The Disconnect

(This post comes from Roger Mann.)

I never questioned what was happening to me. Not really. We had a normal family and a normal family life. In fact, because we were Christians and deeply involved in church, at times I felt a quiet sense of superiority over some of the other kids I knew whose parents argued, drank a lot, or were divorced.

Normal is just what is going on around you.

As I got older, the disconnect became uncomfortable. I looked around at others my age and discovered that my experiences were not common; sometimes they even appeared rare.

At high school age, it’s difficult feeling different, wondering if others think and feel like you do. But when you KNOW you’re different, it’s a whole new level of crazy. That crazy pushed me, and I pushed back. I won most of the time, I thought, but around 28 or so I began to lose the war. I was tired, alone, and so confused. At some point, I gave up and allowed myself to experience all that had been going through my mind in the quiet darkness.

And the darkness, quiet or not, will get you. It sure got me. I spiraled down until I was suicidal enough to really try and end it all. But it didn’t work, and I realized I needed to get help. I tried a few therapists, but I just couldn’t form the words. They would stick in my throat, and all I could see was that I was betraying my father.

Weird, huh? Especially when considering he’s the one who betrayed me.

Eventually, it was get help or get out, and I finally was able in a session to blubber out the truth as I understood it. I can’t describe the relief and sense of betrayal that I felt, but it was worth it. After the dam broke, the tide came pouring out, and together we began to sort it out.

Painful? You bet. But as they say, pain is weakness leaving the body. The more we sorted, the stronger I began to feel. Truth hurts at times; it also heals if you let it.

An Email from James

The following is an email I received from James Fitzwater in response to the post titled “Naming Myself.” James gave me permission to share his words. (Cec)

* * * * *

Hi, I’m James.

Almost 5 years ago, my wife and I had come to a terrible place in our relationship. I was incapable of developing intimacy. In my mind I blamed her for her disagreeable attitude. Things were spiraling downhill fast as among other things she threatened divorce, left me and the kids a few times, and occasionally slept in the closet. As I tried to understand her behavior, it was suggested that she might have a personality disorder. I became convinced that this was the problem and sought pastoral counseling. When she ran across my email and found out that I had labeled her with a mental illness, she became angrier.

My wife was convinced that I was gay and wanted me to tell her what was going on with me. One night she was determined to get an answer, and under threat of divorce hours into the night—turning lights on and off and throwing water on me—I broke down and confessed that I was sexually abused. I felt relieved to not be in denial, or having to keep my secret any longer.

It has been a long journey of seeking help, joining and leaving a survivor’s group, CR, marriage counseling, and still having significant moral failures before a divorce this year. Now I realize my wife’s issues were primarily brought on by my issues. Beginning in June of this year with Not Quite Healed, I began a real recovery journey finally surrendering to Jesus. Now I’m in therapy, a sex addicts group, Celebrate Recovery, and a home Bible study group.

Sharing my story has been very difficult, the consequences of my sins almost unbearable, but those steps were necessary to get me on a healing journey. They were a tremendous grace extended to me. I am grateful for the mercy I’ve received, the strength to make changes, and the hope that I now have. Taking it one day at a time.

No Self-judging Allowed

On a hand-painted sign I saw those words in a friend’s den. “I think I understand the words,” I said, “but is there a story here?”

“Yes!” Alan Jennings said. “I made up that sign for what I hoped would be an opportunity to tell people about my abuse.” The sign had been up almost two years and only a handful of visitors had asked about it.

“It began in a group therapy session,” he said. Alan was condemning himself for allowing an older boy to sodomize him. Before he sought help, he talked about allowing the horrible things done to him.

Another member of the group interrupted him. “Don’t you have any compassion for that little boy? He did what he had to do to survive.”

When Alan started to protest, others in the group also urged him to be kind to the abused child.

“I had been in and out of therapy for addictions,” he said, “but I realized I hadn’t been kind to my little boy.”

“You survived because of him,” one man said. “You may have done things you’re ashamed of now, but that hurt, despised little boy kept you alive.”

For quite a while we talked before Alan said, “I put up that sign to remind me and to help me to be kind and understanding to my younger self.

“Every night, even now I stare at my reflection in the mirror and think of the eight-year-old boy and say to him, ‘Thank you for helping me survive.’”

He smiled, “I no longer have to say no self-judging allowed. Now I leave the sign up in the den, hoping it will help others.”

Energy, Energy (Part 3 of 4)

I am and have always been a high-energy person, but even people like me have bad days—really bad days. Some mornings it takes immense effort for me to get out of bed and go for a run. Days with rain and freezing weather add another reason to turn over and sleep.

Then I remind myself that I’ll feel much better after running. And I always do. A few times I drag myself out there on the streets early in the morning and I start out wondering why I’m doing it. Even on those days, by the time I’m home and ready for a shower, I know why.

I feel better about myself. It’s that simple. I don’t have to fight negative self-talk or beat myself up emotionally. I realize how blessed I am and enjoy my life. That’s the reason for being able to develop the self-discipline of getting up every morning—and it’s worth the effort.

I kiddingly say to my friends, “I’ve saved $300,000 in therapists’ fees through exercise.”

I’m a self-starter and I realize that some people need others to keep pushing them forward. If that’s you, recruit a friend. Get one or two buddies to run or walk with you or whatever exercise you choose.

I’m a professional writer and work at home. Almost every morning I see others in my neighborhood exercising while I’m at work. One man and his wife jog (which I use to refer to a slower, more relaxed pace). A little later, two wives in their early 30s make the loop in front of my house, which is at the end of a cul-de-sac.

I live 1.3 miles from a high school and sometimes I run there and do a few laps on the track. For the past several weeks, a group of five women have been coming out. They yell at each other, laugh, and I can hear them halfway around the track. They’re having fun.

In an earlier blog I wrote, “Start small.” If there is any secret to an ongoing exercise, that’s it. Don’t set lofty goals of learning to run a 10k race in a week

In my next blog, I’ll give you one more tip on developing an exercise program to push away negativity and depression.

The Exercise Factor (Part 2 of 4)

Just to encourage people to exercise isn’t enough. I read an article early this year that said health spas get most of their new members during the holiday season. The article also pointed out that by February 9, most of them have stopped coming.

One reason people fail with exercise is that they try to make immense changes and then give up. My advice (and my own experience) says, “Start small. Decide on one thing that you can do faithfully. Then add something else.”

Next to my faith in a loving God and the positive support of others, I place physical exercise as my best form of therapy and healing. That’s because I know what it has done for me. The best way I know to express this is to use myself as an example.

I was born in 1933, so you can figure out my age. Certainly genetics play a role, but I’m healthy and exuberant with no physical problems and I take no medication. That’s not meant to brag, only to point out what physical exercise does for me.

In 1974, I had been hospitalized twice with ulcers, my blood pressure was in the high normal range, and I was about 30 pounds heavier. My doctor said having ulcers twice made me chronic and he would soon start treating me for my high blood pressure.

I left his office with a prayer in my heart and determination never to have to go back. (I never did.) I chose to take care of my body and I chose to run. It took me almost two weeks before I could run a whole mile without stopping for breath.

But the single most significant benefit was the positive effects on my psyche. Some days I felt lousy, and in the early days of my recovery I’d have to say close to helpless.

Then I went for a run—no matter how much effort it took to get my feet moving. By the time I came home, I felt good. We sometimes call it the runner’s high, or we can say the endorphins kick in. Perhaps it’s just as important to say that God made our bodies to move.

The more I move my body, the better I feel.

That’s excellent and inexpensive therapy.

Just Move It (Part 1 of 4)

As a survivor, I believe strongly in daily, physical exercise. Most experts on physical fitness suggest some form of aerobic or cardio exercise 3 times a week for about 30 minutes.

Dr. Kenneth Cooper introduced the term in the 1960s, and I’ve been an advocate of his approach since the mid-1970s. He uses the term to refer to exercises that demand the use of oxygen during the workout, such as running/jogging, swimming, cycling, and walking (fast-paced walking).

For survivors I suggest a different approach. Do it every day and as early in the day as possible. (I’m a morning person so that’s easier for me.) I chose running, although I now rotate it with fast-clipped walking. I used to be able to do 15-minute miles walking, but now it takes me 17 to 18 minutes a mile.

The purpose is to get that heart pumping. Not only does it improve our health as Cooper and others have advocated, it improves our mental health, reduces stress, and lowers depression. The experts claim (and so do I) that daily exercise increases our cognitive capacity.

My Merriam-Webster defines cognitive as conscious mental activities (such as thinking, understanding, learning, and remembering).

For those of us who were victimized as children, this is the easiest and least expensive form of therapy. My daily run doesn’t cure anything, but it improves my spiritual and physical outlook.

Timing

“The earlier the abuse took place, the deeper and more traumatic the impact on the survivor.” I read that statement by an authority on childhood abuse. He never presented any evidence, but he did say that came out of his “30 years of practice.”

He also wrote something to the effect that the more deviant the perpetrator’s behavior, the greater the detriment to the survivor’s recovery. He seemed to believe that, as adults, they had deeper issues to work through.

He added something about the wider the age difference, the more negative the result.

That’s when I stopped reading, although I’m no expert who can disprove what he wrote. But what he ignored was the personality of the child.

We all heal differently, and his statements didn’t reflect that. Some boys are more sensitive than others; some survivors never seem to overcome the effects.

Immediately I think of John, a member of a small group of six men I joined during the initial year of my coming to terms with my abuse.

In one of our first meetings, John told us about his painful childhood of abuse, and it sounded much like mine, except his was a single perpetrator. He had been seeing a therapist for 20 years. He ended by saying, “I feel like a bag of shit.”

Our group met every Thursday for four years until I moved out of the city. On the last meeting, John made the same statement about himself.

I haven’t seen John since, but I wonder how he feels about himself today. My guess is that he’s probably at about the same level as he was back when he was part of the group.

Why was John unable to recover after more than two decades of therapy? I don’t know. I’m hesitant to say it was because his abuse took place so early. Or blame the length of it. I could say the same things about mine. John knew his abuser was at least 25 years older. The old man who assaulted me was at least 55 years older than I was and the woman was 35 years older.

Why have I been able to achieve almost-but-not-quite healed status and John seemed stuck? I don’t know.

I’m grateful for the friends and loved ones who have stood with me and helped me. I’m even more grateful to a benevolent and compassionate God.

Why me?

Why have I moved so far down that road?

I have no idea, but I’m filled with gratitude at the growth and progress.

Did It Really Happen?

I "forgot" (that's denial) about my abuse until I was 51 years old. For several months after the memories began seeping back into my consciousness, I kept trying to convince myself that the abuse hadn't happened.

I hadn't gone to a counselor or therapist, but that happened around the time we heard so much about the false-memory syndrome. Therapists had inadvertently planted false memories in some of their clients.

I wanted mine to be false memories.

But they weren't.

I was molested. 

Because I can accept that fact, I can overcome the pain.

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

It Just Takes Time

An old joke goes that a therapist told a man that he'd need to come back once a week for about a year. He said, "Could I come three times a week for four months?"

The joke, of course, is that the man didn't understand how inner healing works. He wanted to rush through the process; there is no rushing through. It takes time. And effort.

For us survivors, we want the healing now and we want to put it behind us. Why wouldn't we? Who wants to keep hurting? Perhaps we need to remind ourselves that our abuse took place long ago and the poison permeated every aspect of our lives. We heal, but slowly.

I'm still learning and growing. The good news is that the pain eventually lessens. And my life is far more joyful and contented than it's ever been.

It's worth taking the time.

Therapy?

Although words like therapy and counseling are part of our culture, for some of us survivors, they're intimidating terms. In the early days of my healing, I didn't go for any kind of therapy. "I don't want to have to pay someone to listen to me," I said.

"Therapy feels clinical. Impersonal." I recall saying that once. "Why should I trust a therapist? It's only a business."

As I realized years later, it was a defensive attitude. For me, it meant I still wasn't able to be fully open.

Three years into my healing, I joined a one-year group of male survivors of childhood sexual assault, sponsored by the state of Georgia, and run by two therapists. By then, I didn't really need counseling, although I found the group helpful.

My response these days is that not everyone needs therapy, if you have someone you trust, whom you know won't divulge your story. Maybe that will work.

And there are bad therapists, especially the kind that seem to rivet their attention on all the lurid details. Or they give stock answers to questions and you feel they're responding by rote.

There are also good therapists who have been trained to hear what you're not saying and to sense your turmoil. They don't get sidetracked by your defensive strategies.

And why not a professional as well as friends and family members who care? We've been deeply wounded and we need all the help we can get.

Be open to those who can make things easier. It may be difficult—especially in the beginning—but remember: You've stored up years of secret suffering.

Isn't now the time to open up?

Filling the Holes

Long ago I read the statement that we abused men have holes in our life buckets. Nice imagery. The obvious meaning is that we can never live a full life until we do something about getting rid of those holes. Many keep trying to fill the bucket, unaware of the leaks from the bottom, and they don't understand why they aren't healed.

For instance, years ago I was a member of a group of six men that met every week. The first week, John stated he felt like a bag of manure. Four years later, John was still talking that way. He had been in therapy for more than a decade but hadn't gotten better. To use the bucket image, he was filling the bucket with good things, but he wasn't doing any work to seal the holes.

Repairing the bucket is hard work, and we may have to try to seal it several times before we figure out how to do it effectively and to make it last. In my case, turning to God gave me the courage to repair the holes. I needed to realize that I couldn't do the repair work myself, but only through divine intervention help.

God may not be the repair kit for everyone, but he was for me.

And he has been for countless others.

What are you doing to fill the holes?

A Response to "Fractures"

(This post comes from Duane and was written in response to a post from John Joseph called "Fractures.")

My wife read this post and said, "I finally understand the part of your personality where you can be 3 different persons with 3 different ways you act out. At times you were that 5 year old boy again."

My wife has stood beside me but my problems are too much for my family of origin to understand as they don't want to admit that this could of happened. They're the reason I have had a hard time moving on with my life. There is the idea that if people would find out I would bring dishonor to my mother; my father has passed.

I didn't tell anyone until I told my wife. She could not believe I kept this from her for 30 years of our married life. I sometimes ask God, "Why did you let this happen to me?"

Now I feel if I can make it through this and have a family of 5 children and 9 grandchildren. They're my true family that God has seen me through this and he is blessing me in my life.

The last 4 years in therapy have been what I needed, but about the time I think I'm healed and can stop seeing my therapist, I pull back another layer of problems that my abuse started.

The hardest thing I ever did was to talk to my children who are now grown and ask them, "Did I ever abuse you as a child or when you lived in our house?"

Thankfully, they all said no, but I had to be sure because I had learned to block things from my memory that were associated with my abuse. I am here to say that I realize that I am a survivor and that it was something I can't change from my past, but I can choose to rely on Jesus, my wife and children and the friends I have been able to tell. If you need something to help out I think CELEBRATE RECOVERY is a good place to start.

Fractures

(This is an encore post from John Joseph.)

In a recent session, my therapist and I discussed fractures in the psyche. Fractures often occur as coping mechanisms in children who are traumatized by abuse, violence, instability, or loss. A fracture is like splitting off part of the personality that “takes over” to help the child survive. Though not as extreme as multiple personality disorder or schizophrenia, those fractures and their functions are identifiable.

It didn’t take me long in that session to realize that my psyche is made up of the innocent little boy, the victim, the addict, and the self-actualized adult. Of course they're all me because I'm the sum of my experiences. I can chart the years in which one or the other has been the dominant expression of my personality. Until age four, I was the innocent little boy. Being abused at four moved me into the victim state that emerged into the addict from ten to eighteen years old. From age eighteen on, I've worked to become the self-actualized adult.

In that session, I came to understand that I still move in and out of the fractures, depending on my mood and circumstances. For instance, I was embarrassed in a business meeting the other day, and the victim side of me emerged.

I felt abused for several days afterward even though no real abuse occurred. If I’m not careful about recognizing when I've fallen into the victim mentality, it can drive me into the addict mode and my acting out behavior takes over. That progression helps me understand the years of compulsive sexual behavior I've suffered and gives me one more tool with which to overcome the effects of my abuse.

"I Am a Survivor" (Part 1 of 2)

Cheryll Snow's article appeared in Chicken Soup for the Soul: The Power of Forgiveness. With permission, I've excerpted part of it, which is a letter to an uncle who molested her.

* * * * *

For many years I battled depression and anxiety. I tried various things to ease the pain, not knowing where all this emotional trauma was coming from. Then after recalling the abuse, enduring years of helpful but painful therapy, and seeking God's guidance . . . I can look back and say that most of my life has been . . . shame-based. And it's all because of you.

Ashamed as a child because no matter how hard I tried, I never felt good enough. Ashamed of my changing body during puberty, then later using my budding sexuality by acting out with boys, and beating myself up emotionally for years because of it. Even so, I still deal with issues concerning body image, intimacy, trust, inadequacy, and a profound fear of failure.

I give that shame back to you. It is not mine. It's yours.

The Lenses of Abuse

(This is an encore post from John Joseph.)

I had dinner with a friend the other night and started sharing the history of my abuse with him. His reaction was kind, but his words belied a simplistic view of my pain. “Just let it go,” he urged, over and over. I gently pushed back on his premise, trying to help him see that I am a person who carries deep pain and one who is doing all I can to process it with the help of my therapist, my friends, journaling, and spirituality. I’m not sure he ever “got it” though he finally stopped telling me to “get over it.”

This experience reminded me that I see life through the lenses of my abuse. I cannot completely explain why the pain is still so present in my daily life. I cannot totally tease out every reason that life seems so sexualized and that it taints all with an off-color hue of sadness. I cannot fully explain the lingering effects of violation, or the lies that still hover in my mind that I am “damaged goods.” I can’t explain why I still feel that the abuse was my fault and that no one would love me if they really knew me. I just know that these are the things I still feel deeply.

My recovery doesn’t seem to progress in a linear pattern. It doesn’t always seem to move from Point A to Point B. It zigs. It zags. I feel great one day then BAM! It hits me square between the eyes. I heard someone say in a recovery meeting, “While you’re trying to get better the devil is doing pushups.” Maybe there’s some truth to that. Whether you believe in a personal devil or not isn’t the point. Abuse and the residual effects of it are devils enough. 

 I hope to take these abuse-colored glasses off someday. Or, I hope to at least be able to adjust them enough to realize that there are some fantastic things in my life despite the abuse. I am healed more than I was a few years ago, so I know there is some progress. Maybe in a way these lenses help me to see the wounds in others and to know that the last thing I need to tell them is to just “let it go” or to “get over it.” Healing takes time.

Lies I Believed

(This is an encore post from "J".)

Among the worst of the many lies I have believed about myself is that the abuse in my childhood was my fault. It's common among victims to believe they brought the abuse on themselves or caused it to happen. I've learned that the abuse was the sick choice of the abuser and not my doing.

I was about 16 before I understood that men had sex with women and not just with other men or boys. I knew that men liked to look at women, but the abuse was so pervasive in my life that I didn’t understand the basic physiology of the human body.

Gender confusion and identity struggles haunt me to this day. A therapist had to tell me I had been abused. It didn't occur to me that something was wrong with the people who touched me and used me.

The lie that I caused those broken people to have sexual contact with me has affected me throughout my life. The sexual confusion alone is devastating, but there are many more consequences that victims experience because of that distorted belief. Here are a few of mine:

* A sense of chronic failure; 

* The feeling that I have no control over my emotions or my body; 

* Problems making decisions;
* Compulsive behavior.

The best thing that has happened is gaining the understanding that I did not cause the abuse—not any of it. I participated at some level because I didn’t know that it was abuse or that I was being taken advantage of.

I was a child. I didn’t understand what was happening. It was not my fault.

Waiting to Exhale

(This post comes from an anonymous reader.)

One of the effects of my abuse has been the feeling of holding my breath inside. Because sexual addiction was a huge result of abuse in my life, I didn’t think I could breathe unless I was acting out the brokenness inflicted upon me through sexual molestation. I found my deepest worth in being used by a man. When that wasn’t happening, I didn’t feel I was breathing.

A therapist related my need to be abused to people who cut themselves. I’m not an expert on cutting, but my therapist said that cutters seem to feel as I did, existing miserably between periods of cutting themselves. He indicated they feel like they can’t breathe until they cut. Once they cut, they feel temporary relief, then all the self-loathing returns. That described me.

I lived for years holding my breath between acting out sexually online or with others as a result of my abuse. If I wasn’t engaging in my addiction I was thinking about it. My life revolved around secrets and shame, knowing that I wasn’t being the man I should be or wanted to be. I understand men who are living a double life and who often become suicidal because of the depths of pain and shame.

Yet the more I've come to understand that abuse wasn’t my fault and that I was victimized by older men, the closer I come to finding wholeness in my life.

I'm learning to breathe on my own and not just exist until acting out my addiction. I understand that my thoughts and feelings are often irrational and overwhelming and that I have to have safety precautions built into my life to help me to overcome them.

Learning to breathe emotionally is a function of the knowledge of being part of a caring community. Knowing I am a survivor is a great step, but I need support and understanding to overcome the abuse.

One day at a time I learn to take a breath, exhale, take a breath, and then exhale. I no longer have to act out my brokenness in order to breathe.

I’m no longer waiting to exhale.

Just Beginning to Figure This Out

(Occasionally unsolicited responses come to me personally. This one, from James, touched me and I wanted to share. His entire message covered several pages, but I wanted to pass on to you the first paragraphs. --Cec)

I'm trying to figure this out, and I am just beginning . . .

Twelve months ago, I recognized/admitted that I was sexually abused as a child, but I still struggled to understand what that means, to be abused. Seven months ago, I started more focused therapy for that abuse, and joined a male survivor group. I’ve come a long way since beginning that group, but I recognize that I’ve barely began to peel away the outer layers of the artichoke/onion, to understand and deal with the consequences of that abuse. About two weeks ago, I began reading Not Quite Healed by Cecil Murphey and Gary Roe. It feels like I’ve made more progress in these past two weeks than the 12 months prior.

I need to be healed, I need to stay in the fight, there is too much at stake. I am tempted to turn back, to forget, to ignore the problems, to pretend it will all be okay if I turn my back on the process of healing. Because healing requires dealing with the struggle and the pain, dealing with my own shame and failures. It is so foolish to turn back, the struggle doesn’t go away, my childhood has affected all of my relationships, the shame eats at me from the inside; it just remains private. I realize this is going to be a lifelong journey.

“At our core, we are sexual creatures, male and female. This is part of being created in the image of God. When others abuse us sexually, they touch us at the center of our being. Everything becomes skewed and produces a ripple effect that spreads through our entire personhood. The abuse alters the way we see ourselves, others, God, and life itself.”

Some effects of the abuse and unmet needs of childhood: lack of intimacy with my wife, attempt to be in control, lack of self-worth, maintaining silence about my needs and wants, not having a voice / speaking up for myself, sexual deviance. Somewhat related is a desire for a mother love and father love that I didn’t get. I will review these first few chapters again as they have hit so many nerves. I want to go more in depth and explore and identify them more fully.

Healing in Community

(This post comes from John Joseph*.)

Recovery from childhood sexual trauma doesn’t happen in isolation. Of course, we want it to, hoping that we’ll never have to share the grisly details of our abuse or have to feel awkward that there was some part of it we may have enjoyed. Childhood violation is a very complicated thing and always requires the love, understanding, and intercession of a community to progressively heal.

Telling our story in a safe environment is one step toward healing. Being able to receive the love and encouragement of others is also a healthy step. Coming to the place where we can own what happened, own our responsibility for our sinful responses, and even moving slowly toward forgiveness are important progressions often facilitated in a healing community.

The abuse happened in secrecy, but the way out is by acknowledging it and sharing it with others in safe environments. Much of my own healing has occurred in 12-Step meetings or one-on-one counseling or prayer encounters in which I could safely share what happened and how it has affected me.

*John Joseph is a pseudonym of a pastor. He's a regular contributor to this blog.

"How Long Will It Take?"

(an encore post by Cecil Murphey)

An old joke says a man went to a therapist, and after being diagnosed, the new patient asked, "How long will it take?"

"Come in once a week and it will probably take about a year."

"But if I come in twice a week, can I do it in six months?"

The joke is that it's not the number of times in the therapist's office, but the inner work the man does for himself. And the issues of life can't be rushed.

After I publicly stated that healing is a process, one man came to me and said, "That was exactly what I needed to hear. I kept asking my therapist how long it would take, and he avoided giving me an answer. Now I understand."

It's not the length of time in therapy, as a member of a support group, or doing individual work. It's the quality—the extent—of grasping and internalizing the insight.

Twenty years ago, when I first began to work on my own abuse, I was part of a small group. "John" had been in therapy for 15 years before we met. I moved away after four years. And many of the things John said in our final meeting were almost the same words he had spoken four years earlier.

It's not the length of time, but the quality of the work that counts.