"I Could Never . . ." (Part 7 of 7)

All of us have harmed others, and we’ll do it again. We probably find it easier to forgive ourselves for those simple, thoughtless deeds. We tell ourselves, “I was having a bad day.” Or, “I received a bill for a huge amount and couldn’t find the cash to pay it.” Or, “Our son got in trouble with the police last night.” Our self-excusing goes on endlessly. We provide the rationale behind our foolish actions.

That’s not to equate what was done to us as minor. Our tendency is to condemn our abusers by focusing on the horror of what they did to us. “I would never . . . ,” we say. Or, “I could never . . .”

I think of a Bible verse I memorized many years ago: “The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it?” (Jeremiah 17:9).

We’ve all made mistakes and harmed others; we will again. We may rightly call them minor, but it’s only a matter of degree.

We find it easier to practice forgiveness when we can imagine that the roles could have been reversed. Each of us could have been the perpetrator rather than the victim. Each of us has the capacity to commit the wrongs that were done to us. Although I might say, “I would never . . . ,” genuine humility answers, “I hope that, given the same circumstances, I wouldn’t . . .”

But can we ever really know? “Let him who thinks he stands take heed lest he fall” (1 Corinthians 10:12).

Because I’ve learned to forgive the simple things I’ve done to others, 

I can learn to forgive the serious things others did to me.

Defending Our Abusers

(an encore post from Cecil Murphey)

The first time I ever heard an abuser defended was in a small group of men. All of us were survivors. One of them, who was quite handsome, said, "If I hadn't been so good looking, he wouldn't have done that to me."

The rest of us were quick to protest. His looks may have attracted the abuser, but the man wronged him. The abuser knew what he was doing.

"That's what he always told me," the survivor said.

I've heard survivors excuse the abuser because he was lonely or misunderstood. They'll say. "He just tried to prove he loved me." Another excuse is, "He was sexually abused when he was a child."

Regardless of the excuses made for them, they are only excuses. They wounded us. They destroyed the innocence of our childhood.

There is no excuse for anyone who sexually abused us. We were children, usually much younger than our perpetrators. The abuser hurt us. It's good to forgive them, but not because of such an excuse. We forgive because we've been healed and are able to move on with our lives.

What I Don't Know

(By Cecil Murphey)

I don't know the answers to every problem—even though I may sound as if I do. I don’t understand why some of us gain victory almost immediately and for others it takes years. I don't know why some male survivors fall back in their old patterns and some never do.

I wish I could give perfect answers to every dilemma and shine a bright light on every dark path. I don't always have enough light for my own path. Even when I know the answer for myself, I sometimes fail to live up to my convictions.

I do know this, however. It’s shameful to admit we’ve failed, especially after we’ve determined not to repeat our wrong behavior. And that can refer to anything that impedes our progress.

Almost as bad is to fail and deny it. We're ashamed and try to hide the fact. Or we make excuses for ourselves by blaming circumstances or saying, "Yes, but if he hadn't . . . " Such negative responses mean we by-pass a chance for healing.

Admitting each tiny step in the wrong direction 

can be one positive, 

small-but-powerful step toward full recovery. 

(This post was adapted from Not Quite Healed, written by Cecil Murphey and Gary Roe.)

Shattering the Conspiracy of Silence Comment Part 2

I received a comment a few days ago from anonymous that I felt so powerful I wanted to make certain everyone had a chance to read it. It’s longer than our normal posts, so we’ll post it in two parts. This is part 2.

I told them it was too upsetting to talk about so they agreed to leave me alone but they wanted me to stop drinking.

I was conflicted. Drinking was the best way I knew to deal with pain but I could no longer trust myself to keep my own counsel once I blacked out.

So I tried to control it. It was very, very hard and I often made excuses to slip away from people so I could drink alone without disappointing them or making any unplanned confessions.

Roughly a year later I had my first manic episode (with psychotic features) and I finally got professional help.

Getting sick like that was terrifying, but at least I finally got help: medication and talk therapy.

It took a long time to find the right combination of medications and it was rough, but the upside to that was that I had to stop drinking.

Once I did find the right combination, my tolerance for alcohol was so much lower than it had been that I couldn't have drunk the way I used to if I wanted to.

I still can't. And I am incredibly grateful.

I couldn't really talk to my psychiatrist about the abuse until my symptoms were under control and even then I was hesitant...but she had already helped me so much that I hoped she could help me with "IT."

She could and she did. It is not over yet and I am not all better yet (not by a long shot) but I finally understand that what happened was not my fault AT ALL.

It was my abuser's and my abuser's alone. I was not complicit in the act.

I was afraid and uncomfortable, but I finally broached the subject with my parents: sober and sane. We didn't say too much but I know that they love me and they don't blame me.

No one I've told does.

If something like this has happened to you, please don't try to bury it as long as I did. I spent so much time and energy keeping my secret that it blew up in my face and it almost killed me.

You do not have to let it get as bad as I did, but if you already have, it is still not too late. Make an appointment with a psychiatrist or a trained therapist. They will help you and they are morally and legally bound to keep your private business private unless you are actively homicidal or suicidal.

Please. Just tell someone. 

Confidence to Speak

I handled my abuse with amnesia (a form of denial) and was fifty-one- years old before the first memories trickled back to my consciousness. As the painful memories emerged, my wife held my hand and my friend David gave me his shoulder. They encouraged me and infused me with confidence to speak about my molestation.

Every time I spoke about my abuse to anyone else, it emboldened me to speak more freely. But I didn't tell my family of origin or my own children. I made dozens of excuses for myself, such as:

* It no longer matters.

* They don't care.

* What difference does it make?

* I talk about it to others; why should I have to bring in my siblings or my kids?

* It will only stir up anger and hurt.

* They probably won't believe me.

I lived and grew up in a dysfunctional family. We didn't talk about secret things. When I was growing up, my family didn't even use words like pregnant. My mother would say, "She's that way." Her emphasis on those two words made it clear to me what she meant. It also reminds me of the way life was in those days.

A thought came to me one day. Perhaps speaking to my siblings would bring healing for all of us. Perhaps all of us could face our painful childhood—even though our issues were not the same.

Most of all, I admitted to myself that if I opened up, it would help me. By the time I was able to face my abuse, my parents were dead, and both my abusers were dead.

I opened up and truly shattered the silence. To my surprise, my three surviving siblings understand what I went through.

* * * * * * * * * *

SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT

Hidden Tragedy: Male Victims of Domestic Abuse and the Women Who Abuse Them

I am writing a book about domestic violence that focuses on men who are physically, verbally, and mentally abused, and the women who abuse them.

I'm currently seeking stories from men or women who are or were involved in this type of situation. If you're willing to share your story through your own words or through an interview, or know someone who is, please email me: tracyruckman@yahoo.com. I will protect your privacy.

Defending Our Abusers

The first time I ever heard an abuser defended was in a small group of men. All of us were survivors. One of them, who was quite handsome, said, "If I hadn't been so good looking, he wouldn't have done that to me."

The rest of us were quick to protest. His looks may have attracted the abuser, but the man wronged him. The abuser knew what he was doing.

"That's what he always told me," the survivor said.

I've heard survivors excuse the abuser because he was lonely or misunderstood. They'll say. "He just tried to prove he loved me." Another excuse is, "He was sexually abused when he was a child."

Regardless of the excuses made for them, they are only excuses. They wounded us. They destroyed the innocence of our childhood.

There is no excuse for anyone who sexually abused us. We were children, usually much younger than our perpetrators. The abuser hurt us. It's good to forgive them, but not because of such an excuse. We forgive because we've been healed and are able to move on with our lives.