The impact of sexual abuse can be devastating and it is long lasting. Because you were a child, and you were victimized by someone—and most of the time it was someone you trusted.
The first thing you need to know is this: The sexual abuse was not your fault. You may even be told that you did something wrong, but that person lied. You were a victim; you were an innocent child.
Most of the adult survivors with whom I've talked told me that they grew up feeling something was wrong with them. They believed they caused the abuse and blamed themselves.
You may have tried to talk about the molestation and no one listened. Until recent years, too many adults refused to acknowledge that such things occurred. If that happened to you, you have probably felt inadequate, embarrassed, isolated, guilty, shameful, and powerless. Then you probably reacted by suppressing this as a shameful secret.
For example, I was once involved with a men's group. One member, Greg, said that when he was seven, he wanted to tell his mother that his own father was sexually abusing him. One night at dinner, he said, "Daddy has been pulling down my pants and doing bad things to me."
"Eat your dinner," his mother said.
His two siblings said nothing; Dad continued to eat. That was the last time Greg opened his mouth about his abuse until he was thirty-one years old. That's when he joined a group of survivors of male sexual assault.
Research now affirms the link between the abuse and the effects. Each of us needs to be able to admit that the long-term effects are powerful and include poor self-esteem, difficulty trusting others, anxiety, feelings of isolation, self-injury and self-mutilation, eating disorders, sleep problems, depression, self-destructive tendencies, sexual maladjustment, and substance abuse.
Showing posts with label isolation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label isolation. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 24, 2017
Tuesday, November 22, 2016
Distorted Relationships (Part 2 of 5)
“I have an inner circle—myself.”
Of all the things the man said, that’s all I remember. It took place in a meeting where I was the guest speaker, and several people responded to various questions about being open with a few people. I had suggested they establish an inner circle—a cadre of people they could trust, such as two or three individuals.
The man admitted that he had never had a close friend, and “I used sex as a way to achieve love.” He added, “For a few minutes I felt good, but afterward I felt worse.
“I can’t open up to anyone because I’m afraid they’ll tell somebody or feel disgusted with me.”
Before I had a chance to respond, the leader of the group said to him, “Several of us felt that way when we first came.”
“Yeah, I was one of them,” another man called out. “But after three meetings here, I learned that some of their junk was worse than mine.”
Another man called out, “One day I opened up and told the group a couple of terrible things I did. No one seemed shocked.” He smiled before he added, “It’s still not easy, but the only way I know to get rid of those fears and inner demons is to tell someone else. And these guys have pulled me out of my self-disgust.”
I could have said many things that evening in response to the man’s confession about isolation, but the other 20-plus men did a splendid job. The next thing I remember saying is, “When you admitted to us about being isolated from everyone else, you were trusting us. We could have told you what a jerk you were, but none did.”
His eyes clouded up, he nodded, and dropped his head into his hands.
One man walked across the room, hugged the newcomer, and said, “I want to be your friend.”
I don’t know the end of that story, but I sensed two things. First, the newcomer opened himself—not a lot, but enough to admit his aloneness. Second, the others nodded, encouraged him, and one of them embraced him.
The healing had begun.
Of all the things the man said, that’s all I remember. It took place in a meeting where I was the guest speaker, and several people responded to various questions about being open with a few people. I had suggested they establish an inner circle—a cadre of people they could trust, such as two or three individuals.
The man admitted that he had never had a close friend, and “I used sex as a way to achieve love.” He added, “For a few minutes I felt good, but afterward I felt worse.
“I can’t open up to anyone because I’m afraid they’ll tell somebody or feel disgusted with me.”
Before I had a chance to respond, the leader of the group said to him, “Several of us felt that way when we first came.”
“Yeah, I was one of them,” another man called out. “But after three meetings here, I learned that some of their junk was worse than mine.”
Another man called out, “One day I opened up and told the group a couple of terrible things I did. No one seemed shocked.” He smiled before he added, “It’s still not easy, but the only way I know to get rid of those fears and inner demons is to tell someone else. And these guys have pulled me out of my self-disgust.”
I could have said many things that evening in response to the man’s confession about isolation, but the other 20-plus men did a splendid job. The next thing I remember saying is, “When you admitted to us about being isolated from everyone else, you were trusting us. We could have told you what a jerk you were, but none did.”
His eyes clouded up, he nodded, and dropped his head into his hands.
One man walked across the room, hugged the newcomer, and said, “I want to be your friend.”
I don’t know the end of that story, but I sensed two things. First, the newcomer opened himself—not a lot, but enough to admit his aloneness. Second, the others nodded, encouraged him, and one of them embraced him.
The healing had begun.
Friday, October 17, 2014
Lasting Effects
(an encore post by Cecil Murphey)
The impact of sexual abuse can be devastating and it is long lasting. Because you were a child, and you were victimized by someone—and most of the time it was someone you trusted.
The first thing you need to know is this: The sexual abuse was not your fault. You may even be told that you did something wrong, but that person lied. You were a victim; you were an innocent child.
Most of the adult survivors with whom I've talked told me that they grew up feeling something was wrong with them. They believed they caused the abuse and blamed themselves.
You may have tried to talk about the molestation and no one listened. Until recent years, too many adults refused to acknowledge that such things occurred. If that happened to you, you have probably felt inadequate, embarrassed, isolated, guilty, shameful, and powerless. Then you probably reacted by suppressing this as a shameful secret.
For example, I was once involved with a men's group. One member, Greg, said that when he was seven, he wanted to tell his mother that his own father was sexually abusing him. One night at dinner, he said, "Daddy has been pulling down my pants and doing bad things to me."
"Eat your dinner," his mother said.
His two siblings said nothing; Dad continued to eat. That was the last time Greg opened his mouth about his abuse until he was thirty-one years old. That's when he joined a group of survivors of male sexual assault.
Research now affirms the link between the abuse and the effects. Each of us needs to be able to admit that the long-term effects are powerful and include poor self-esteem, difficulty trusting others, anxiety, feelings of isolation, self-injury and self-mutilation, eating disorders, sleep problems, depression, self-destructive tendencies, sexual maladjustment, and substance abuse.
The impact of sexual abuse can be devastating and it is long lasting. Because you were a child, and you were victimized by someone—and most of the time it was someone you trusted.
The first thing you need to know is this: The sexual abuse was not your fault. You may even be told that you did something wrong, but that person lied. You were a victim; you were an innocent child.
Most of the adult survivors with whom I've talked told me that they grew up feeling something was wrong with them. They believed they caused the abuse and blamed themselves.
You may have tried to talk about the molestation and no one listened. Until recent years, too many adults refused to acknowledge that such things occurred. If that happened to you, you have probably felt inadequate, embarrassed, isolated, guilty, shameful, and powerless. Then you probably reacted by suppressing this as a shameful secret.
For example, I was once involved with a men's group. One member, Greg, said that when he was seven, he wanted to tell his mother that his own father was sexually abusing him. One night at dinner, he said, "Daddy has been pulling down my pants and doing bad things to me."
"Eat your dinner," his mother said.
His two siblings said nothing; Dad continued to eat. That was the last time Greg opened his mouth about his abuse until he was thirty-one years old. That's when he joined a group of survivors of male sexual assault.
Research now affirms the link between the abuse and the effects. Each of us needs to be able to admit that the long-term effects are powerful and include poor self-esteem, difficulty trusting others, anxiety, feelings of isolation, self-injury and self-mutilation, eating disorders, sleep problems, depression, self-destructive tendencies, sexual maladjustment, and substance abuse.
Friday, October 3, 2014
Isolation Is Emotional Solitary Confinement
(This post comes from a reader named Roger and is used with his permission.)
Isolation is where I've lived most of my life. That's why I felt alone and sad much of the time. Even when I was in a crowd or with a group of friends I felt out of step with everyone, just not quite connecting on the level everyone else seemed to.
Abuse immediately isolated me. At first, the need for secrecy and knowing I was sharing in something no one else could know about gave me a sense of superiority. I felt special, privileged (for a while anyway). Later I felt used and eventually worthless.
At first we can feel pretty special, but later we realize we've taken on a burden we can't seem to throw off. I ended up feeling different and weird, and thinking no one else could possibly have those kinds of thoughts, feelings, or desires. After that came the longing to be normal—whatever that was supposed to mean. I was left outside, stealing glances at other families who seemed happy and normal.
That led to a lot of overcompensating and arrogance and not a little amount of anger, which I tried to repress unsuccessfully. I felt trapped, alone, and unable to break free to interact with my closest friends. There was always a wall there that I couldn't tear down.
With God's help and those who love me and understand, I'm learning new ways to break through the barriers. I appreciate their patience because the trust thing is difficult for me to navigate after all these years.
That turmoil began when I was very young. When young, we're like clean slates; everything that happens to us is written on those slates in capital letters and indelible ink. We don't have the experiences and maturity of adults to dilute the impact. I suspect that's why things can become more deeply ingrained and why, as adults, we have such a difficult time recovering from them.
It's also why I wish I could have received help when I was younger—before the cement dried.
Isolation is where I've lived most of my life. That's why I felt alone and sad much of the time. Even when I was in a crowd or with a group of friends I felt out of step with everyone, just not quite connecting on the level everyone else seemed to.
Abuse immediately isolated me. At first, the need for secrecy and knowing I was sharing in something no one else could know about gave me a sense of superiority. I felt special, privileged (for a while anyway). Later I felt used and eventually worthless.
At first we can feel pretty special, but later we realize we've taken on a burden we can't seem to throw off. I ended up feeling different and weird, and thinking no one else could possibly have those kinds of thoughts, feelings, or desires. After that came the longing to be normal—whatever that was supposed to mean. I was left outside, stealing glances at other families who seemed happy and normal.
That led to a lot of overcompensating and arrogance and not a little amount of anger, which I tried to repress unsuccessfully. I felt trapped, alone, and unable to break free to interact with my closest friends. There was always a wall there that I couldn't tear down.
With God's help and those who love me and understand, I'm learning new ways to break through the barriers. I appreciate their patience because the trust thing is difficult for me to navigate after all these years.
That turmoil began when I was very young. When young, we're like clean slates; everything that happens to us is written on those slates in capital letters and indelible ink. We don't have the experiences and maturity of adults to dilute the impact. I suspect that's why things can become more deeply ingrained and why, as adults, we have such a difficult time recovering from them.
It's also why I wish I could have received help when I was younger—before the cement dried.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Lasting Effects
The impact of sexual abuse can be devastating and it is long lasting. Because you were a child, and you were victimized by someone—and most of the time it was someone you trusted.
The first thing you need to know is this: The sexual abuse was not your fault. You may even be told that you did something wrong, but that person lied. You were a victim; you were an innocent child.
Most of the adult survivors with whom I've talked told me that they grew up feeling something was wrong with them. They believed they caused the abuse and blamed themselves.
You may have tried to talk about the molestation and no one listened. Until recent years, too many adults refused to acknowledge that such things occurred. If that happened to you, you have probably felt inadequate, embarrassed, isolated, guilty, shameful, and powerless. Then you probably reacted by suppressing this as a shameful secret.
For example, I was once involved with a men's group. One member, Greg, said that when he was seven, he wanted to tell his mother that his own father was sexually abusing him. One night at dinner, he said, "Daddy has been pulling down my pants and doing bad things to me."
"Eat your dinner," his mother said.
His two siblings said nothing; Dad continued to eat. That was the last time Greg opened his mouth about his abuse until he was thirty-one years old. That's when he joined a group of survivors of male sexual assault.
Research now affirms the link between the abuse and the effects. Each of us needs to be able to admit that the long-term effects are powerful and include poor self-esteem, difficulty trusting others, anxiety, feelings of isolation, self-injury and self-mutilation, eating disorders, sleep problems, depression, self-destructive tendencies, sexual maladjustment, and substance abuse.
(This post comes from the Shattering the Silence archives, 5/7/10.)
Friday, August 10, 2012
I Survived
(This blog post comes from Dr. Loren Due.)
My journey from childhood sexual abuse hasn't been easy. I survived, but more important, I am thriving. By sharing with others, others can learn that change and victorious living are possible. I thrive because I am inspired to help others make the changes necessary to experience the joy of doing what they were placed on this planet to do.
For most of my life, I was suspicious and isolated. I was shy, and even though people would say I was "cute," I never felt attractive. Even today when people say I don't look my age, I sometimes have trouble accepting the compliment. Although they say I'm handsome, I believe they're interested only in the money I earn. They only reason I look the way I do is because through all the drugs and sex I've experienced in my lifetime, God has kept me; I'm blessed to be alive.
—excerpted by permission from Teddy Bear: Stolen Innocence! by Dr. Loren Due, (Dr. Due Books, 2009), page 50.
For most of my life, I was suspicious and isolated. I was shy, and even though people would say I was "cute," I never felt attractive. Even today when people say I don't look my age, I sometimes have trouble accepting the compliment. Although they say I'm handsome, I believe they're interested only in the money I earn. They only reason I look the way I do is because through all the drugs and sex I've experienced in my lifetime, God has kept me; I'm blessed to be alive.
—excerpted by permission from Teddy Bear: Stolen Innocence! by Dr. Loren Due, (Dr. Due Books, 2009), page 50.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Lies I've Believed
(This post comes from Gary Roe.)
Lie #1: "I'm Alone."
We all have lies we believe, some as a result of the sexual abuse we endured. In my case, the most powerful and basic one is that I’m alone.
The abuse happened in early childhood. My only sibling was already in college. I had no friends my age. Some of the people designated to nurture and protect me were perpetrators. Secrecy was the name of the game. I was isolated. Alone.
I felt alone, and I bought the lie. I created a rich, internal fantasy world in order to survive. I grew quiet and compliant. I began to live out I’m alone.
The truth, of course, is that I’m not alone. God is always with me. There are people who are very involved in my life and want to be. I’m far from alone.
But it’s also true that I feel alone at times. I may feel like no one understands or cares. I’m glad feelings are not facts.
I have a constant companion who wants to be with me. He defines me, not the abuse I endured. I’m victorious when I live the truth I’m not alone.
I no longer believe I’m alone. I’m learning to live that way.
Lie #1: "I'm Alone."
We all have lies we believe, some as a result of the sexual abuse we endured. In my case, the most powerful and basic one is that I’m alone.
The abuse happened in early childhood. My only sibling was already in college. I had no friends my age. Some of the people designated to nurture and protect me were perpetrators. Secrecy was the name of the game. I was isolated. Alone.
I felt alone, and I bought the lie. I created a rich, internal fantasy world in order to survive. I grew quiet and compliant. I began to live out I’m alone.
The truth, of course, is that I’m not alone. God is always with me. There are people who are very involved in my life and want to be. I’m far from alone.
But it’s also true that I feel alone at times. I may feel like no one understands or cares. I’m glad feelings are not facts.
I have a constant companion who wants to be with me. He defines me, not the abuse I endured. I’m victorious when I live the truth I’m not alone.
I no longer believe I’m alone. I’m learning to live that way.
Friday, May 11, 2012
As Sick as Our Secrets
(This post comes from Gary Roe.)
A mentor once told me, “We’re as sick as our secrets.”
A mentor once told me, “We’re as sick as our secrets.”
Sexual abuse wasn’t the only secret in my family. Deception was also an everyday affair. One of the main goals in our family was to appear better, smarter, and more talented than we really were. We put on a show, but we were fakes.
Fear caused me to pull deep within myself. I was terrified of people. I hardly ever said anything. I began hiding. Keeping secrets became a way of life.
I created my own little world to live in and I was the hero, the rock star, the savior.
It didn’t help that I wasn’t allowed to play with other kids my age. The adult controlled the outside influences. I got used to my rich inner world where I was in control.
The message I was living was clear. When in pain, trust no one. I’m fundamentally alone. My secret life was keeping me from real life.
I repressed the sexual abuse for 40 years. Then the flashbacks started. That secret made me sick. When the silence was shattered, the healing began.
I still wrongly keep some things secret, at times without knowing it. I withhold myself out of fear. I’m tired of faking it. I’m ready to live more in the real world.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Triggers
(This post is from Tom Scales of VoiceToday.org. It was published on their blog in a slightly different form.)
What we call "triggers" remind me of my past. Something happens that throws me back to my painful abuse. It can be a voice, a smell, an event, a person, or a place that thrust me back to the sensations and world of sexual abuse. When that happened, my old companions of silence and isolation protect me once again.
The break from those devastating triggers came while listening to a TV interview of Frank Fitzpatrick, who was being interviewed about the sexual abuse he suffered at the hands of Father James Porter.
In that moment it was if someone had flipped the switch and my eyes opened. Listening to that interview brought a torrent of ugly memories. At times overwhelming, they seemed never to stop, as the actions of one predator after another paraded themselves through my consciousness.
While the journey of healing never ends, that TV interview and the many steps and events that followed brought me out of my emotional cave. They enabled me to replace the impervious walls with appropriate physical, emotional, and spiritual boundaries.
The process strengthened my faith and my self-esteem. It allowed me to have true friends and to experience joy. I was able to cast off the persistent depression that stayed with me throughout my life.
Transformation is possible for all survivors of childhood sexual abuse. For me, a TV interview was the start.
I'd like to be part of the starting experience for others.
The break from those devastating triggers came while listening to a TV interview of Frank Fitzpatrick, who was being interviewed about the sexual abuse he suffered at the hands of Father James Porter.
In that moment it was if someone had flipped the switch and my eyes opened. Listening to that interview brought a torrent of ugly memories. At times overwhelming, they seemed never to stop, as the actions of one predator after another paraded themselves through my consciousness.
While the journey of healing never ends, that TV interview and the many steps and events that followed brought me out of my emotional cave. They enabled me to replace the impervious walls with appropriate physical, emotional, and spiritual boundaries.
The process strengthened my faith and my self-esteem. It allowed me to have true friends and to experience joy. I was able to cast off the persistent depression that stayed with me throughout my life.
Transformation is possible for all survivors of childhood sexual abuse. For me, a TV interview was the start.
I'd like to be part of the starting experience for others.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
My Impenetrable Silence
(By Tom Scales)
For me, the silence was an impenetrable wall I constructed. It had many uses. As part of my abuse I did many things that, even at the time, were horrific. I certainly didn't want anyone to know the facts. I worked hard to isolate myself from intimate or close relationships. If others knew the reality, certainly they would ostracize me.
The silence about being a survivor of childhood sexual abuse spilled over into other aspects of life. If I didn't want people to find out my secret, I couldn't let them get close in other ways. Open and honest expressions of feelings and emotions were off limits. Anything that would give insight to what and who I really was, I kept under lock and key.
I never developed friends, much less close friends. The first responses I got after breaking my silence were so awful and humiliating, that I quickly clammed up again. It took me decades to have the courage to shed the shame and guilt, forgive myself, and allow God to use those horrible experiences for good in the lives of other survivors.
For me, the silence was an impenetrable wall I constructed. It had many uses. As part of my abuse I did many things that, even at the time, were horrific. I certainly didn't want anyone to know the facts. I worked hard to isolate myself from intimate or close relationships. If others knew the reality, certainly they would ostracize me.
The silence about being a survivor of childhood sexual abuse spilled over into other aspects of life. If I didn't want people to find out my secret, I couldn't let them get close in other ways. Open and honest expressions of feelings and emotions were off limits. Anything that would give insight to what and who I really was, I kept under lock and key.
I never developed friends, much less close friends. The first responses I got after breaking my silence were so awful and humiliating, that I quickly clammed up again. It took me decades to have the courage to shed the shame and guilt, forgive myself, and allow God to use those horrible experiences for good in the lives of other survivors.
Tom Scales is Executive Director of Voice Today, www.voicetoday.org.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Pursuing Safe People (by Gary Roe)
I asked Gary Roe to write several posts. He also shares his story in my book When a Man You Love Was Abused.
Even though I had wonderful, safe people in my life, I went off to college and distanced myself from them. Contact grew less frequent. I thought I wasn’t worthy of such wonderful people. They couldn’t possibly want to stay in contact with me. I slowly isolated myself.
That became my pattern. I did the self-distancing with almost every safe person in my life. At first, I was thrilled to be with them, but then, the old form of behavior reasserted itself. I didn't know how to cope with safe relationships. I began backing off.
Now I understand.
If I want to feel safe, I need to stop obeying the old patterns. I must take action. I have to find and initiate relationships with safe people. Initiate and keep initiating: That's my goal.
And guilt enters into this as well. I ask myself, "If I feel so safe just hearing their voices, why wouldn't I not call, sometimes daily?"
And yet, I tell myself that I don’t want to bother them. That's a lie. Life is busy and I forget to reach out to them. That's another lie.
How long will I keep doing that to myself?
The abuse programmed me to self-isolate. I had no control over what happened to me back then; now I can choose a different path. I can reach out to the safe people God has placed in my life. I can choose to believe what they say about me and to me rather than accept messages my abusers gave me.
I promise myself: I'll resist the temptation to withdraw. I’ll reach out.
Even though I had wonderful, safe people in my life, I went off to college and distanced myself from them. Contact grew less frequent. I thought I wasn’t worthy of such wonderful people. They couldn’t possibly want to stay in contact with me. I slowly isolated myself.
That became my pattern. I did the self-distancing with almost every safe person in my life. At first, I was thrilled to be with them, but then, the old form of behavior reasserted itself. I didn't know how to cope with safe relationships. I began backing off.
Now I understand.
If I want to feel safe, I need to stop obeying the old patterns. I must take action. I have to find and initiate relationships with safe people. Initiate and keep initiating: That's my goal.
And guilt enters into this as well. I ask myself, "If I feel so safe just hearing their voices, why wouldn't I not call, sometimes daily?"
And yet, I tell myself that I don’t want to bother them. That's a lie. Life is busy and I forget to reach out to them. That's another lie.
How long will I keep doing that to myself?
The abuse programmed me to self-isolate. I had no control over what happened to me back then; now I can choose a different path. I can reach out to the safe people God has placed in my life. I can choose to believe what they say about me and to me rather than accept messages my abusers gave me.
I promise myself: I'll resist the temptation to withdraw. I’ll reach out.
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