(an encore post by Cecil Murphey)
"I did it!" He yelled into the phone. "I did it! I got help!"
I met him nearly twenty years ago when I lived in Louisville, Kentucky. I had talked to him about abuse—which I had just begun to deal with. He didn't say anything then, but something about the way he responded made me think he had probably been victimized.
After I moved back to Atlanta, he called me three or four times a year. He admitted he had been abused but insisted it was too hard to ask for help. "I feel weak and ashamed. Men aren't supposed to feel that way."
"Maybe not," I said, "but we do. And we'll stay weak and confused until we get help." He never wanted to talk much but he'd always say, "You're a friend. You give me hope."
He is in therapy and will soon join a group of other survivors of sexual assault.
"Why did I wait so long?" he asked.
The only answer I could give him—and I think it's true—was this: You weren't ready to be healed.
1 comment:
Had I not faced my past and talked about it with a counselor who became a friend,I would still be wallowing in self-doubt: doubt of my manhood, doubt of my standing with God, doubt of my ability to relate to men. I have also found that being transparent enough to share some of my story with other men has released at least two to share some of their past with me. I've been able to assure them of God's care of them even though they suffered cruelty and injustice.
I appreciate these blogs and testimonies. They have encouraged me greatly.
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