I dealt with my sexual assault for at least two years before I told my family of origin. I made dozens of excuses for myself, such as:
* It no longer matters.
* They don’t care.
* What difference does it make?
* I talk about it to others; why should I have to bring in my siblings?
* It will only stir up anger and hurt.
* They probably won’t believe me.
Despite all the excuses, I knew that speaking to the people among whom I had grown up was something I had to do. For me, it was a significant barrier to overcome on my healing journey.
I finally spoke up and, to my surprise, my three surviving sisters understood. I felt such great freedom in opening up. Maybe my siblings didn't need to hear as much as I needed to tell them.
* What difference does it make?
* I talk about it to others; why should I have to bring in my siblings?
* It will only stir up anger and hurt.
* They probably won’t believe me.
Despite all the excuses, I knew that speaking to the people among whom I had grown up was something I had to do. For me, it was a significant barrier to overcome on my healing journey.
I finally spoke up and, to my surprise, my three surviving sisters understood. I felt such great freedom in opening up. Maybe my siblings didn't need to hear as much as I needed to tell them.
To tell my family about my abuse—
regardless of their response—
can be a powerful healing experience for me.
(This post was adapted from Not Quite Healed, written by Cecil Murphey and Gary Roe.)
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