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.
Showing posts with label destroyed innocence. Show all posts
Showing posts with label destroyed innocence. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 24, 2017
Tuesday, January 3, 2017
Excusing
“She couldn’t help it,” I once said of my female perpetrator. “Her father made her his sexual partner after the death of his wife.”
For a long time, I used that as a way to excuse her. “She couldn’t help it. It was behavior she learned as a child.” That’s true, but it doesn’t pardon her for sexually assaulting me.
I excused the old man who molested me. “He was such a lonely man.”
More than just excusing the culprits in my life, by defending them (and I was defending), I didn’t face my anger.
But one day that changed. I went out for a late afternoon run by a small lake and (fortunately for me) no one else was around. For at least an hour I raged at the two now-dead people. I was angry at myself for defending their actions. After the venom poured out, I allowed myself to grieve over my stolen childhood.
I finished my run, sank on a bench, and cried for a long time. “I’ll learn to forgive you,” I said to both culprits, “but right now I want to feel my anger. You hurt me and made my childhood sad and lonely. I didn’t deserve what you did to me!”
It was almost dark by the time I left the park. I didn’t feel vindicated or happy. At the time I was worn out, but deep within was the sense that I had faced reality. I had pronounced them both guilty of murdering the innocence of my childhood.
For a long time, I used that as a way to excuse her. “She couldn’t help it. It was behavior she learned as a child.” That’s true, but it doesn’t pardon her for sexually assaulting me.
I excused the old man who molested me. “He was such a lonely man.”
More than just excusing the culprits in my life, by defending them (and I was defending), I didn’t face my anger.
But one day that changed. I went out for a late afternoon run by a small lake and (fortunately for me) no one else was around. For at least an hour I raged at the two now-dead people. I was angry at myself for defending their actions. After the venom poured out, I allowed myself to grieve over my stolen childhood.
I finished my run, sank on a bench, and cried for a long time. “I’ll learn to forgive you,” I said to both culprits, “but right now I want to feel my anger. You hurt me and made my childhood sad and lonely. I didn’t deserve what you did to me!”
It was almost dark by the time I left the park. I didn’t feel vindicated or happy. At the time I was worn out, but deep within was the sense that I had faced reality. I had pronounced them both guilty of murdering the innocence of my childhood.
When I no longer defend the guilty,
I can have compassion on the innocent.
Friday, May 27, 2016
The Gift That Keeps on Giving
My friend Gary Roe once said that sexual molestation was the gift that keeps on giving. His ironic statement meant that the assault on our innocence is bad enough, but it has residual effects. It keeps on tormenting us and showing up in many ways.
For example, most of us have little ability to trust and we’re often suspicious of others. Our lack of believing in them often becomes the so-called self-fulfilling prophecy. The relationship ends and we moan, “They failed me again.”
The old fears and deprivations of childhood flash into our hearts. Abandoned. Unloved. Unworthy of being loved.
The primal cry breaks through and becomes a piercing scream. Yes, our abuse becomes the gift that keeps on giving.
Unless we change. Unless we refuse the so-called gift. As we progress in our healing, we learn to do exactly that.
For example, most of us have little ability to trust and we’re often suspicious of others. Our lack of believing in them often becomes the so-called self-fulfilling prophecy. The relationship ends and we moan, “They failed me again.”
The old fears and deprivations of childhood flash into our hearts. Abandoned. Unloved. Unworthy of being loved.
The primal cry breaks through and becomes a piercing scream. Yes, our abuse becomes the gift that keeps on giving.
Unless we change. Unless we refuse the so-called gift. As we progress in our healing, we learn to do exactly that.
I reject “the gift that keeps on giving.”
Tuesday, May 3, 2016
Dysfunctional Patterns
When we were children, someone disrupted our lives and destroyed not only our innocence, but threw us into dysfunctional forms of behavior. Some adopt the pattern of their rapists; others push away from any kind of intimate contact. Still others dash into a life of promiscuity.
Twenty years ago I was part of a men’s group in Louisville, Kentucky. One man, whom I remember only as Tim, said that he had been so compulsive about sexual relief that he masturbated as many as 15 times a day.
One statement shocked and saddened me. “Sometimes my penis was so raw and painful I could hardly touch it—but that never stopped me.”
His behavior was extreme, but I assume all of us live with maladjustment. We don’t have to live that way. That’s one of the reasons for this blog—to help each other overcome painful childhoods.
For that to happen, our own healing must become the priority focus for us or we’ll continue to follow the same dysfunctional patterns we’ve been stuck in for years.
We have to make conscious choices to let go of fear and be open so that God’s love and compassion can motivate us. We also need to experience that love and compassion ourselves before we can spread it to others
True, deep healing is a long, slow-winding, and painful journey. Sometimes our long-established behavior is our enemy. We have to fight our natural resistance. It’s hard work, but well worth it, not just for us, but also for everyone we love and care about.
Twenty years ago I was part of a men’s group in Louisville, Kentucky. One man, whom I remember only as Tim, said that he had been so compulsive about sexual relief that he masturbated as many as 15 times a day.
One statement shocked and saddened me. “Sometimes my penis was so raw and painful I could hardly touch it—but that never stopped me.”
His behavior was extreme, but I assume all of us live with maladjustment. We don’t have to live that way. That’s one of the reasons for this blog—to help each other overcome painful childhoods.
For that to happen, our own healing must become the priority focus for us or we’ll continue to follow the same dysfunctional patterns we’ve been stuck in for years.
We have to make conscious choices to let go of fear and be open so that God’s love and compassion can motivate us. We also need to experience that love and compassion ourselves before we can spread it to others
True, deep healing is a long, slow-winding, and painful journey. Sometimes our long-established behavior is our enemy. We have to fight our natural resistance. It’s hard work, but well worth it, not just for us, but also for everyone we love and care about.
We can overcome our dysfunctional behavior.
Tuesday, March 22, 2016
“Males Are Less Traumatized than Females”
I wonder how many people have written or spoken words like that. They parrot the idea that females are more emotional and more damaged than males. They don’t produce any evidence, but make strong assertions.
Societal climate is more open to females writing and speaking about their sexual assaults. (Check Amazon.com and see for yourself.)
This much seems obvious to me; however, we males are more severely damaged by society’s reluctance to accept our victimization. We’re afraid of being called gay, sissy, or being judged as being less than male.
Thus many of us tough it out and remain silent. By not speaking up, we don’t have to face taunts and pointing fingers. But we also miss healthy affirmation, sympathy, and acceptance.
And why does it have to be a comparison between the genders? Shouldn’t it be enough to say, “I am a survivor of sexual assault that stole my innocence”?
I’m not concerned about proving I was more traumatized than a female. I am concerned about admitting my deep-seated pain and recovering. The more we males speak up, the more we push others to accept us.
In 1990, I heard a scholar insist that boys were not abused. Does anyone still hold to that? We’re making progress. And it’s up to us, the survivors, to gain acceptance by speaking out.
Societal climate is more open to females writing and speaking about their sexual assaults. (Check Amazon.com and see for yourself.)
This much seems obvious to me; however, we males are more severely damaged by society’s reluctance to accept our victimization. We’re afraid of being called gay, sissy, or being judged as being less than male.
Thus many of us tough it out and remain silent. By not speaking up, we don’t have to face taunts and pointing fingers. But we also miss healthy affirmation, sympathy, and acceptance.
And why does it have to be a comparison between the genders? Shouldn’t it be enough to say, “I am a survivor of sexual assault that stole my innocence”?
I’m not concerned about proving I was more traumatized than a female. I am concerned about admitting my deep-seated pain and recovering. The more we males speak up, the more we push others to accept us.
In 1990, I heard a scholar insist that boys were not abused. Does anyone still hold to that? We’re making progress. And it’s up to us, the survivors, to gain acceptance by speaking out.
The more I face my abuse, the more I heal;
the more I speak about my abuse, the more I help other men to heal.
* * * * *
Are there questions or specific topics you'd like Cec to address in upcoming blog entries? If so, please send an email to his assistant at the following address: cecilmurphey(at)mchsi(dot)com.
Friday, March 11, 2016
Forgiving Myself
“But it felt good and I liked it,” Gerald Ray[1] said.
“Of course it did. Whenever you stimulate your penis, it’s pleasurable,” I said. “Someone older than you took advantage of your innocence. He did things to you that no child should ever have to experience.”
“But I should have—“
I stopped Gerald right there. “The adult part of you is speaking. You’re looking at who you are now and how you would react if it happened at age 35.” I pointed out that he was an innocent child and his perpetrator (his father) took advantage of him.
Gerald nodded in agreement, but he couldn’t seem to absolve himself as a participant. He understood the logic of his innocence, but he couldn’t get past the emotional resistance. “My dad kept saying he did it to me because I liked it and wanted it.”
“Do this, then,” I said. “Forgive yourself, even though you were an innocent child. Whenever you feel self-condemned, or think of anything you did or might have done, say three words: I forgive myself.”
I’m writing this as a serious Christian and have long believed God forgave me. However, like Gerald, and like many other survivors, it was myself I couldn’t forgive. So for a long time, I spoke the three words I urged Gerald to use.
[1] Real named used by permission.
“Of course it did. Whenever you stimulate your penis, it’s pleasurable,” I said. “Someone older than you took advantage of your innocence. He did things to you that no child should ever have to experience.”
“But I should have—“
I stopped Gerald right there. “The adult part of you is speaking. You’re looking at who you are now and how you would react if it happened at age 35.” I pointed out that he was an innocent child and his perpetrator (his father) took advantage of him.
Gerald nodded in agreement, but he couldn’t seem to absolve himself as a participant. He understood the logic of his innocence, but he couldn’t get past the emotional resistance. “My dad kept saying he did it to me because I liked it and wanted it.”
“Do this, then,” I said. “Forgive yourself, even though you were an innocent child. Whenever you feel self-condemned, or think of anything you did or might have done, say three words: I forgive myself.”
I’m writing this as a serious Christian and have long believed God forgave me. However, like Gerald, and like many other survivors, it was myself I couldn’t forgive. So for a long time, I spoke the three words I urged Gerald to use.
I forgive myself.
[1] Real named used by permission.
* * * * *
Are there questions or specific topics you'd like Cec to address in upcoming blog entries? If so, please send an email to his assistant at the following address: cecilmurphey(at)mchsi(dot)com.
Friday, October 30, 2015
"When I Was a Boy . . .'
"When I was a boy . . ."
That's where my story begins; that's where our stories begin. If we can say those same five words, "When I was a boy," we've made an excellent start. Then we can add, "I was sexually assaulted." (Or abused or molested.)
I was a child, and I was innocent. I trusted someone and that person stole my trust, my innocence, and my childhood. I've suffered because of the actions of another person. No matter how caring, kind, or warm the perpetrator may have appeared to be, he or she took advantage of me.
If we can focus on our childhood and realize how immature and innocent we were, we can also remind ourselves that we couldn’t reason the way we do today as an adult. We may also have taken the guilt on ourselves for what happened. We remind ourselves: I was a child and the abuser was a perpetrator.
If we’re typical, we’ve already gone through (or are now going through) a period of questioning and doubting while vague, often terrifying memories occasionally intrude. Deep inside, something nags at us. Yet in our most vulnerable moments, we know the truth that someone stole our innocence.
One of the reasons I write this blog twice weekly is to remind myself and others that we're not the only ones. I knew I wasn't the only victimized kid, but I felt as if I were.
Many of us have been where you have been or where you are now. We've felt the same kinds of pain you have. More than just having been there, we have survived and are still overcoming the trauma.
In the early days of healing, any of us need to remind ourselves a hundred times a day that someone victimized us. Or it might be easier to say, "Someone older and more powerful took advantage of my innocence and youth."
We need to do it because we want to convince ourselves that we made up the stories, that it didn't really happen to us. We don't want to feel demeaned (although we are) and we don't want anything to reflect on our masculinity.
And we need to tell ourselves that we won't start a sentence with the words, "I should have . . ."
Go back to the beginning. Start with, "When I was a boy . . . ." That beginning can help us become kind and compassionate to ourselves.
We didn’t know how to cope with such seductive assaults—especially when it was someone we trusted who whispered, "I love you and I won’t hurt you."
Now we may choose to say, "When I was a boy, he lied to me." To make it worse, he bribed us, called us special, or made us feel loved and wanted. We were wanted, but for his needs and not ours. Today we hurt because in childhood we were victimized.
That's where my story begins; that's where our stories begin. If we can say those same five words, "When I was a boy," we've made an excellent start. Then we can add, "I was sexually assaulted." (Or abused or molested.)
I was a child, and I was innocent. I trusted someone and that person stole my trust, my innocence, and my childhood. I've suffered because of the actions of another person. No matter how caring, kind, or warm the perpetrator may have appeared to be, he or she took advantage of me.
If we can focus on our childhood and realize how immature and innocent we were, we can also remind ourselves that we couldn’t reason the way we do today as an adult. We may also have taken the guilt on ourselves for what happened. We remind ourselves: I was a child and the abuser was a perpetrator.
If we’re typical, we’ve already gone through (or are now going through) a period of questioning and doubting while vague, often terrifying memories occasionally intrude. Deep inside, something nags at us. Yet in our most vulnerable moments, we know the truth that someone stole our innocence.
One of the reasons I write this blog twice weekly is to remind myself and others that we're not the only ones. I knew I wasn't the only victimized kid, but I felt as if I were.
Many of us have been where you have been or where you are now. We've felt the same kinds of pain you have. More than just having been there, we have survived and are still overcoming the trauma.
In the early days of healing, any of us need to remind ourselves a hundred times a day that someone victimized us. Or it might be easier to say, "Someone older and more powerful took advantage of my innocence and youth."
We need to do it because we want to convince ourselves that we made up the stories, that it didn't really happen to us. We don't want to feel demeaned (although we are) and we don't want anything to reflect on our masculinity.
And we need to tell ourselves that we won't start a sentence with the words, "I should have . . ."
Go back to the beginning. Start with, "When I was a boy . . . ." That beginning can help us become kind and compassionate to ourselves.
We didn’t know how to cope with such seductive assaults—especially when it was someone we trusted who whispered, "I love you and I won’t hurt you."
Now we may choose to say, "When I was a boy, he lied to me." To make it worse, he bribed us, called us special, or made us feel loved and wanted. We were wanted, but for his needs and not ours. Today we hurt because in childhood we were victimized.
"When I was a boy" starts my story.
Now I am an adult and I'm healing from my childhood.
Tuesday, October 20, 2015
Innocence Lost
I used to wonder why victims of molestation feel responsible for the damage done to them by sexual abuse. I was one of those who felt responsible even though I had no control over my innocence being stolen from me.
In my own story and in the stories I know of other men who have been molested in childhood, we felt guilty. We were unable to reason out that the wrong was done to us, not that we were wrong. The self-blame seemed to come from realizing we suddenly "know too much." The culpability I accepted kept me from talking to anyone, or seeking safe adults to whom I could talk.
An insight, which helped overcome my sense of guilt, was to realize that I wasn’t the one who was tempted to do something that went against the laws of nature and God. Something abusive was done to me. By realizing that truth in my journey of seeking healing from the damage of the abuse, it becomes easier to believe that it wasn’t my fault and there was nothing I could have done differently.
I’ve also considered how my own abuse isn’t an excuse for actions that I’ve taken because of my brokenness. I’ve never sexually abused anyone, yet I’ve acted out of my own woundedness and I have hurt those I love the most. If people can still love me in spite of that, who am I to withhold love, grace, and forgiveness when I’ve been wronged?
In my own story and in the stories I know of other men who have been molested in childhood, we felt guilty. We were unable to reason out that the wrong was done to us, not that we were wrong. The self-blame seemed to come from realizing we suddenly "know too much." The culpability I accepted kept me from talking to anyone, or seeking safe adults to whom I could talk.
An insight, which helped overcome my sense of guilt, was to realize that I wasn’t the one who was tempted to do something that went against the laws of nature and God. Something abusive was done to me. By realizing that truth in my journey of seeking healing from the damage of the abuse, it becomes easier to believe that it wasn’t my fault and there was nothing I could have done differently.
I’ve also considered how my own abuse isn’t an excuse for actions that I’ve taken because of my brokenness. I’ve never sexually abused anyone, yet I’ve acted out of my own woundedness and I have hurt those I love the most. If people can still love me in spite of that, who am I to withhold love, grace, and forgiveness when I’ve been wronged?
I was never a perpetrator, but I might have been.
They assaulted us, and they are also victims.
Tuesday, September 22, 2015
Looking Backward
When I was living in Africa, early one morning I watched an African with his ox pulling a plow through his field. The lines were straight, and for the twenty minutes or so I stared at him his gaze never focused anywhere but straight ahead.
I thought of that after I read an inspirational message that urged us not to look backward. "Looking backward means going backward," the person implied.
Sounds like good advice in farming, but I'm not sure it's helpful with wounded people like us. We need to look backward. That's where our problems began. Unless we go back to the source, we stay so busy moving forward—but our childhood injuries stay unhealed and keep pace with us.
Going back to that damaged childhood isn't easy. And it takes courage—a lot of courage—to re-experience those wounds. But as one authority said, "The only way out is through. He meant that if we want release—true healing—we have to push ourselves to revisit that pain. The big difference is that we can accept our pain and let it help us move forward as mature adults.
We can learn to say things to ourselves like this:
I thought of that after I read an inspirational message that urged us not to look backward. "Looking backward means going backward," the person implied.
Sounds like good advice in farming, but I'm not sure it's helpful with wounded people like us. We need to look backward. That's where our problems began. Unless we go back to the source, we stay so busy moving forward—but our childhood injuries stay unhealed and keep pace with us.
Going back to that damaged childhood isn't easy. And it takes courage—a lot of courage—to re-experience those wounds. But as one authority said, "The only way out is through. He meant that if we want release—true healing—we have to push ourselves to revisit that pain. The big difference is that we can accept our pain and let it help us move forward as mature adults.
We can learn to say things to ourselves like this:
* I didn't ask for that. I didn't want it.
* I was a kid with no way to defend myself.
* That bigger person overpowered me and stole my innocence.
* I felt unloved and unwanted and someone took advantage of me.
Those statements aren't cure-alls, but they can help us feel tenderness toward that isolated child. Here's a statement I've said to myself many times when I've revisited my childhood: "I did the best I could."
For me, that statement means that I took care of myself through innate childhood wisdom and survived. No self-blame or recriminations. Being a six-year-old kid with no one to help him, I remind myself that I handled myself the best I could.
Now I can walk—and run—along the healing path.
Those statements aren't cure-alls, but they can help us feel tenderness toward that isolated child. Here's a statement I've said to myself many times when I've revisited my childhood: "I did the best I could."
For me, that statement means that I took care of myself through innate childhood wisdom and survived. No self-blame or recriminations. Being a six-year-old kid with no one to help him, I remind myself that I handled myself the best I could.
Now I can walk—and run—along the healing path.
Instead of condemning my childhood,
I say, "I did the best I could."
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
Why Is It So Hard?
About six months after I first dealt with my sexual assault, I made progress, but the process seemed to go on and on. "Why is it so hard?" I asked Steven Grubmann, a fellow survivor.
"The deeper the wound, the slower the healing." Those aren't Steve's exact words, but I knew what he meant. We were naïve, innocent kids and they turned our world upside down.
If the violation had been only somebody beating us up on the playground that probably wouldn't change our entire life. But sexual assault permeates every part of us.
The question makes me think of a situation I encounter professionally. I'm a ghostwriter-collaborator and have made my living at this craft for thirty years. Perhaps twenty times a year someone wants help in learning to write a book, and comes to me.
I hardly know how to answer except to point out that the art or craft of writing takes time—years—of hard work and serious commitment. One reason most would-be writers fail is because they stop trying. They often pout, "Nobody will take first-time writers." "No one cares." The excuses pile up, and I heard all of them when I first started. But I persevered and it paid off.
Perseverance. Persistence. It's not a one-month rehab course.
The wound is deep. The healing is slow, but the result is worth it.
"The deeper the wound, the slower the healing." Those aren't Steve's exact words, but I knew what he meant. We were naïve, innocent kids and they turned our world upside down.
If the violation had been only somebody beating us up on the playground that probably wouldn't change our entire life. But sexual assault permeates every part of us.
The question makes me think of a situation I encounter professionally. I'm a ghostwriter-collaborator and have made my living at this craft for thirty years. Perhaps twenty times a year someone wants help in learning to write a book, and comes to me.
I hardly know how to answer except to point out that the art or craft of writing takes time—years—of hard work and serious commitment. One reason most would-be writers fail is because they stop trying. They often pout, "Nobody will take first-time writers." "No one cares." The excuses pile up, and I heard all of them when I first started. But I persevered and it paid off.
Perseverance. Persistence. It's not a one-month rehab course.
The wound is deep. The healing is slow, but the result is worth it.
Tuesday, May 19, 2015
We Were There
Many of us were groomed by our perpetrators by their showing interest in us and paying attention to us. They lured us by making us feel loved.
They deceived us.
Those who sexually assaulted us didn't see us with eyes of love and compassion. We weren't truly individuals to them. Despite their use of words like "You're special" or "I love you," they lied. We were targets for them to satisfy their lust or addiction.
If we hadn't been available, they would have found some other vulnerable child. That last statement is crucial to our healing.
We were there. We were needy and they took advantage of us. We weren't special. In fact, the statistic I've read in several places is that pedophiles abuse up to 200 kids in their lifetime.
We were there. We were available.
Now we have to learn to forgive those who targeted us and stole our innocence.
They deceived us.
Those who sexually assaulted us didn't see us with eyes of love and compassion. We weren't truly individuals to them. Despite their use of words like "You're special" or "I love you," they lied. We were targets for them to satisfy their lust or addiction.
If we hadn't been available, they would have found some other vulnerable child. That last statement is crucial to our healing.
We were there. We were needy and they took advantage of us. We weren't special. In fact, the statistic I've read in several places is that pedophiles abuse up to 200 kids in their lifetime.
We were there. We were available.
Now we have to learn to forgive those who targeted us and stole our innocence.
Friday, May 8, 2015
Serenity
(This encore post comes from John Joseph.)
You may be familiar with The Serenity Prayer. It's been used by recovering people for decades as they sought sobriety. Tens of thousands, if not many more, have gained some measure of peace as this prayer helped refocus their thoughts.
Pray it now and then I want to share a few thoughts about it.:
First, let’s consider the word acceptance. Almost innocuous at first glance, the word is easily dismissed. It seems somewhat weak, banal, and could be taken as a sour grapes or a who-really-cares kind of attitude in the face of horrible abuse in our past.
True acceptance of what we’ve endured as sexual-abuse survivors requires almost Herculean effort on our part. Acceptance isn’t for the faint of heart. Acceptance means we can look our abuse square in the eyes and really own it for what it was.
To come to terms with the reality that our innocence was stripped from us demands the bulk and brawn of an Olympian. Acceptance isn’t the weak resignation of a victim but the brave choice of an overcomer who decides they will be a victim no more.
The courage to change the things that we can in our present life is as rigorous a demand as accepting the reality of our past. Change is one of the most difficult things we face because change equals letting go of the familiar behavior that bring us comfort.
In my case, that ranges from self-pity to acting out in destructive ways. Change equals pain and no one wants to experience pain. To change destructive patterns means launching out into the untested waters of living in new ways and of letting go of the things we’ve trusted.
The truth is that those “comfortable” attitudes or behaviors haven’t brought us anything but destruction. To keep doing what we’ve done will only bring us the results we already have. When our current behavior brings intolerable results, we're ready to change.
And then there’s wisdom. Wisdom is the ability to use the knowledge we have to achieve the results we desire.
Wisdom is choosing the celery over the cinnamon bun. It’s deciding to take a walk instead of a nap. It’s making an effort to forgive instead of allowing an old wound to fester. Wisdom enables us to heal from the past we’ve accepted and to make the powerful changes that we need in the present.
Serenity is the sweet effect of acceptance, courage, and wisdom.
Pray it now and then I want to share a few thoughts about it.:
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things that I cannot change,the courage to change the things that I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Amen.
First, let’s consider the word acceptance. Almost innocuous at first glance, the word is easily dismissed. It seems somewhat weak, banal, and could be taken as a sour grapes or a who-really-cares kind of attitude in the face of horrible abuse in our past.
True acceptance of what we’ve endured as sexual-abuse survivors requires almost Herculean effort on our part. Acceptance isn’t for the faint of heart. Acceptance means we can look our abuse square in the eyes and really own it for what it was.
To come to terms with the reality that our innocence was stripped from us demands the bulk and brawn of an Olympian. Acceptance isn’t the weak resignation of a victim but the brave choice of an overcomer who decides they will be a victim no more.
The courage to change the things that we can in our present life is as rigorous a demand as accepting the reality of our past. Change is one of the most difficult things we face because change equals letting go of the familiar behavior that bring us comfort.
In my case, that ranges from self-pity to acting out in destructive ways. Change equals pain and no one wants to experience pain. To change destructive patterns means launching out into the untested waters of living in new ways and of letting go of the things we’ve trusted.
The truth is that those “comfortable” attitudes or behaviors haven’t brought us anything but destruction. To keep doing what we’ve done will only bring us the results we already have. When our current behavior brings intolerable results, we're ready to change.
And then there’s wisdom. Wisdom is the ability to use the knowledge we have to achieve the results we desire.
Wisdom is choosing the celery over the cinnamon bun. It’s deciding to take a walk instead of a nap. It’s making an effort to forgive instead of allowing an old wound to fester. Wisdom enables us to heal from the past we’ve accepted and to make the powerful changes that we need in the present.
Serenity is the sweet effect of acceptance, courage, and wisdom.
Friday, May 1, 2015
"It Happened Only Once."
(This post from Cecil Murphey first appeared at 1in6.org.)
Occasionally a survivor of sexual assault says, "It happened only one time," as if that made the offense and agony less important.
To that, I answer, "It's not whether molestation happened one time or fifty times, you were still molested." Here's a good first question to ask: How did the abuse affect you?
I've talked with a few men who say they were abused and not damaged by the assault. That may be denial or their words may be true. Some individuals just don't hurt as easily or as deeply as others.
Regardless, many men who say it didn't happen a second time were so traumatized, they struggled with the same issues as those who reported abuse that went on for years.
We need to remind ourselves that our innocence was destroyed the first time someone assaulted us. And assault is the right word. We were defenseless children and someone usually bigger and older did something to us without our consent or our being old enough to know they were harming us.
There doesn't have to be a second or tenth time. The damage occurred and our innocence was shattered.
"How did the molestation change your life?" is a good second question. Most of us struggle with the issue of not being able to trust others. If a person we should have been able to trust betrayed us, how can we trust anyone else?
To heal from that abuse means we finally must take a risk. We have to trust someone enough to tell our story. The healing happens when we relate what happened to us and sense the listener understands. That exchange validates us and the healing process begins.
One time. Five hundred times. Ignore that, and focus on the hurt so the healing can take place.
Occasionally a survivor of sexual assault says, "It happened only one time," as if that made the offense and agony less important.
To that, I answer, "It's not whether molestation happened one time or fifty times, you were still molested." Here's a good first question to ask: How did the abuse affect you?
I've talked with a few men who say they were abused and not damaged by the assault. That may be denial or their words may be true. Some individuals just don't hurt as easily or as deeply as others.
Regardless, many men who say it didn't happen a second time were so traumatized, they struggled with the same issues as those who reported abuse that went on for years.
We need to remind ourselves that our innocence was destroyed the first time someone assaulted us. And assault is the right word. We were defenseless children and someone usually bigger and older did something to us without our consent or our being old enough to know they were harming us.
There doesn't have to be a second or tenth time. The damage occurred and our innocence was shattered.
"How did the molestation change your life?" is a good second question. Most of us struggle with the issue of not being able to trust others. If a person we should have been able to trust betrayed us, how can we trust anyone else?
To heal from that abuse means we finally must take a risk. We have to trust someone enough to tell our story. The healing happens when we relate what happened to us and sense the listener understands. That exchange validates us and the healing process begins.
One time. Five hundred times. Ignore that, and focus on the hurt so the healing can take place.
Friday, August 15, 2014
"Why Did He Do That to Me?" (Part 7 of 7)
(an encore post by Cecil Murphey)
I can't explain or justify the behavior of those who abused us. I know two former perpetrators and the response I've received from both is that they acted out of an overwhelming need. I'd call it an addiction (many may disagree), but the urge was so compelling they felt powerless to resist.
If that's correct, they struggle with greater internal monsters than we do. Generally, perpetrators are victim-survivors of sexual abuse and carry the pain most of us have experienced. On top of that, they also become victimizers.
I believe our abusers are tormented by their actions. Even though they feel they can't help themselves and find excuses for what they did, they also know they did something terrible. They stole our childhood innocence and brought immeasurable pain into our lives. Consequently, I see them as people in even greater pain than the rest of us.
It took me years to feel that way, but now I've learned compassion toward myself but also toward the abusers. I had to move beyond my own pain before I could understand that those who hurt me were also living in agony.
I can't explain or justify the behavior of those who abused us. I know two former perpetrators and the response I've received from both is that they acted out of an overwhelming need. I'd call it an addiction (many may disagree), but the urge was so compelling they felt powerless to resist.
If that's correct, they struggle with greater internal monsters than we do. Generally, perpetrators are victim-survivors of sexual abuse and carry the pain most of us have experienced. On top of that, they also become victimizers.
I believe our abusers are tormented by their actions. Even though they feel they can't help themselves and find excuses for what they did, they also know they did something terrible. They stole our childhood innocence and brought immeasurable pain into our lives. Consequently, I see them as people in even greater pain than the rest of us.
It took me years to feel that way, but now I've learned compassion toward myself but also toward the abusers. I had to move beyond my own pain before I could understand that those who hurt me were also living in agony.
Friday, June 6, 2014
Emotional Confusion (Part 1 of 2)
(an encore post by Cecil Murphey)
When a close relative abuses us, many of us experience emotional confusion. We love our aggressor—whether it's a parent, a sibling, or a brother-in-law. That person showed us attention and seemingly gave us the interest and affection we didn't receive from the rest of the family.
And yet we also hate that person. We detest him because he used our body for his own gratification, he violated the trust we put in him, and he destroyed our innocence.
As a result, we became confused and are unable to sort our contradictory feelings. How can we love someone we hate? How can we hate someone we love?
We deal with it in several ways, and the most common (in my opinion) is that we blame ourselves for the abuse. We don't know how to feel about our perpetrator so we turn on ourselves.
Here's part of my story. An old man rented a room from us, abused my sister and me, and my sister told. Dad beat him and threw him and his possessions out of the house. I was perhaps seven years old.
A few weeks later I was on a different street and saw my perpetrator sitting on a porch and yelled a greeting. He got up, turned his back on me, and went inside the house.
I wondered what I had done wrong. I didn't understand then what he had done to me and I felt some affection. And yet, because Dad threw him out of the house, I realized he had done something bad.
That's emotional confusion.
When a close relative abuses us, many of us experience emotional confusion. We love our aggressor—whether it's a parent, a sibling, or a brother-in-law. That person showed us attention and seemingly gave us the interest and affection we didn't receive from the rest of the family.
And yet we also hate that person. We detest him because he used our body for his own gratification, he violated the trust we put in him, and he destroyed our innocence.
As a result, we became confused and are unable to sort our contradictory feelings. How can we love someone we hate? How can we hate someone we love?
We deal with it in several ways, and the most common (in my opinion) is that we blame ourselves for the abuse. We don't know how to feel about our perpetrator so we turn on ourselves.
Here's part of my story. An old man rented a room from us, abused my sister and me, and my sister told. Dad beat him and threw him and his possessions out of the house. I was perhaps seven years old.
A few weeks later I was on a different street and saw my perpetrator sitting on a porch and yelled a greeting. He got up, turned his back on me, and went inside the house.
I wondered what I had done wrong. I didn't understand then what he had done to me and I felt some affection. And yet, because Dad threw him out of the house, I realized he had done something bad.
That's emotional confusion.
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
Questions and Answers (Part 3 of 7)
(an encore post by Cecil Murphey)
"Why do some boys become victims and others aren't?"
That's unanswerable, but I'll give you my observation. Some boys (and I was one of them) feel unloved and alone. Every person in the world needs attention and affection. Because they don't feel loved by their parents or other family members, they become susceptible to predators.
There are exceptions and other reasons, but think of it this way. The boy already has a relationship with a family member or someone in the community who is in a position of trust. They might be neighbors, teachers, church leaders, politicians, or a store clerk—anyone whom the boy looks up to, admires, or trusts.
The point is that the perpetrator already has some connection. That authority figure befriends the boy, giving him needed attention. The boy feels wanted, accepted, and perhaps loved. The perpetrator has gone after the innocent boy and destroys his childhood.
"Why do some boys become victims and others aren't?"
That's unanswerable, but I'll give you my observation. Some boys (and I was one of them) feel unloved and alone. Every person in the world needs attention and affection. Because they don't feel loved by their parents or other family members, they become susceptible to predators.
There are exceptions and other reasons, but think of it this way. The boy already has a relationship with a family member or someone in the community who is in a position of trust. They might be neighbors, teachers, church leaders, politicians, or a store clerk—anyone whom the boy looks up to, admires, or trusts.
The point is that the perpetrator already has some connection. That authority figure befriends the boy, giving him needed attention. The boy feels wanted, accepted, and perhaps loved. The perpetrator has gone after the innocent boy and destroys his childhood.
Friday, October 18, 2013
Defending Our Abusers
(an encore post from Cecil Murphey)
The first time I ever heard an abuser defended was in a small group of men. All of us were survivors. One of them, who was quite handsome, said, "If I hadn't been so good looking, he wouldn't have done that to me."
The rest of us were quick to protest. His looks may have attracted the abuser, but the man wronged him. The abuser knew what he was doing.
"That's what he always told me," the survivor said.
I've heard survivors excuse the abuser because he was lonely or misunderstood. They'll say. "He just tried to prove he loved me." Another excuse is, "He was sexually abused when he was a child."
Regardless of the excuses made for them, they are only excuses. They wounded us. They destroyed the innocence of our childhood.
There is no excuse for anyone who sexually abused us. We were children, usually much younger than our perpetrators. The abuser hurt us. It's good to forgive them, but not because of such an excuse. We forgive because we've been healed and are able to move on with our lives.
The first time I ever heard an abuser defended was in a small group of men. All of us were survivors. One of them, who was quite handsome, said, "If I hadn't been so good looking, he wouldn't have done that to me."
The rest of us were quick to protest. His looks may have attracted the abuser, but the man wronged him. The abuser knew what he was doing.
"That's what he always told me," the survivor said.
I've heard survivors excuse the abuser because he was lonely or misunderstood. They'll say. "He just tried to prove he loved me." Another excuse is, "He was sexually abused when he was a child."
Regardless of the excuses made for them, they are only excuses. They wounded us. They destroyed the innocence of our childhood.
There is no excuse for anyone who sexually abused us. We were children, usually much younger than our perpetrators. The abuser hurt us. It's good to forgive them, but not because of such an excuse. We forgive because we've been healed and are able to move on with our lives.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Serenity
(This post comes from John Joseph.)
You may be familiar with The Serenity Prayer. It's been used by recovering people for decades as they sought sobriety. Tens of thousands, if not many more, have gained some measure of peace as this prayer helped refocus their thoughts.
Pray it now and then I want to share a few thoughts about it.:
First, let’s consider the word acceptance. Almost innocuous at first glance, the word is easily dismissed. It seems somewhat weak, banal, and could be taken as a sour grapes or a who-really-cares kind of attitude in the face of horrible abuse in our past.
True acceptance of what we’ve endured as sexual-abuse survivors requires almost Herculean effort on our part. Acceptance isn’t for the faint of heart. Acceptance means we can look our abuse square in the eyes and really own it for what it was.
To come to terms with the reality that our innocence was stripped from us demands the bulk and brawn of an Olympian. Acceptance isn’t the weak resignation of a victim but the brave choice of an overcomer who decides they will be a victim no more.
The courage to change the things that we can in our present life is as rigorous a demand as accepting the reality of our past. Change is one of the most difficult things we face because change equals letting go of the familiar behavior that bring us comfort.
In my case, that ranges from self-pity to acting out in destructive ways. Change equals pain and no one wants to experience pain. To change destructive patterns means launching out into the untested waters of living in new ways and of letting go of the things we’ve trusted.
The truth is that those “comfortable” attitudes or behaviors haven’t brought us anything but destruction. To keep doing what we’ve done will only bring us the results we already have. When our current behavior brings intolerable results, we're ready to change.
And then there’s wisdom. Wisdom is the ability to use the knowledge we have to achieve the results we desire.
Wisdom is choosing the celery over the cinnamon bun. It’s deciding to take a walk instead of a nap. It’s making an effort to forgive instead of allowing an old wound to fester. Wisdom enables us to heal from the past we’ve accepted and to make the powerful changes that we need in the present.
Serenity is the sweet effect of acceptance, courage, and wisdom.
Pray it now and then I want to share a few thoughts about it.:
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things that I cannot change,
the courage to change the things that I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Amen.
First, let’s consider the word acceptance. Almost innocuous at first glance, the word is easily dismissed. It seems somewhat weak, banal, and could be taken as a sour grapes or a who-really-cares kind of attitude in the face of horrible abuse in our past.
True acceptance of what we’ve endured as sexual-abuse survivors requires almost Herculean effort on our part. Acceptance isn’t for the faint of heart. Acceptance means we can look our abuse square in the eyes and really own it for what it was.
To come to terms with the reality that our innocence was stripped from us demands the bulk and brawn of an Olympian. Acceptance isn’t the weak resignation of a victim but the brave choice of an overcomer who decides they will be a victim no more.
The courage to change the things that we can in our present life is as rigorous a demand as accepting the reality of our past. Change is one of the most difficult things we face because change equals letting go of the familiar behavior that bring us comfort.
In my case, that ranges from self-pity to acting out in destructive ways. Change equals pain and no one wants to experience pain. To change destructive patterns means launching out into the untested waters of living in new ways and of letting go of the things we’ve trusted.
The truth is that those “comfortable” attitudes or behaviors haven’t brought us anything but destruction. To keep doing what we’ve done will only bring us the results we already have. When our current behavior brings intolerable results, we're ready to change.
And then there’s wisdom. Wisdom is the ability to use the knowledge we have to achieve the results we desire.
Wisdom is choosing the celery over the cinnamon bun. It’s deciding to take a walk instead of a nap. It’s making an effort to forgive instead of allowing an old wound to fester. Wisdom enables us to heal from the past we’ve accepted and to make the powerful changes that we need in the present.
Serenity is the sweet effect of acceptance, courage, and wisdom.
Friday, November 30, 2012
Redeeming the Pain
(This post comes from John Joseph.)
A Zen aphorism says, “Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.” I’m not Buddhist and I can’t vouch for the ultimate truth of the aphorism. People die from horrible diseases like cancer or AIDS. People lose loved ones or endure separation and divorce. Our entire society feels the pain of financial crises, violence, terrorism, and corruption. And those of us who have been sexually abused have suffered emotional torment for years, even decades, all the while trying to find a way to stop the misery we feel.
While many religions throughout the ages have sought to solve the problem of pain, it’s still with us. Affliction is the lot of the human race no matter how we try to explain it, conquer it, or ignore it.
As a survivor of childhood sexual abuse, I’ve tried to explain my exploitation, but there’s no reasonable explanation. I’ve tried to conquer the hurt, but the hurt never surrenders. I’ve even tried to ignore the awful memories I own, but they resurface in my mind at the worst times and in the worst ways. The only way I find to deal with the wounds of my abuse is to make them work for me, to redeem them in some meaningful way.
To redeem something so dreadfully unthinkable as child abuse is a tall order. The snatching away of childhood innocence by being lured into unspeakable sex acts with an adult seems beyond our capacity to turn into anything redeemable.
There are two options here. I can let the overwhelming effects of abuse kill me or I can choose to let the scars teach me how to be a better person.
When I take a few moments each day to recognize that my abusers no longer have any power over me, I redeem the abuse a little more. When I realize that I am no longer a helpless child victimized by someone older and stronger, I take back the power I lost to them. When I recognize the irrational nature of my fear and anxiety, I rob the memories of their hold on me. When I look myself in the mirror and reclaim my dignity, I take a bold step to end my suffering.
Maybe the Zen aphorism is right, after all.
While many religions throughout the ages have sought to solve the problem of pain, it’s still with us. Affliction is the lot of the human race no matter how we try to explain it, conquer it, or ignore it.
As a survivor of childhood sexual abuse, I’ve tried to explain my exploitation, but there’s no reasonable explanation. I’ve tried to conquer the hurt, but the hurt never surrenders. I’ve even tried to ignore the awful memories I own, but they resurface in my mind at the worst times and in the worst ways. The only way I find to deal with the wounds of my abuse is to make them work for me, to redeem them in some meaningful way.
To redeem something so dreadfully unthinkable as child abuse is a tall order. The snatching away of childhood innocence by being lured into unspeakable sex acts with an adult seems beyond our capacity to turn into anything redeemable.
There are two options here. I can let the overwhelming effects of abuse kill me or I can choose to let the scars teach me how to be a better person.
When I take a few moments each day to recognize that my abusers no longer have any power over me, I redeem the abuse a little more. When I realize that I am no longer a helpless child victimized by someone older and stronger, I take back the power I lost to them. When I recognize the irrational nature of my fear and anxiety, I rob the memories of their hold on me. When I look myself in the mirror and reclaim my dignity, I take a bold step to end my suffering.
Maybe the Zen aphorism is right, after all.
Friday, September 28, 2012
Separation Anxiety
(This post comes from Anonymous.)
Sexual abuse began so early in my life that I missed the chance to become my own person in the way that I should have at an early age. My initial identity was formed as someone who existed to bring another a sick pleasure.
The secret use of my body to satisfy someone older and bigger was the first place that I felt valued as a human being and that identity stuck to me like hot glue. Fortunately for me, I have come to know that that was only a false identity and not the real me.
Babies and small children often suffer through what we know as separation anxiety. Having been so close to the mother in the womb and at the breast results in fear and anxiety when infants experience separation. I have experienced a different form of separation anxiety as I have faced the reality that the early identity formed in me on was the wrong one. Or worse, that it was forced on me by my abusers. I became an object and not a human to them and then to myself.
My abuse stretched out over many years, and I was acting it out in multiple bisexual relationships primarily as the sex-slave of others. I lived to pleasure others and took that role because it was the only thing I knew. I was the powerless one and the partner always the strong one. It was sheer hell in so many ways, even though I thought I wanted this. I didn’t know that I was living out the wrong identity for many years after the abuse. Eventually, truth broke through.
I've spent many years untangling the effects of abuse. I've made great strides in separating myself from the false identity forced on me and in developing the real me, the man who has power over my own mind and body. This causes anxiety at times when I seem to fall back into old patterns of thinking. Like a baby, I don’t know who I am apart from the abuse that "mothered" me in many ways. But with each day I find that I won’t die becoming the real me.
I will live and I will live well.
The secret use of my body to satisfy someone older and bigger was the first place that I felt valued as a human being and that identity stuck to me like hot glue. Fortunately for me, I have come to know that that was only a false identity and not the real me.
Babies and small children often suffer through what we know as separation anxiety. Having been so close to the mother in the womb and at the breast results in fear and anxiety when infants experience separation. I have experienced a different form of separation anxiety as I have faced the reality that the early identity formed in me on was the wrong one. Or worse, that it was forced on me by my abusers. I became an object and not a human to them and then to myself.
My abuse stretched out over many years, and I was acting it out in multiple bisexual relationships primarily as the sex-slave of others. I lived to pleasure others and took that role because it was the only thing I knew. I was the powerless one and the partner always the strong one. It was sheer hell in so many ways, even though I thought I wanted this. I didn’t know that I was living out the wrong identity for many years after the abuse. Eventually, truth broke through.
I've spent many years untangling the effects of abuse. I've made great strides in separating myself from the false identity forced on me and in developing the real me, the man who has power over my own mind and body. This causes anxiety at times when I seem to fall back into old patterns of thinking. Like a baby, I don’t know who I am apart from the abuse that "mothered" me in many ways. But with each day I find that I won’t die becoming the real me.
I will live and I will live well.
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