I hurt for a long time because of childhood sexual abuse. Now I want to provide a safe place for hurting men to connect with other survivors of sexual abuse. Talk to us. You don't have to use your real name to share your experiences or ask questions.

You’re Responsible

In an adult Sunday school, I’ve been teaching a series on our bodies are God’s holy temples. (The Bible calls them that.) What surprised me was most class members remained passive about their physical health.

If you have a headache, take an aspirin. Aleve keeps it away for 12 hours. Restless leg syndrome? There’s a pill for that. Heartburn after eating spicy food? TV screens show several over-the-counter liquids and pills to remove the discomfort.

I noticed the TV ads for prescription medications. Many of them end with these words, “Ask your doctor for . . .”

I’m not against medicine or doctors. But I’m against being passive about our physical health.

I am responsible for my health. I have the right—the duty—the responsibility to take care of myself. Too often the sick passively put themselves into the hands of a professional and look for pills or surgery to take away their symptoms.

Instead of immediately seeking a professional, why not start by asking yourself: What is going on inside me that makes me ill? For example, instead of taking Tums or Nexium for acid indigestion, why not avoid spicy foods? It’s often that simple.

My reason for stressing responsibility is simple. If we truly want healing and to rise above our abuse, we have to work hard at it. Too many men give up and medicate themselves with frenzied activities or anti-depressants, or seek the therapist who can set them free.

As an illustration, I’m a professional writer and have taught in more than 200 writers conferences. One of the benefits to conferees is that they are able to set up appointments to talk with the professionals on staff.

Rarely have I gone to a conference without at least one writer showing me a manuscript that’s been rejected countless times. Instead of trying to figure out what they’re doing wrong, they keep seeking. One woman said, “I know that one day I’ll find exactly the right editor, and I’ll sell this book.”

It works like that with healing from our traumatic childhoods. I am responsible.

I am responsible for my own healing from abuse.

Being Ignored

As a child I was beaten by my father, sexually assaulted by a female relative, and verbally abused by both parents. The worst part of my childhood, or so it seems to me now, was being ignored.

Mel was two years younger and died from alcohol abuse at age 48, but he was clearly my parents’ favorite child and we other 6 siblings knew and accepted it. Mel did no wrong. Ever. When he got into trouble—with regularity—they didn’t punish or rebuke him.

The result for me was being ignored. I’ve tried to think of one rule my parents gave me such as when to go to bed, get up in the morning, what subjects to take in school, or restrictions about behavior or friends. None. I learned to make all those decisions on my own. As a boy I decided to be in bed at night by 9:00 and Mel sometimes stayed up until midnight (and was regularly “too sick” to go to school the next day).

The time I contemplated suicide (mentioned in my previous blog), I did think about being missed. I distinctly recall thinking, my mother would cry a little, but within days everyone would have forgotten me. I truly believed that.

Perhaps because I was the good boy—the one who didn’t get into trouble, who did well in school, and didn’t demand attention—it was easy to ignore me.

I didn’t ask for attention, probably because I didn’t think it would do any good. That reality helps me understand why I was such a prime target for a pedophile. Whenever anyone showed me attention or interest, they had me. I was a ready-to-be-victimized child.

That was a long time ago, but those memories aren’t gone. I don’t need to be the center of attention; but I do need to be cared about and loved.

Like any normal person.

I’m grateful for those special people in my life who expressed genuine love and affection for me. They (with God’s help) enabled me to be who I am today.

Defining Abuse (Part 2 of 2)

“A strong component of childhood sexual molestation becomes a systematic tearing down of boys and interferes with their development.” I don’t know where I read those words, but I copied them a few years ago. Another statement reads, “Abuse assaults the boy’s self-understanding and makes him feel unworthy of love and affection.”

Those two quotations nicely expressed my self-concept. I felt unworthy of love and affection. That’s such a terrible burden to impose on a young boy who’s trying to navigate the murky rivers of life.

Unworthy. I don’t know that I ever used that particular word, but that sums up my childhood. Unworthy of love. Unworthy of being accepted. Because I had no one to whom I could confide, it meant I had to face those struggles on my own. No wonder I always felt different and unlike other boys.

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One thing we need to face is that we don’t “just get healed” or grow up healthy. It’s hard work. We survivors start at a distinct disadvantage unless we have a support system. We need other people and perhaps we know it—we just don’t know how to ask for or receive their help.

Looking back, I’m sure there were adults with whom I might have entrusted my secrets, but I didn’t know how to talk about my feeling different. Most of all, however, I honestly didn’t think anyone cared. That’s the damaged self-image.

When I was 12 or 13, my life hit such a low point I decided to commit suicide by jabbing myself repeatedly in the stomach with a knife. (I’d seen it done that way in a film). At the last minute, however, I couldn’t do it. I cursed myself for being a coward.

When our self-esteem is so skewed and twisted, we blame ourselves for everything, even when we’re unable to complete the most self-destructive urges.

Looking back, I can’t pick an Aha! moment when my life changed. For me, it was a gradual movement. I credit most of that growth to the love and patience of my wife, Shirley, who didn’t give up on me.

So it comes down to this. If you want healing from your childhood abuse, face one harsh reality: You can’t do it yourself. You can’t heal without the loving, accepting help of others.