(an encore post by Cecil Murphey)
"If it happened only once is that sexual abuse?"
Abuse is abuse, regardless of the number of times it happened. As I see the issues, it's not how many times it happened, but how did it affect the boy who was abused?
If he was traumatized, and it happened only one time, the obvious answer is yes. That's like saying, "The robber stole my money. It happened only once, so was I robbed?"
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Friday, December 13, 2013
Logic vs. Emotion
(an encore post by Cecil Murphey)
I once mentioned in a keynote at a conference that I had been sexually molested. I didn't dwell on the issue, but said it affected the way I saw life.
Afterward a woman who identified herself as a pastor-therapist said to me, "You didn't do anything to cause the assault. It was your perpetrator's fault."
I tried to tell her that I knew, but she didn't seem to hear me. She talked for another minute or two, but her words and her attitude seemed to say to me, "I've explained the logic of the situation and you're free."
I agreed with her reasoning. I had been a child, and of course I didn't do anything to bring on the molestation. It was the fault of my perpetrators. If acknowledging the truth were all I needed, I would have been free much earlier.
She didn't seem to grasp that my emotions hadn't caught up with my cognitive perceptions. I could make the same statements she made—and I did—but they hadn't set me free. It was a long time before I could feel free.
And, sad to say, some men never feel fault-free.
I once mentioned in a keynote at a conference that I had been sexually molested. I didn't dwell on the issue, but said it affected the way I saw life.
Afterward a woman who identified herself as a pastor-therapist said to me, "You didn't do anything to cause the assault. It was your perpetrator's fault."
I tried to tell her that I knew, but she didn't seem to hear me. She talked for another minute or two, but her words and her attitude seemed to say to me, "I've explained the logic of the situation and you're free."
I agreed with her reasoning. I had been a child, and of course I didn't do anything to bring on the molestation. It was the fault of my perpetrators. If acknowledging the truth were all I needed, I would have been free much earlier.
She didn't seem to grasp that my emotions hadn't caught up with my cognitive perceptions. I could make the same statements she made—and I did—but they hadn't set me free. It was a long time before I could feel free.
And, sad to say, some men never feel fault-free.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
"You Don't Need to Feel Ashamed"
(an encore post by Cecil Murphey)
Some statements irritate me. "You don't need to feel guilty," or "You have no reason to feel ashamed" are two of them. I wonder about the people who say those things. How can they speak so glibly?
Of course we need to feel ashamed or guilty—it's a natural reaction to what happened to us. No one explained to us that it was something bad done to us. Consequently, we felt bad. We weren't mature enough to grasp that we were innocent, so shame and guilt invaded our souls.
If I could have disrobed myself of those two emotions, I would have done it long ago. Instead it took me many, many years before I knew the freedom from those enslavements. I don't think I'm unusual.
I'd like to say to those glib-speaking know-it-alls, "Don't tell anyone how he should or shouldn’t feel. That advice helps no one."
But we can say, "I'm sorry you're hurting." As we accept them and express compassion they can slowly free themselves.
But until then, they have valid reasons for feeling ashamed or guilty.
Friday, December 6, 2013
"I Should Be Healed"
(an encore post by Cecil Murphey)
I've heard several men say, "I should be healed by now." When they do, I smile. I smile for two reasons. First, I had made the same statement to myself.
Second, I smile because I think, that's a typical male response. We want to know how long it's going to take, want a time table, and expect it to be over by a certain date on the calendar.
I think of the old joke about a man who talked to a therapist about his depression. He asked how long he would have to undergo treatment. The therapist tried to avoid answering but the patient persisted, so finally the therapist said, "If you come weekly, about a year."
"If I come twice a week," the man asked, "can I do it in six months?"
Because many of us expect healing to have taken place within a certain period of time, we want results—and as soon as possible.
A better response to the statement, "I should be healed by now," is that inner healing doesn't understand time demands or deadlines. Healing happens as it happens.
Instead of thinking what should be, isn't it better to say to yourself, "I'm much healthier right now than I was when I started this journey"?
I've heard several men say, "I should be healed by now." When they do, I smile. I smile for two reasons. First, I had made the same statement to myself.
Second, I smile because I think, that's a typical male response. We want to know how long it's going to take, want a time table, and expect it to be over by a certain date on the calendar.
I think of the old joke about a man who talked to a therapist about his depression. He asked how long he would have to undergo treatment. The therapist tried to avoid answering but the patient persisted, so finally the therapist said, "If you come weekly, about a year."
"If I come twice a week," the man asked, "can I do it in six months?"
Because many of us expect healing to have taken place within a certain period of time, we want results—and as soon as possible.
A better response to the statement, "I should be healed by now," is that inner healing doesn't understand time demands or deadlines. Healing happens as it happens.
Instead of thinking what should be, isn't it better to say to yourself, "I'm much healthier right now than I was when I started this journey"?
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
The Terrible Burden of Secrets
(This post comes from an anonymous reader.)
I felt unloved by my mother; I was unloved and unwanted by my stepfather. “You’ll never amount to anything,” he said. I believed I was worthless. I was rejected at home but at the same time I wasn't allowed to participate in sports, or to join in Scouts. I never had the male companionship that every boy needs and longs for.
The first sexual abuse that I remember was at age five. After that, I told my mother that I could hit my “willie” and it would get stiff; and if I kept hitting it, I would feel good. Shortly after that, they had me circumcised. In those days, many parents believed it stopped masturbation. I don’t remember masturbating again until about 13 when a neighbor boy took me behind our garage and showed me how. That activity became my comfort.
In my mid-teen years, I was enticed by a man. An adult male wanted an unwanted boy. I would have done anything he suggested. And it warped how I saw myself for decades. I had kissed my girlfriend before that, and that had been my most electrifying experience until the same-sex encounter. From then on, I wanted to be a heterosexual man, but I was drawn repeatedly to same-sex encounters.
In my 30s, I married a woman who loved me unconditionally. But I couldn't bring myself to tell her my secrets. How could I survive if she left?
After she died, I comprehended the depths of her unconditional love. I found a folder of poems and letters that she’d written to me when we were dating but had never mailed them. As I read them, I knew she would have been by my side through anything that enabled me to be rid of secrets.
The biggest part of my burden was guilt over my cruising parks where I could watch same-sex activities. I told myself, Watching isn't as bad as participating. Afterward, my guilt was as dreadfully damning as if I’d participated.
As a result, for the last years of our marriage, I was impotent. Had I trusted my wife and let her share my sorrow, we could have had joyful sex.
I finally trusted my pastor enough to tell him some of my story. He sent me to a counselor to whom I told everything. Both pastor and counselor accepted me as a man of worth. They gave me hope.
Secrets are terrible burdens. They can destroy us.
I felt unloved by my mother; I was unloved and unwanted by my stepfather. “You’ll never amount to anything,” he said. I believed I was worthless. I was rejected at home but at the same time I wasn't allowed to participate in sports, or to join in Scouts. I never had the male companionship that every boy needs and longs for.
The first sexual abuse that I remember was at age five. After that, I told my mother that I could hit my “willie” and it would get stiff; and if I kept hitting it, I would feel good. Shortly after that, they had me circumcised. In those days, many parents believed it stopped masturbation. I don’t remember masturbating again until about 13 when a neighbor boy took me behind our garage and showed me how. That activity became my comfort.
In my mid-teen years, I was enticed by a man. An adult male wanted an unwanted boy. I would have done anything he suggested. And it warped how I saw myself for decades. I had kissed my girlfriend before that, and that had been my most electrifying experience until the same-sex encounter. From then on, I wanted to be a heterosexual man, but I was drawn repeatedly to same-sex encounters.
In my 30s, I married a woman who loved me unconditionally. But I couldn't bring myself to tell her my secrets. How could I survive if she left?
After she died, I comprehended the depths of her unconditional love. I found a folder of poems and letters that she’d written to me when we were dating but had never mailed them. As I read them, I knew she would have been by my side through anything that enabled me to be rid of secrets.
The biggest part of my burden was guilt over my cruising parks where I could watch same-sex activities. I told myself, Watching isn't as bad as participating. Afterward, my guilt was as dreadfully damning as if I’d participated.
As a result, for the last years of our marriage, I was impotent. Had I trusted my wife and let her share my sorrow, we could have had joyful sex.
I finally trusted my pastor enough to tell him some of my story. He sent me to a counselor to whom I told everything. Both pastor and counselor accepted me as a man of worth. They gave me hope.
Secrets are terrible burdens. They can destroy us.
Friday, November 29, 2013
A Third Post from Joseph
(This is the last of three posts from Joseph.)
Mother gave me dolls to play with, played house with me, and taught me how to sew. (Surely she knew better.) My stepfather psychologically abused us both—told me I would never amount to anything. (He lied: I taught school for 39 years; have published local history books; and am a well-known poet in my state. But I still felt less than a man.)
I wasn't allowed to play sports or join the Boy Scouts because the “other boys would be a bad influence on you.” I was allowed to go to one high school football game and that was in the ninth grade. I grew up knowing nothing about sports, cars, or guns.
I was never comfortable around men, but work and church put me around them, so I developed survival skills although remaining “dumb and stupid” about manly things.
Furthermore, I was warned against kissing girls—that could start a boy on the downward path to damnation. As an adolescent, when adult men enticed me, I saw it as kindness and I felt needed. When I discovered it was wrong, I felt that I couldn't ever be a real man.
Having a licensed Christian counselor and telling him everything—and I mean every shameful thing I have remembered—has been unlocking doors and I am progressing into freedom from the past.
God has put me in a church with godly men who like me and I am at ease around them. I may be old, but I’m not too old to learn and to enjoy the fellowship of men.
Mother gave me dolls to play with, played house with me, and taught me how to sew. (Surely she knew better.) My stepfather psychologically abused us both—told me I would never amount to anything. (He lied: I taught school for 39 years; have published local history books; and am a well-known poet in my state. But I still felt less than a man.)
I wasn't allowed to play sports or join the Boy Scouts because the “other boys would be a bad influence on you.” I was allowed to go to one high school football game and that was in the ninth grade. I grew up knowing nothing about sports, cars, or guns.
I was never comfortable around men, but work and church put me around them, so I developed survival skills although remaining “dumb and stupid” about manly things.
Furthermore, I was warned against kissing girls—that could start a boy on the downward path to damnation. As an adolescent, when adult men enticed me, I saw it as kindness and I felt needed. When I discovered it was wrong, I felt that I couldn't ever be a real man.
Having a licensed Christian counselor and telling him everything—and I mean every shameful thing I have remembered—has been unlocking doors and I am progressing into freedom from the past.
God has put me in a church with godly men who like me and I am at ease around them. I may be old, but I’m not too old to learn and to enjoy the fellowship of men.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
A Second Post from Joseph
(This is the second of three posts from Joseph.)
I gave my counselor the following list at my session this week.
What I’ve Learned/Concluded about Myself
1. I didn’t deserve the childhood psychological abuse or the adolescent sexual abuse that happened to me.
2. I didn’t have a father who loved, nurtured, and protected me; but all the time, through the years, God, the truest Father, was loving, nurturing, and providentially protecting me.
3. Through the years, I avoided fellowship with men because I was afraid I would act unmanly and they would think I was a pervert. I realize that in doing that, I was avoiding the very men who could have affirmed my maleness.
4. It takes a real man to look past abuse and personal failures in the eye and with the help of a counselor gain assurance that you didn’t start the abuse. Next admit and accept the resulting sins and failures, but then turn around and face the future with your head up. I have; I am a man!
5. This year has been the best year of my life because God has brought a change in me. I know how Scrooge felt on Christmas morning!
6. I cannot use the past tense and say, “I am recovered,” but I can with confidence use the continuing present tense and say, “I am recovering.”
I gave my counselor the following list at my session this week.
What I’ve Learned/Concluded about Myself
1. I didn’t deserve the childhood psychological abuse or the adolescent sexual abuse that happened to me.
2. I didn’t have a father who loved, nurtured, and protected me; but all the time, through the years, God, the truest Father, was loving, nurturing, and providentially protecting me.
3. Through the years, I avoided fellowship with men because I was afraid I would act unmanly and they would think I was a pervert. I realize that in doing that, I was avoiding the very men who could have affirmed my maleness.
4. It takes a real man to look past abuse and personal failures in the eye and with the help of a counselor gain assurance that you didn’t start the abuse. Next admit and accept the resulting sins and failures, but then turn around and face the future with your head up. I have; I am a man!
5. This year has been the best year of my life because God has brought a change in me. I know how Scrooge felt on Christmas morning!
6. I cannot use the past tense and say, “I am recovered,” but I can with confidence use the continuing present tense and say, “I am recovering.”
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