. It is not normal. It was not my fault and it did happen. It must be stopped. Yet, there is one more lie that continues to trap me and impede my progress: You can't tell anyone. They will hate you.

Image Credit: everydayptsd.com

Hate me or not, I will not hold onto this lie anymore. I'm tired of being afraid. I will talk about it. I. Will. Not. Hide.

Today I take off these rags.

I was sexually abused as a child. It happened more than once. It was done by a man. Someone I knew well. Someone I loved.

I hated it. I blocked it out of memory. I never told anyone.

For years I felt guilty for my sexual knowledge and curiosity, never knowing where they had come from. I thought I must be bad.

I never knew why I would feel uncomfortable and ashamed when I tried to look pretty.

I couldn't tell you why I was afraid of men.

And I still can't explain the terror that comes to me when I talk about being abused. Even now.

But it can't be denied. I remember more all the time. And the more I remember, the more I want to block it out. Again. It is horrible. It is dark, grotesque and utterly sick.

The purpose of this blog is not to make you ill. It is not to burden you. It is not so I can play the victim.

An abuser told me long ago that I could never tell anyone. Every time I hide, I am continuing that abuse. No more.

I will fight. And I will fight it in the most effective way, by getting help. And that brings me to the point.

If any of you have been or are being abused, I plead with you to get help. Get away from it. Never go back. If you know that someone is being abused, I plead with you to report it. They need professional counselling. The abuser needs it too.

You may be afraid, and with good reason. There are safe places you can go--shelters-- where you will be protected and anonymous. You can ask a police officer, a social worker or a spiritual leader for help. You can call this number 1-800-500-1119  TTY (386) 872-4976 for the Domestic Abuse Council.

If you still feel trapped, consider this. I learned something about abusers, something that made me less afraid to fight. The reason they threaten you if you tell, is because telling on them will cause problems. You DO want to cause them problems. You have a wonderful opportunity to cause them so many problems that they will never be able to abuse anyone again. They threaten you because they are afraid. The reality is, they will have a very difficult time doing anything to you while they are in prison.

Even if you're not afraid for your life, it's scary to tell-- I know it is!

Do it anyway. You don't have to write in in a blog like me. But tell someone---Your parents, a doctor, a bishop, a police officer or teacher---someone who has never abused you, someone you trust. They can help you stop it. You can also call the hotlines listed below, or click the links. (Note: If you suspect that your Internet use is being monitored or tracked by the abuser, you can go to the library or a friend's house to check out the links.)

It is not your job to stay and be hurt. You are not a bad person if you stop abuse from happening to you. You are not bad for saying no. You are a child of God. You deserve better than a dungeon and rags. You deserve to be treated well. And so do your children. So does your family. So does everyone you know.

National Child Abuse Hotline

1-800-4-A-Child

1-800-422-4453

1-800-799-7233 1-800-787-3224 

(TTY)

1-800-656-HOPE 

Emotional Abuse.  TEXT “GO” TO 741-741

National Domestic Violence Hotline

Is This Abuse?


Child Sexual Abuse

National Sexual 
Assault Hotline

Cries of The Fatherless

Dear Dad,

I wish I'd met you sooner. I wish I'd known you before I learned to hate men. I wish I'd gotten to know you when I was trusting and ready to love anybody. I wish I'd had the chance to learn from you before I broke my heart searching and searching in vain for someone to be my father. I wish I wasn't afraid of all parental love, waiting to be disappointed.

I don't know how to love you but I do anyway. I couldn't help it, you know.

I don't know what to expect of you. I don't know what you expect of me. Parents are supposed to teach their children what's expected of them. I am my own parent, raising myself. Where does that leave me?

I don't really know what a good parent is. That is why I struggle so hard with being one. And I feel like I'm failing, so miserably.

Have you ever felt my pain? Have you, perhaps, in the agony of your soul, cried out for a mother or father? Have you, in your darkest abyss, felt the weight of the entire world on your shoulders and wished to God that someone would come and take it away? That someone would tell you what you were supposed to do? That someone would hold you in his arms and make everything okay? This is my life.

Yes, Heavenly Father does comfort me and I'm grateful. But I'm also a little jealous. Of your children. Of mine. Of everyone with parents who take on the world, so the kids can be kids. And I wish they would love me too.

I don't really expect anyone to adopt me. (I mean, is it fair to find someone who is all done with raising kids and ask them to take on a new daughter, who is, in all reality, about five years old?) I don't expect it, but I wish they would.

I don't really know if you love me. Because if I let myself believe that you love me, I might find out that you don't and then I would lose my father. Again. I've already lost my parents once. And I couldn't bear it. And so I push you away. But please don't go.

I want so much to be your daughter. Can you teach me how?