They robbed us of childhood. They stole a precious part of our lives.
To admit that reality can be a source of freedom. It’s like saying, “You victimized me and left me this way.” (That doesn’t mean we must stay the victim, but that’s where many of us need to start the journey.)
A reader of this blog, Roger Rowe, wrote to me privately, admitting that wasn’t his real name, which is all right. Here is a slightly edited version of what he wrote:
I underwent therapy and couldn’t seem to make any progress. I felt guilty and filled with self-condemnation. After about the 10th session, my therapist said, “The TV news reported a home invasion and the intruder shot and killed five couples. If they hadn’t lived in that house, they would be alive today.”
“That’s crazy,” I said. “They did nothing to—”
“So how does it feel to exonerate your abuser? You’ve taken the blame on yourself.”That was the turning point for me. I was blaming the victim (myself) for what was done to me.
Are you still blaming the victim?
I guess in a weird perverse way I sometimes do that. There were times I missed my father's touch and tried to let him know in subtle ways that I wanted it. For me I will always have trouble with those thoughts.
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