An Open Letter: How Sexual Abuse Changed Me…

(The following letter originally appeared online at Associated Content.com  and this is an excerpt from the author who was sexually abused as a child by a family member whom she at first looked up to, trusted and loved, but tried to ruin her life.  I say “tried to” because the author sought help and at the end of a long, hard-fought journey to healing, she is indeed a survivor and pleads for other victims to become survivors too.)

When I was not quite four years old my mother married the man who would become my second best friend, my hero, my provider, and my perpetrator. The man my mother married was a pedophile; a child molester.

The first time it happened, I was eight years old. Up until that summer, my dad had been my hero. I worshiped the ground he walked on! My dad could build anything, fix anything; there was nothing he couldn’t do-in my eyes, at least!

He made me feel like a princess too. I’d been pretty spoiled by my uncles, but this was different. He was my “Daddy”; and I was “Daddy’s Girl”! All that changed one summer. Something about him changed. The way he looked at me made me feel very uncomfortable.     

He went out of his way to come up with ideas for us to spend “alone” time together-things for just the two of us to do. He suggested all kinds of ideas, but I just wanted to hang out with my friends. Besides, he’d really made me feel uncomfortable lately; and I really didn’t want to be alone with him. In fact, I was finding more and more reasons to be away from the house whenever he was home.

 He had also developed this habit of opening my bedroom door when I was dressing, or walking into the bathroom when I was in the tub. He always said, “Oops, sorry”, but then he would stand there, looking at me, with that creepy look on his face.

One day, he convinced my mother to go shopping with her friends. My brother, sisters, and I were left in his care. He had assured her that everything would be “just fine”. Well, the first thing he did was to put the other kids down for naps. I was scrambling to get out of the house, but he caught me before I could leave. He forced me to go up to their (his and my mother’s) bedroom with him;  forced me to undress.           

Then he undressed and made me get into the bed with him. My life was forever changed that day. I lost much more than my “innocence”. I lost my dad that day; my friend, my hero. And I lost myself that day. There was a little eight year old girl; betrayed, wounded, and frozen in time, that afternoon. Today, almost forty years later, the memory of that betrayal still brings tears. There are some things that I will take to my grave with me; simply because they will not die until I do.           

Yes, I did tell my mother what happened. About a year after the incident, I told her. He had convinced me that if I told my mother, she would seek a divorce; he would get the children, and have us sent away. He convinced me that I would never see my brother and sisters again, and that my mother would hate me. She didn’t really say anything that I recall. It was as if it fell on deaf ears. And the abuse didn’t stop either. I didn’t tell anyone else what happened until about three years after that. I told my aunt; and she slapped me and called me a liar. This man was a saint in her eyes. He had married my mother and taken me in. No one in the family knew the truth; no one! When she asked my mother about it, my mother denied it.           

Some years later they (my mother and dad) threatened to have me “put in a hospital” if I told the truth. We were going to counseling; after he’d been caught molesting my sister. This man molested two of my sisters. As far as I know, he only got to two of them. The other two either escaped him, or, perhaps they just don’t recall any of it. And I have often wondered through the years, if there were others. He did spend some time away from home.

It’s a very scary thought. Now, this is going to sound strange to some of you. I have since then forgiven that man; my dad. I came to understand that he was just as much a victim as I was. Only, when he was victimized, nobody talked about such things.

No, that does not make what he did right! It doesn’t excuse it-not by any means! But I have forgiven him. And, I have forgiven my mother as well. A mother should protect her children. She didn’t protect us. But she couldn’t protect us. For whatever reasons, she was unable to get us out and to protect us. I don’t know if he held something over her head, or she was just powerless to do it. But I have forgiven her too. Sexual abuse leaves in its wake, wounded and fragmented human beings. It distorts your perception of people and things.           

And worst of all, it can cause a profound fear of “being”. By that, I mean that you kind of “close” yourself off from any real emotional connection with other human beings. You connect; but only on a very superficial level. You only show what you need them to see. Sexual abuse catapults you into a world of contradictions; some of which can cost you dearly. You have a deep, deep sense of shame and guilt; but you are shameless in many ways.

You find it extremely difficult to trust anyone completely; but you take flagrant risks, often with your own life. You usually have a “public” self and a “private” self. The two are very different. There are a host of problems that can manifest as a result of sexual abuse.      

Sometimes when you go back and read what you’ve written, you find little bits that can be crucial to unlocking a memory, or catapulting you towards a breakthrough. You might want to start with a letter to your abuser.

You can never really begin the healing process until you “confront” your abuser. If you don’t, the rage, the fear, and the confusion continue. You must place the blame where it belongs; on your perpetrator; not on you!   Healing is a lifelong process.

Sexual abuse leaves an open wound; one that never fully closes. Therefore, it requires constant attention and care. If you can afford professional help, seek it. There are many support groups today for survivors of sexual abuse. Use them; they are good resources. Also, keep a journal. Start to write, even if it feels as if you’re just rambling.  

When a child is sexually abused, that child usually ends up being kind of “frozen in time” at whatever age the abuse occurs. It was that way for me. If you or someone you know has been the victim of sexual abuse; please know that there is hope.

  [2007]