Forgiving the Consequences (by Gary Roe)

I invited Gary Roe to write several posts. He also shares his story in my book When a Man You Love Was Abused.

I had taken the step to forgive my abusers. I thought I had the forgiveness part of my healing down pat, and then a friend came and asked a deeper question: “You say that you have forgiven your abusers for what they did. . . the rapes, the acts of abuse. But have you forgiven them for the results in your life of what they did to you?”

I stared in shock. I felt as if my soul were being ripped apart. And right there, in a chair on the deck behind my house, I began to cry. Soon I wept convulsively. It grew more and more intense. It was as if I were throwing up emotion in waves. It went on for almost two hours.

My eyes were closed, and I saw myself walking toward my perpetrators and I carried a large, heavy bucket of filth. When I reached them, I set the bucket down in front of them and said, “These are all the horrid, devastating results in my life of what you did to me. These things have affected my relationships and the people I love. I won't carry this any more. These things don't belong to me. I return them to you. I leave them here. I forgive you.” Then I saw myself leave the bucket and walk away.

When my sobs subsided, I knew God had broken through and enabled me to forgive at a new level.

It was devastating to think of all the results of the abuse in my life. It was the key event of my childhood and it affected everything. Everything. Forgiving my perpetrators of the consequences of the abuse, as well as the acts of abuse themselves, was like a sledgehammer that broke the back of my bondage.

Forgiveness Releases Me (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.

“I thought forgiveness was releasing my enemy," someone said to me, "but when I forgave him I discovered that the captive I released was me.” I've certainly experienced that in relation to my abusers.

When I made a frightening phone call to my closest friend and told him what happened to me as a child, he was silent for a long time before he asked, “Have you been able to forgive them?” This question surprised me. I knew that my friend asked because he loved me and was deeply concerned about me.

I suddenly knew that forgiveness was about my heart. Forgiveness was about not letting my heart be ruled by the abuse and the abusers any longer. Forgiveness was about separating my person from what happened to me. Forgiveness was about letting God heal me.

I wanted healing. Forgiveness was the road to it. So I began to forgive. I had to forgive repeatedly. I had to learn to practice forgiveness. And somewhere along the way I realized that I'd been holding myself captive by not forgiving. Sometimes I even imagined that I was releasing myself when forgiving my abusers.

I'm not saying that forgiving is easy. It was far from painless for me. I once screamed into a pillow repeatedly as I tried to forgive. I found forgiveness to be like physical therapy after surgery—excruciatingly painful at first, but strengthening and healing over time.

Forgiveness as a Process (by Gary Roe)

I invited Gary Roe to write several posts. He also shares his story in my book When a Man You Love Was Abused.

I used to think forgiveness was a simple one-time act of the will. Forgive. Let it go. Move on. When I found myself confronted with the same emotions again, I assumed I hadn't forgiven.

Forgiving my abusers has been a process. It certainly began, as all forgiveness does, with an act of the will. God led me to the point where I chose to forgive, trusting that over time the feelings would follow.

Then another trigger would get pulled. A flashback. Someone would do or say something that put me right back under that ugly, familiar cloud of anger, shame, and guilt. Instead of wondering if I had really forgiven, I voiced my forgiveness again.

I've repeated that process dozens of times. Each time seems to get a little easier. Each time, I feel a little freer. I'm learning that I have to practice forgiveness, and sometimes it seems like moment by moment. Whenever the trigger gets pulled or the cloud of shame descends, I'm learning to see it as an invitation to forgive.

Flashbacks (by Gary Roe)

I invited Gary Roe to write several posts. He also shares his story in my book When a Man You Love Was Abused.

I was young when it happened and it happened repeatedly. The perpetrators were close to me. I had no memory of the sexual abuse itself, but I grew up with a sense of deep terror and anger toward the perpetrators.

Years later, I began having flashbacks. They started slowly and increased in duration and intensity. Finally, they came in like a flood. I couldn't believe what I was seeing and experiencing. I thought I was going crazy.

These flashbacks were intense, just like I was there and it was happening all over again. It was unnerving, confusing, terrifying, and exhausting. They continued over a period of two years.

If it hadn't been for my wife, a counselor, and a few trustworthy friends, I don't know what I would have done. I knew I couldn't handle it alone. I also sensed that isolation was my worst enemy. I had to share, to talk, and to stay connected with those I knew loved me.

After two years, the flashbacks dissipated and my health began to deteriorate. At random times my adrenaline went crazy. The anxiety was terrible. I felt like a deer being chased by a tiger. My life felt small and dark. Those “flashback aftershocks,” as I called them, continued for another few years.

To say that I'm grateful now may sound inadequate, but I am grateful for the flashbacks and their aftershocks. I'm relieved to finally know what happened. My life makes sense now. I understand why things were the way they were and why I felt and thought the way I did.

I had to endure those flashbacks. Denial was survival in my childhood, but denial no longer served me well. It shackled me. I had to go back and see what happened so that I could heal. I really am grateful. Now I can grow.

"It's Easier to Look in the Mirror"

(This is an additional post from Anonymous.)

Last night I started When a Man You Love Was Abused. One of the things that's been helpful reading it so far is being able to have names for different effects. It takes things out of ambiguity and gives them concrete boundaries which make them much easier to sort through.

One of the things I saw on the blog that was great was something to the effect that it's not something that is wrong with us, it's that something wrong has been done to us. I've been rolling that over in my head a bit. It makes it easier to look in the mirror. :)

--Anonymous

"I Rarely Feel Like a Real Man"

(This blog post comes from an anonymous reader.)

I wanted to thank you for your Shattering the Silence blog. It has been a tremendous help reading others' stories.

Starting when I was five, and off and on for a couple of years after, my older cousin would rape and fondle me and have me perform oral sex on him. Thankfully, the Lord showed me how to forgive a decade ago. Before that, I was planning how I could get away with burning down the house that everything happened in. However, now at 31, I find myself still dealing with the effects of what happened.

I rarely feel like a real man, always plagued by inadequacy and not being masculine enough. I've struggled continually with same sex attraction since the abuse happened. It seems that all I crave is to have a guy I consider a real man, tell me that I am man enough - to be accepted as a guy. The only time I feel like a regular guy is when I'm working out at the gym. I spend almost all of my free time there. Although I've gotten bigger and stronger, when I look in the mirror, all I see is shameful weakness. The shame is suffocating at times.

I'm trying to convince myself to get your book as I know it will be of tremendous help. However, having the pain become even more raw through this process is daunting. The pain has gotten more acute lately, and I've retreated into sinful behaviors to buffer against the pain. The fun part is I work at a church, and if they ever found this out about me (my struggles, my sin), I'd be let go.

Your blog has provided great comfort. I was watching a Beth Moore clip last week, and she asked, "Have you ever let God touch those deep painful places in your life, or are you just quickly scabbing over them?" I asked God to touch the deep places in me, and that's when I found the link to your site. I think I will get the book.

Through it all, the Lord has been so merciful to me, so gentle. I fight against myself every day to trust Him.

--Anonymous

Living in My Own Head (by Gary Roe)

I invited Gary Roe to write several posts. He also shares his story in my book When a Man You Love Was Abused.

Sometimes I'm amazed at how self-conscious I can be. Due to the abuse, I developed long antennae, and I'm constantly gauging what people might think or how they might feel about me. I talk and behave in a way that I think will insure that they like me.

As a result, I've lived a lot of my life inside my own head—thinking, posturing, wondering, planning, and controlling situations. Unknowingly, I fashioned a nice, acceptable, and thick mask for myself. Others got to know the mask and seemed pleased with it (just as I had planned).

Not only did I not know how to be me (I didn't know who I really was), I successfully walled myself off from love. If I couldn't take off the mask and be myself, then I also couldn't really engage with others and love them.

My mask was well liked. My mask received the love, and I went on feeling unloved.

Slowly God began to dissolve the glue that held that mask in place. He used my wife, life situations, counseling, and a few trusted friends over a number of years to help me discover who I am. I now like the mask less and less.

I can live more outside my own head now, being more present to the people around me. God is healing me. I know this. I feel it and I see it. He is maturing me into who He has made me to be.