| I was watching Oprah one day , the topic was sexual abuse and she interviewed a young woman who had been sexually abused as a child by her father -- she also interviewed the father. The point of those interviews was to give insight to those in the audience as to how easy it is for abusers to commit the act(s) without anyone (other than the victim) being aware. Plus it gave the young woman the opportunity to confront her abuser. I stopped what I was doing for those few moments and was glued to the television set. Not to hear her story, but to listen to him answer the question as to why. He spoke of how it began, how easy it was to manipulate the child, how it was not and never could be her fault, and how he wished it could take back all the pain and damage he had created in her life. I know there was more that he spoke of - the interview was quite lengthy, but I don’t remember anything further because suddenly I was on that stage and I was confronting my abuser. I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t frightened. I was inquisitive, anxious to know why. Why me? How could you take my innocence, my trust? Did you even care or think about the damage it would create? Did you go on to abuse others? I grew up believing there was something terribly wrong with me, and I hadn’t a clue as to why. I guess everyone put it down to teenage rebellion when I tried to take my life at 13; when I stole prescription drugs from my mother and cut school in the 8th grade. As I look back on the time I tried to overdosed at 13 - it almost makes me laugh to realize it was my abuser who kept me awake, walked me around and around the house - who wouldn’t let me die and ease my emotional pain. From the age of eight until I was nineteen, I had no idea why I was who I was - why I did the things I did. It wasn’t until after a severe bout with depression and I was placed in a hospital to protect myself, that the abuse came to light. The reality of what had happened to me didn’t come rushing back with a great “Ah Ha! Eureka!” but with a slow awakening. All of a sudden , in my minds eye I knew what he had done to me. I could see him speaking to me, yet to this day I still don’t know what he said. The act itself doesn’t matter - the details and all. What does matter is how it shaped and formed by very being. I grew up without the ability to trust, to ask for the love I deserved, to demand respect for myself, and from myself. I was worthless. Worth less than anyone else. All the evil and bad things that happened to me were my fault, were justified because there was something wrong with me, in me. I allowed others to use me. I allowed them to continue to abuse me. I sought out unhealthy relationships because I knew no other way, and because that was what I deserved. I used to joke that “abuse me” was tattooed on my forehead with invisible ink that only the assholes of the world could read. I lived my life in shame. Do you know the definition of shame? Webster’s says shame is, “ … a painful sense of having done something wrong, improper or immodest.” Incest victims internalize their shame. We turn all of those feelings of wrongfulness inward on ourselves. We believe we are flawed, damaged goods, unlovable, dirty, sick in some unknown way. The shame goes deep into our psyche, our mind, our soul. It infests our very being. Instead of rightfully blaming the offender, we for some reason take the full blame and place it on ourselves. I just knew if I were good enough, loved enough, endured enough, if only I were more patient, more kind and giving … If only, if only … Yet I can never live up to my “if only” because to the child in me, I could never be enough. I was unworthy. Yes, it’s crazy making logic, but the wounded child in me knows no other way to be. It has nothing to do with fault. That would be guilt and I know I have no guilt in this. Shame reaches deeper. Guilt is easily washed away. Shames stains for life. So I lived my life is shame. I didn’t excel in school because I didn’t deserve better. I didn’t demand respect in my jobs or friendships because I didn’t deserve better. I spent thirteen years in an abusive relationship because I didn’t deserve better. I lived my life with that painful sense of having done something wrong. I would love to be able to say that with the realization of what happened to me when I was eight years old, I was able to break free from the shame based life I lived, but that would be a lie. It takes everything I have to stay consciously aware that I am worthy. That I am not my past. That I don’t have to live a shame based life. That I did nothing wrong, improper or immodest. At forty-eight years of age, I still struggle with the “what ifs and if only”. I can still visualize what happened to me, feel all those old feelings of fear and confusion, but I have the choice to stay in that fear or turn away and love my Self through the pain. I am worthy. I am good enough. I am a survivor! |
My Bill of Rights I have the right to my anger, as long as I don’t use it to abuse others. I have the right to my grief, as long as I don’t live in it. I have the right to my pain, as long as I don’t allow it to control me. I have the right to speak my truth, even if You don’t understand or hear me. I have the right to ask for an explanation if I question our communications. I have the right to say No. I have the right to walk away, and not worry if it will hurt Your feelings. I have the right to my mistakes, without worrying that I am not perfect enough. I have the right to my own future, my destiny, even if you are not a part of it. I have the right to love and be loved. I have the right to my life such as it is, without anyone telling me it isn’t enough. I have the right to trust, or not to trust at My choosing. I have the right to respect - from myself, for myself and demand it from others. I have the right to add to my personal rights as I see fit, without checking with anyone else first. I have the right to just Be Me. |
| Guilt Washes Away, Shame Stains For Li fe By J. A. Stroud |
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| Published in SHE Caribbean March/ April 2005 |