What Went Right?

Part of my requirements every year as a teacher are to update my state required trainings, such as sexual harassment, CPR/first aid and reporting child abuse.

As I was completing these online, I started thinking about the video that was part of the child abuse training and my own experience.

My abuse took place over the summer between my 8th and 9th grade year, so any immediate changes in my behavior would have only been noticed by my parents and/or family. Since I started the school year with new teachers, they had no idea if my behavior was any different than my norm. I have distinct memories of struggling in school during my 9th grade year. I remember sleeping in class, not feeling motivated, even spending a lot of time in the nurse's office. Definitely not how I would normally act. But no one could know that. I remember writing about what happened that summer in English class, I think more about having to go the police station and court rather than specifics of the abuse, hoping that at least she would notice how much pain I was in... but nothing ever happened. She never said anything to me, the counselor never called me in. It was like disclosing and not being heard. It made me feel even worse than I already did. And I never forgot that.

But as I was watching this video, I was shocked by some of the statistics. Only one in ten children who are abused ever disclose to anyone. One in ten. Part of me understands why this number is so low because a lot of children are abused by their parents and they have that internal struggle of hating the abuse and wishing it would stop and loving their parents. To think of myself as that one person in a group of ten abused children who told someone is kind of crazy. Why was I able to tell when so many others can't? What in me is different?

I struggle with focusing on the things that went wrong and the things I can't/couldn't control in regards to my abuse. It causes me so much anxiety and hurt. In all honesty, I don't think I've ever taken a step back and thought to myself "What went right?" until I sat down an watched this video. Even though I experienced this trauma, there were things that kept it from being even more horrendous than it was. I've never given that any acknowledgement or weight in my mind... until today.

• I was educated by my parents to know that what happened to me wasn't normal/OK.
• I knew I needed to tell an adult, regardless of what I was told by him.
• I had a mother I trusted enough to tell what he did to me (not all of it, but enough to make it stop).
• My dad kicked him out of the house and made our home safe again.
• I had parents who never doubted what I said or made me think I was wrong for disclosing.
• I had parents who knew I needed more help than what they knew how to give me, so they put me in counseling. Unfortunately I couldn't talk about it and they thought this cleared them of any support required at home, so I never benefitted from it, but they tried.
• The justice system worked and punished him for his actions.
• My parents never treated me any different after they found out what happened. I was still who I was before.
• It never happened again.

To think that had I not said anything, I could have lived the rest of my life under the same roof as him, shuddering every time the door opened or every time the shower turned on, it's hard to swallow. I have never given myself any recognition or support for doing the thing that so many kids don't ever do...

I TOLD.

Remembering

I am remembering things I have spent a long time trying to bury and at the same time I am frustrated with my inability to remember other things. It is very hard to have gaps in your memory, knowing full well there should be something there.

I had a nightmare of him last night. This much I do remember...

Journal Share, Part II

Sometimes looking back is just as hard as looking forward.

January 2009
Tell your story. Three words that haunt me almost as much as the story itself. Why should telling someone be so frigthening? There is a certain notion that if I don't acknowledge it, then I can pretend (at least around others) that it didn't happen. If only it were that simple. I have two main fears about telling my story. One: The actual speaking part. Saying out loud everything that I remember about that morning. The things I would have to describe and put words to. In my head they are memories; no dialogue needed. The actions speak what the words don't. Two: The worry that once they know they won't be able to see me as anyone else. All they will remember is this story. The idea of having other people know, think about, and dissect my own personal hell scares me. I'm afraid that people won't look at me the same. I'll forever be remembered for that story and those actions.

If you could change one thing...

Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if certain things hadn't have happened.

A major thorn in my side is that my mom basically "kicked" me out of the house because her new husband thought I was too old to be living at home (I was 18). So I transferred schools, where I knew some girls from high school and it was the best thing to happen to me. My college years there were the best times of my life. I got into the education program, met my best friend, and stud.ied abroad. I learned more about myself in those years than the previous 18. To think how absolutely different my life would be now if the simple act of being kicked out of the house hadn't happened really makes me wonder.

That causes me to look back even further. What if I hadn't been abused? How would my life have been different? Would I have continued being the same person I was? Outgoing and fearless? Would I have had the "normal" high school life of dating and heartbreak? Sometimes I like to think that my life would have been a storybook tale if I hadn't been abused, but that sometimes makes things worse. I already have problems blaming myself, so thinking my life would have been storybook if I had just done SOMETHING different really stings.

Leap back even futher. What happens if my parents never got divorced? You could argue that I would have never been abused, but there is no way to know that. He was a family friend who would have still been around if my parents were together. Yes, he had more means and opportunity because he moved into the house when they both divorced, but just thinking about the possibility that what I went through might not have ever happened makes me view my parents' divorce in a very dark light.

It's so weird to be in my head wishing these things to never have happened, but to realize that it would completely erase who I am. I would not exist.