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.)

Moving Beyond the Abuse

"It's the past. Forget it and move on," my youngest brother, Chuck, said to me. We had both been sexually assaulted by the same person. He didn't admit being sexually molested, but he didn't deny it either. On the few occasions when I tried to talk to him about it, his answer was, (1) "You can't undo the past," (2) "We don't have to think about those things," or (3) "That stuff happened back then." His words implied that we need only to forget the past, leave it behind, and it's gone.

If only it were that simple.

Chuck died after years of trying to cure his pain through alcohol. I don't know if the pain he tried to medicate was the abuse, but I suspect it was. On rare occasions when he was drunk, he made oblique references to "that mess in childhood."

Outwardly, Chuck wanted to get past the sexual molestation and get on with his life. So why didn't he "move on" with his life?

I had a second brother named Mel, also an alcoholic. He was married five times and died of cirrhosis at age 48. Unlike Chuck, Mel wouldn't talk about our childhood. "There's nothing back there to talk about," was the most he ever said.

I write about my two brothers because both of them seemed determined to get past the abuse of childhood by forgetting, denying, or ignoring. That approach doesn't work.

We don't forget—not really. We don't forget because childhood abuse affects our lives and shapes our attitudes about people and relationships. Some guys want to hurry and get over it, but it's not something to get over and to move on.

Abuse happened to us. Until we accept it and face what it has done to our lives, we don't really move forward. We only live unhealed lives.

(This post comes from the Shattering the Silence archives, 5/4/10)

Control

(This blog post comes from Bill Christman.)

The priest raped me and I couldn't do anything about it. After that, unconsciously, I decided I wouldn't ever allow anyone to control me again. For example, my mom's new husband, a captain in the military, told my brother and me to use sir or ma'am when addressing them. That resulted in my negative responses such as swearing, yelling, or obvious indifference—whatever it took to stop it and give me control. Throughout my life, whenever I perceived being controlled in any way, I reacted angrily. Verbally at first, physically if that didn't work.

Many times it was my mistaken perception of what someone was doing or saying, such as a man's friendly gesture of touching me on the shoulder and saying hello. My fear of being controlled brought out my dark side.

Bill Christman is the author of Forgiving the Catholic Church: Finding Justice for the Abused and Abusers (WinePress Publishing, 2012).

Battling the Guilt Monster (Part 8 of 8)

(This blog post comes from Gary Roe.)

Guilt often triggers shame in my life. 

Shame has been debilitating. For a long time, it kept me imprisoned by firing the same, crushing messages through my brain and heart.

"You’re worthless," Shame said. "You caused the abuse. You deserved it. You’re damaged goods. You’re the problem. You’ll never be a real man."

Shame whispers, "So what hope have you today? Really, none. You’ll go through the motions, hoping for something better. But it’ll never get better, because you’re the problem. It’s your fault."

"Really?" I say back to Shame. "I think not. You will not rule my thoughts, my motives, my actions, or my relationships. I’ll confront you whenever I sense your presence.

"You came from outside me and through the abuse. You’re not mine. I don’t want you. Take a hike. Yeah, I know you’ll keep coming back, but I’ll be right here, ready to stand against you. I’ll outlast you, and eventually you’ll have to go."

I can stand firm against shame’s onslaught. 

This is a battle I’m determined to win.

Battling the Guilt Monster (Part 7 of 8)

(This blog post comes from Gary Roe.)

Guilt is like an octopus, thrusting forth its tentacles to snatch and destroy. In my life, one of the most powerful tentacles has been shame.

Shame. The abuse planted that emotion deep inside my heart. People and events weren't at fault. I was wrong; the problem was me. That's what I learned from shame.

Like a microchip implanted inside my brain, shame fired up at the slightest stimulus. Something went wrong and the abuse happened again, or I made a mistake and was punished. I was the problem.

I fled inside myself. When I couldn’t hide, I tried to justify my existence with achievements. All the time, shame was there, whispering its lies into my ears. Shame also isolated me from healthy relationships.

I’m done with shame. It didn't originate with me. It’s not mine. Shame belongs to my perpetrators.

I return shame to where it belongs. I no longer allow it roam my mind and heart unchallenged. I call it out. "Shame, that’s your voice speaking, not mine. No thanks."

As I challenge shame’s power over me, 

 I can experience freedom and connect with others. 

Battling the Guilt Monster (Part 6 of 8)

(This blog post comes from Gary Roe.)

In my life, the guilt monster will often succeed through fear. Fear is all around me. The sexual abuse injected it deep into my being. Fear speaks to me in many ways.

* "Ah, here's another day. You can count on me. I’ll be with you every step."

* "Come on. Get it right. Make sure nothing bad happens. Be prepared. Protect yourself."

* "You know what can happen if you don’t fix the problems and the people who have them."

* "It might happen again."

Fear is a natural reflex for me and is one of the major lenses through which I see life. No wonder. Given what happened, it makes sense.

But to let fear rule is to stay stuck with the effects of the abuse. I refuse to do that. Owning up to my fears and feeling them helps. When I can name my fears, I begin to recognize them in daily life. If I can see them as they surface, I can move forward and refuse to allow them to determine my decisions.

If I can name my fears, I can learn to recognize them. 

If exposed, they have less hold on me.

Battling the Guilt Monster (Part 5 of 8)

(This blog post comes from Gary Roe.)

In a previous post, I described guilt as an octopus, seeking to capture and choke me. It has many tentacles. Anger is one. Fear is another.

As a childhood sexual abuse survivor, fear became my frequent companion. It skewed my world.

Fear became a strong influencer of my thoughts and the prime motivator of my behavior. I tried to become invisible whenever I could by not calling attention to myself or withdrawing from the crowds. When that wasn’t possible, I turned into a performing circus animal, trying desperately either to please or prove my right to exist through flawless achievement.

I couldn't rest. I couldn't have fun. I was hyper-alert, waiting for the next blow. I was a prisoner.

Is there a way out? I’m not sure. But I do believe strongly there is a way through. I can’t stop fear from coming, but I no longer have to let it rule unchallenged.

I can’t stop fear from coming, but I don't have to let it rule my heart.