Final Words

For a long time I felt different, as if something inside me hadn't been wired correctly. "What's wrong with me?" I must have asked myself that question thousands of times over the years.

Some days I felt as if I wanted to die; other days I didn't know if the struggle was worth it. I can now say, “Yes, it was worth the fight.”

That was the beginning for writing this blog, MenShatteringTheSilence. I started it nine years ago to reach out to men who, like me, were willing to face the hurt and especially the undeserved shame of childhood sexual abuse.

The blog has provided a safe place for us to discuss hard-to-talk-about issues, and we’ve been able to focus on healing and growth.

I appreciate those who have been willing to transparently share your painful experiences. I’m also grateful for the encouragement you’ve given one another and me. Together, we’ve learned and grown. And although we might not be completely healed, we’re getting close.

Now it’s time to say good-bye. As one of my last steps toward retirement, I’m discontinuing this blog. The decision didn’t come easily because I care deeply about each of you.

As always, you are welcome to reach out to me through email.

* * * * *

I am working on shutting down my office, and I have extra copies of the three books I've written on the topic of abuse: When a Man You Love Was Abused, Not Quite Healed, and More Than Surviving. If you are part of a group or organization that could benefit from the use of any of these books, please contact me. I will send them to you at no charge. 

Walls and Perceptions

(This post comes from Roger Mann.)
Sometimes I have trouble being around other men because we tend to get close after a while. That makes me uncomfortable, and I have a tendency to sabotage the relationship at some point. The walls stay up no matter what.

On the surface, I’m very approachable. I’m friendly, chatty, and easy going to all appearances. In public, I laugh and smile a lot. Joke around a bit too. But if I feel someone is getting too friendly, I tend to become unavailable. “I’m married, have kids, and am a busy man, you know.” They usually get the message and back off into the acquaintance mode.

After all these years and being pretty lonely, I hoped the walls that protected me so well when I was young would rot away and fall down. I’d love to have a best bud, a pal, a confidant with whom I could share my thoughts and fears and hopes. But that will probably never happen. The walls are too strong now even for me to share normal husband/wife things at home. I know this hurts my wife, and she feels shut out, but it’s hard. At the least resistance or misunderstanding, I close down. Why am I so fragile?

I know this is not normal. It’s not right. I see other guys with best friends who are very close and protective of each other.

Part of my mistrust comes from feeling that because I’m attractive, I fear being set up like I was in my younger and even more attractive days. I could never tell if a guy liked me because I was a good person or just a good-looking piece of meat. And it’s not just the guys either. I’ve been seduced by both sexes. I hate the way I, too, look at others. It’s warped. We’re attracted to attractive people. That’s normal and a part of reality. But I suspect most people leave it at that and see the person as just a person. For me, it takes a while to move past the initial assessment.

The kind of childhood I had has affected so much of my life. I’ve learned to pray for people I see. I ask my Maker to let me see them as He sees them. That’s helped a lot, even though I need to work at making it a habit.

Is Sexual Harassment Different for Men? (Part 3 of 9)

Too often, law enforcers and others assume they need a response of crying to believe the victims. Again, it’s the stereotypical acceptance as one standard of behavior. Reports of the celebrity abuses say that some of those women reacted by self-medicating—drugs, alcohol, engaging in high-risk sexual behavior, or withdrawing from friends.

I can’t say this often enough: there is no such thing as one response to being molested. We survivors behave in a wide variety of ways. When we talk about it, some of us appear calm, even detached. Others become angry or shout. Some go mute. Some of us cry.

One of the things I’ve read too often that’s taken to be true for all of us childhood survivors bothers me. They say their kids were doing well in school, never troubled, and then their grades began to fall. After that, they had trouble getting along with others and became belligerent. That’s one response—and it may be common—but it certainly doesn’t fit all of us.

For me, it was the opposite. In school, I did extremely well. Once I was inside the building, my mood shifted. I focused on learning and mixed well with other students. Until ninth grade, I wasn’t absent for a single day. Even though I didn’t realize it at the time, school became my emotional sanctuary.

How did you respond to the molestation when you were a child?

Is Sexual Harassment Different for Men? (Part 1 of 9)

Most of us have been inundated with information about sexual misconduct in Hollywood, New York, and the political realm. As I’ve listened to TV news and read reports about the allegations and especially the responses, I’ve thought, That sounds like what many of us male survivors of childhood sexual abuse have gone through.

The July 26, 2017, issue of The New York Times included an article written by Shaila Dewan about the misguided reasons people doubt the report of victims. As I read the piece, so much of it hit home.

One psychologist who conducts law-enforcement training on sexual assault said, “There’s something . . . unique about sexual assault in the way we think about it, which is . . . upside down from the way it actually operates.”

She went on say that we tend to doubt the victims because of widespread misconceptions. “The public and the police vastly overestimate the evidence of false reports. The most solid, case-by-case examinations say that only 5 to 7 percent of sexual assault reports are false.”

The article stated that the reports are often viewed as unreliable because of the victims’ emotional paralysis or inability to recall timelines. To her credit, the author points out that such inability is common.

Yes, I thought, we males have the same issues.

I can’t pinpoint exactly when the sexual and physical abuse took place in my life, but I know it did. When I’ve been pressed for details, I blank out. I’ve tried to force myself to remember, but nothing productive jumps out. I’ve accepted that I’ll always have gaps in my memory.

Instead of being able to relate every detail, severe trauma works the other way. The more powerfully and painfully we’re affected, the less we remember. Others might not believe us—we can’t help that.

But we know.

Yes, we know.

Loss of a Secret

(This post comes from Roger Mann.)

In January 1995, I received a 2:30 a.m. phone call from my hysterical sister. “Dad shot Mother while she was sleeping. Then he shot himself in the front yard.”

Because she thought Mother to be alive, my wife and I got to the hospital as fast as we could. I was such a mess, all I could say was, “No, no, no.”

The rest of the month was a blur, and the next two or three years a roller coaster. Eventually, I settled into a working funk that slowly faded. Yet, at this time every year, I have an ache that won’t go away. I miss Mom and probably always will. I left so many things unsaid.

More than that, I grieve the loss of my secret. I kept it as a good boy should, but I cherished the fantasy I had made of it. In my mind I romanticized it as something other than abuse. It was a secret that was just for Dad and me and no one else. If I couldn’t have the healthy relationship I needed and wanted from a father, at least I could console myself that I had the secret of our “special times.”

After that January night, I had nothing but the truth. I wasn’t special—I was just more convenient. It wasn’t love—it was selfish, abusive, and damaging.

Along with my mother, Dad’s bullet took away everything I thought I had. I suspect I’ve been afraid to mourn Mom because I’d have to mourn all the rest. So, every January I just ache until I can push it back and move on to what the new year brings.

Some losses stick with us a long time.

Be Kind

At the end of emails to good friends, I sometimes add these words: "Be kind to [their name] today." Occasionally I'll add, "[Their name] is someone I like very much and deserves your kindness."

Not everyone responds, and I don't write it to hear from them. I write the words because I mean them. I also write them because I've had to say them to myself many, many times to remind me. When I've messed up, said or done the wrong thing, feel low or lonely, that's when I decide to be kind to myself.

How do I show myself compassion?

My words go like this: "I like Cec; he needs me to support him and he deserves all the love and respect I can give him."

Be kind to yourself.

Say only positive, loving thoughts to yourself. If I occasionally hear myself bordering on negative and self-condemning words, here's what I say: "Cec, I'm sorry I felt that way. You don't deserve the harsh things I've said about you. I promise you that I'll be nicer."

Loving God, today help me be kind to myself.

And tomorrow. And the days after that.

This post is excerpted from Cec's book More Than Surviving: Courageous Meditations for Men Hurting from Childhood Abuse (Kregel, 2018).

Abuse and Compartmentalization

(This post comes from Roger Mann.)

I talked to a friend who was in and out of same-sex relationships because of his abuse. We discussed that other victims speak of the emptiness of same-sex relationships, which leave them depressed and feeling miserable. But neither of us felt that way, and it caused us to wonder.

One thing we have in common is that riding off into the sunset with another male has never been a possibility. It’s not that we haven’t met anyone who’d be willing, but it’s because of the way we responded to our abusers.

Because of who they were, we never considered that what we had between us was anything more than a physical action. (For him, it was an older brother; for me, it was my dad.) It was a “thing” that involved connection and fondness, but also an understanding that it would eventually end. While I might have loved my dad, and my friend his older brother—and the closeness we each felt was great—life continued, and we grew up and moved on.

Part of our experience became a fixed pattern that repeated itself in similar types of sexual relationships. Because of preconditioned attitudes cemented in our impressionable years, our ability to commit intimately to anyone else was almost impossible.

We both knew men who wanted a more permanent situation with us, and while we felt genuine affection for them, a commitment was out of the question. Our idea of fidelity still included our wives.

The abuse rerouted our wiring and compartmentalized that area of our brains. I honestly believe my dad ruined any possibility of my having true fidelity with anyone. I can either love someone or have sex with them. For my wife, love and sex are a package deal—no compartmentalization. I struggle with that, and it’s hurt her.

Now that I’m older, it’s easier to be more faithful, but I fear it’s because of age rather than morality. With God’s help, and as revelation and understanding increase, I’m doing better.

Speaking Out

(This post comes from Roger Mann.)

When I was 21, I suffered from some stomach ills and depression. My employer had employee assistance programs that would pay for counseling. I decided to take advantage of it and made an appointment with a psychologist. Everything was going smoothly, and then out of the blue she asked me about my father and our relationship. In seconds, I turned white in the face, became dizzy, and had to put my head down and do some deep breathing. We ended right there and I never went back.

I carried the secret of our relationship for decades. But into my late 40s, things had gotten worse for me and I realized I should see someone and talk about it. It was slow going until one day I just blurted out about what he did and how I felt it had affected me. It was painful. I must have cried for ten minutes before getting control. I felt like a fool.

Later, I felt better— better than I had in years. I went back and began the long tedious and painful process of unpacking it. Since then I have been selectively open about my abuse with certain people and situations. I feel it benefits others. I’ve sought to analyze why I feel the need still to talk about it. It hurts my wife to hear about this stuff, and I seldom bring it up with her.

But when I found a website exclusively for men who have been abused and are dealing with the effects, I was thrilled to have a place to actually talk about it freely with people who understood. I opened up about things that I hadn’t told anyone before. Getting validation for those feelings and thoughts was absolutely huge.

When I think about just shutting up and dropping any reference to it, I remember back when someone told me these words:

It was not your fault.
You are not alone.
I understand, and I hear what you’re saying. 

It's great to be heard and not just listened to. Here I am on this blog, spilling my guts, getting validation, and hopefully giving some too. To know you are not alone and can share the pain with someone who really gets it is beyond price.

It's Not Too Late to Have a Happy Childhood

I first read those words as the title of a book by Claudia Black, and I scoffed. "More psychobabble," I mumbled. But the words stayed with me, and it took me a long time before I grasped what she meant. (Then I read the book, which I found helpful.)

Obviously, I can't redo my youthful pain; I don't want to rewrite my early experiences. But I can emotionally embrace that crushed, beaten-down, pain-stricken part of me from my childhood.

I've learned to show myself compassion and to understand my defenselessness. Instead of hating that part of myself, I'm able to emotionally hold that wounded boy tightly.

Because I've become a strong believer in self-affirmation statements, here's one thing I say several times each morning: "I love who I am, I love who I used to be, and I love who I'm becoming."

And I learned, as Black pointed out, that it wasn't too late for me to heal that traumatized little boy.

I love who I am, I love who I used to be, and I love who I'm becoming.
Lord, thank you for making me the person I am.

* * * * *

This post is excerpted from Cec's book More Than Surviving: Courageous Meditations for Men Hurting from Childhood Abuse (Kregel, 2018).

Abuse and Intimacy

(This post comes from Roger Mann.)

For those of us who have been abused and exposed to some of the sordid sex practices, it’s difficult to be intimate with the woman we love. In our heads, sex has become something shameful and full of guilt. Sometimes the idea of intimate contact can bring up shameful memories and really ruin the moment.

Many times, I have spent the day at work thinking about coming home to the lady of my life and being passionate and affectionate. Then I’m driving home and, as I’m thinking about initiating intimacy, memories begin to creep back into my head. By the time I pull into the driveway, I’m a mess again. The spirit is willing, as they say, but the flesh is weak and difficult to respond.

In my teenage years and beyond, I became obsessed with sex. Discovering porn inflamed it even worse, until I realized one day that my wife and I had not been intimate in a long time. That’s when I began to look for help. I found help, but damage was done to the relationship and that marriage ended.

I swore I wouldn’t marry again, but eventually I did. I thought I was okay by then. However, during the first week of our honeymoon, I began to pull away and became irritable and angry and didn’t understand why.

Later, during a conversation, I looked at her and realized I really cared for her a lot. She was attracted physically to me and I was shutting her down. She became confused and hurt.

We’re doing better now, but there are still times when the memories intrude, and I have to push through them to stay with her in the moment. I do that by consciously focusing on just my immediate sensations.

My therapist suggested that I needed to re-sexualize myself. I think he's right, but it's difficult to do and talk about with my wife whom I love and respect. We get there, but we both have to be in the right mood at the right time. I suspect the only way to overcome this is talking it out together.

Looking Back on Relationships

(This post comes from Roger Mann.)

Something I’ve been thinking about for a while now is how my abuse affected me in the area of relationships and how I chose relationships.

The abuse left me feeling worthless. Without really articulating it as such, I had the feeling that my only worth to another person was as a sexual object. Hence, when I met someone I was interested in, or who seemed to like me, I assumed it was for sex.

That left me feeling shameful and guilty, so I gravitated toward people I felt were worse off than I was. If someone was attracted to me and they seemed too nice, I’d discourage any further interests. If someone who was a mess was drawn to me, I cultivated the friendship. I felt in some cases I could benefit them, but with others I had the advantage or power in the relationship and it would feel safe for me.

Even though the situation might have been less than ideal, I felt that it was more than I deserved. Those relationships didn’t last long and ended badly.

It’s taken me years to sort this all out. Now I understand why I did what I did. And that helps. But as I look around at the people in my circle of friends, I notice others doing the same thing. They see someone they’re attracted to but won’t go after them. When questioned, they usually look down and shrug.

I know that look and that shrug. They belong to a person who doesn’t feel worthy, who doesn’t think they deserve that kind of happiness. They won’t say it, and may not even understand what’s going on, but I can see it in their faces. I’ve seen that same face in my mirror.

Things are different now. I have a wonderful wife, but when we met, I once again wrote her off as too good for me. Over time, though, it began to feel right. She’s terrific and exactly what I needed. I thank God for her every day. Some days she annoys the heck out of me, but I need that. I’m glad she does. She’s been the engine of change that I think God has used to make me the man I need to be.

More Results from Forgiving (Part 4 of 7)

As more and more studies document the healing power of forgiveness, they also look at the mentally and physically corrosive effects of not forgetting.

Hanging on to anger and resentment—which makes us live in a state of stress—can damage the heart as well as the soul.

Modern research indicates that failure to forgive may be a risk factor for heart disease, high blood pressure, and a score of other chronic stress-related illnesses.

Medical and psychological studies have also shown that a person holding on to anger and resentment is at increased risks for anxiety, depression, and insomnia, and is more likely to suffer from high blood pressure, ulcers, migraines, backaches, heart attacks, and even cancer.

The reverse is also true. Genuine forgiveness can transform those ailments, thus stress, anxiety, and depression are reduced, as well as the physical disorders.

But then, we’ve known this for millennia, even if we don’t admit it.

For example, Psalm 32 is about someone who refused to receive forgiveness (and I think the other side is also true). “When I kept silent, my bones wasted away, through my groaning all day long” (verse 3).

Health benefits are only the beginning. To forgive is also to release ourselves from whatever trauma and hardship we have experienced and begin to reclaim our lives as our own.

By forgiving, we benefit with improved health.

Self-interest of Forgiving (Part 3 of 7)

Not long ago, I read research about the results of forgiving. In report after report, statistics pointed out that those who forgive had fewer health and mental issues, physical problems, and felt less stress.

If we think of forgiving our perpetrators as doing something for ourselves—to promote our healing—we’re on the right path.

This solidifies the idea that forgiving is a loving act of compassion for me—a benefit for myself.

Sounds simple, doesn’t it? So why is it difficult for some?

Because I care about myself, 

I release my anger toward my perpetrator.

The Old Forgiveness Road (Again)

(This post comes from Roger Mann.)

Forgiveness? Seriously? Still?

It seems that lately every time I talk to someone about my dad’s abuse of me, which gratefully isn’t often, this subject comes up. I don’t know if I’m coming across angry, resentful, or what. I believe I’ve forgiven him and my mom, and even my sis for the small role she had. Although, honestly, I have other reasons for not feeling warm and fuzzy with her that have nothing to do with the abuse.

I’ve honestly tried to forgive, forget, and let go of any bad feelings about it all. I know it just hurts me and no one else. There are times, however, when I seem to feel angry for no reason. It could be that I’m a jerk at times due to some genetic propensity for such. I really don’t know.

Anyway, I’d like if next time the subject comes up I didn’t have to go over the old forgiveness road again. I realize it’s an obvious place to go when first dealing with someone who has been abused, and it should be a vital part of the healing process somewhere down the road when one is ready. But after ten or more years, do I still need to visit this again?

I suppose it’s possible that I just don’t understand how the process works and/or maybe I’ve done it wrong and it didn’t take or something, but it sure keeps coming up. I think that may be what prompted the previous post about moving on.

If anyone has tips or positive experiences with this issue, I’d love to hear about it. The whole thing makes my stomach hurt.

Just my thoughts.

Moving On?

(This post comes from Roger Mann.)

Sometimes I think my entire life has revolved around sex. I understand it’s a big part of a guy’s life. Someone once said, “From the time we exit the exit, we spend the rest of our lives trying to get back in.” Much of art and literature—and now the media—is devoted to it in one way or another, especially these days. I get that.

Still, for me it’s been an ongoing theme. Being a sex object as a child was a large part of my confusion over my identity and worth. The teens, normally a tumultuous time for a boy, were even more confusing. When I should have been discovering girls, I was already being discovered by males.

I married thinking that would solve and solidify my ambivalence about the whole thing. It didn’t. I gave up for a while and listened to those telling me to accept who and what I was. But that’s not who I came to realize I was after all.

So, years of therapy later, and many books, counseling sessions, and so forth, I still find my mind haunted by what happened to me so long ago. Today I find myself asking this question. Do I want this issue to continue being the main theme my life seems to revolve around? Or is it time to put it on the back burner to simmer, and try and enjoy what life has led me to in the present?

I’m not giving up on trying to heal, but I’m not going to spend the rest of my life looking back. I have a good life. Yet I think that at times I miss some of the goodness while trying to deal with scars from my past. Although there’s no question I’m scarred, I’m still alive, and I suspect I’m still missing much because of trying to lick my wounds.

Moving on is not denial. It can also be a part of the healing process.

Hurting Back (Part 2 of 7)

As I continue to learn about forgiving, I’m able to say that people who hurt often hurt others. That may not be obvious to us who were molested. Perhaps not every perp was first victimized, but something caused deep pain or need in their lives, and finding temporary sexual satisfaction was their form of self-medication.

Even knowing that, for some of us it’s still hard to forgive. The anguish is too deep. The traumas of our childhood remain stuck in our memories.

Hurting back doesn’t satisfy. We may think it will, but it doesn’t. If I sock you after you struck me, it doesn’t lessen the sting I felt. Nor does it diminish my sadness that you hit me. At best, retaliation gives a momentary respite from pain. The only way to experience healing and peace is to release the pain—that is, to forgive.

Until we can forgive, we’re in a prison, padlocked in our heartache and locked out of the possibility of experiencing healing and freedom. In short, we’re unable to experience peace because we’re still bolted to the past.

Someone wisely said, “Without forgiveness, we remain tethered to the person who harmed us. We’re bound by chains of bitterness and vengeance. Until we can forgive the one who harmed us, we’re unable to grab hold the key that frees us from our prison. Our perpetrators are still inflicting agony and despair. That person is our jailer.”

When we forgive, we take control of our lives and feelings. We become our own liberators.

Above all, we don’t forgive to help our perpetrators. We forgive for ourselves. Forgiveness is the best form of self-interest.

The best way to win over our oppressor is to forgive him 

and not allow him to continue the torment.

Deserving Forgiveness (Part 1 of 7)

“He doesn’t deserve to be forgiven,” my friend Neal said years ago. He added, “For a long time, I held in the anger and unforgiveness toward the perp who stole my innocence.”

My friend hadn’t been very open, but I remember saying one sentence: “There’s no one who can’t be forgiven.”

Nearly five years later, Neal and I were talking about his abuse. He reminded me of the words I had spoken. “You’re right. It’s more than just forgiving him, but it also means I can move on from my pain.”

Although glad for where he was, I wish I had also said, “When you’re ready to forgive or to release the hurt, you’ll see it differently.”

He smiled and nodded. “I felt that by not forgiving I was withholding something from him—giving him pain for his evil deeds. Perhaps that seems incredulous, but I wanted him to suffer.”

It’s sad, but that’s the confused reasoning of many. We want them to hurt; we want them to feel the agony they caused us.

Life just doesn’t work that way. We forgive for our own sake. As long as we hold on to the hurt they caused, healing doesn’t take place.

I need to forgive those who hurt me, 

and when I’ve hurt enough, I will.

"It's Not You, It's Me."

(This post is from Roger Mann.)

​"It’s not you, it’s me."

I know, it’s an old break-up line. That said, it’s one that has gone through my mind over the years in one form or another concerning my childhood abuse. The form it usually takes is, "Was there something about me?"

In my early years as a kid, I didn’t really articulate it like that. There was a feeling inside me that something about me screamed, "Play with me. I’m okay with it." I thought maybe it was the way I looked, or maybe the way I acted or looked at other people. I remember even as a young kid always looking at faces to see how they were looking at me. And every once in a while, there was someone with "the look" that silently signaled something that made me uncomfortable.

I can’t really explain it. It was just a look, along with a feeling I would get that either made me want to hide or later on look back knowingly. It’s said that abusers and victims sometimes seem drawn to each other unconsciously. That may be true. It’s as good an explanation as any, I guess.

Is there something in the face or the eyes that somehow notifies those who know how and where to look that you’re a victim? Even at my age, I find myself going out of my way to project self-assurance and anything else that would not identify me as weak, needy, or victimized. Maybe I overcompensate at times, and that too could be a signal if I’m not careful. It’s an armor I need to wear because it’s not just sexual predators that look for it. I’ve come to realize it’s also people who are selling things.

I know because I have a house full of stuff because my armor slipped and someone saw "prey" written all over me. I really hate that. Another legacy, in my opinion, of childhood victimization.

The Issue of Grooming

Since the early days of this blog, I’ve limited the word count to 400 words. Sometimes I’ve cut pieces into 2 or even 3 entries. In the words below, Lee Boyd had such a good request that I decided to violate my own rule. It runs about 700 words. (Cec)

* * * * *

I have been a follower of your blog for a while and have read your books Not Quite Healed and More Than Surviving. I’ve benefited from all and have recommended them to others. However, there is one issue that has arisen several times as I was reading, and I would like to bring it to your attention. 

The stumbling block I have encountered is the issue of grooming. I realize from reading your story that grooming was a part of your experience. But the impression I get from reading your work is that grooming is an element of most, if not all, abuse scenarios. I am sure that you do not mean to alienate anyone, but this implication tends to make me feel excluded from the community of survivors you are addressing.

You see, I was never groomed.

I was abused by a stepdad from soon after he married my mom when I was 5½ until I left home at 18. From 5½ to 13, it was physical abuse, sexual abuse, and verbal abuse. From 13 to 18, the verbal abuse continued, but the violence and physically sexual aspects stopped.

Additionally, at school and in scouts, from age 11 to 13, I was bullied and sexually harassed and assaulted under the guise of “initiation” by a gang of peers and older boys. I became a recreational scapegoat for them.

Finally, when I was about 15, I was molested in the fitting room of a menswear shop by a clerk who was “measuring” me for a pair of trousers.

In NONE of these instances was there a hint of grooming. Each was an instance of an infliction of power by the abuser(s) to work their will. They did not have to groom me. They were bigger, stronger, more numerous, and had more clout. In the case of the stepdad, it was not difficult because I was available, I was a mere child, and he had the authority of an adult and a parent. There was never a question that he would get what he wanted. With the bullies, they had the advantage of numbers, greater sexual knowledge, and the mob mentality. Both the bullies and the stepdad used physical restraint and greater strength. The clerk was also an adult that took advantage of my youth, his experience, and my “freeze” reaction when he began to touch me inappropriately, so no force was needed. I had already been conditioned to submit passively.

In talking with and reading of survivors who experienced grooming, I have recognized that there is a strong possibility that they may feel partially complicit in the abuse and that this may cause additional issues of guilt and shame. I have observed groomed survivors who suffer from feelings of betrayal and disillusionment, and have difficulty trusting others.

But in cases where force or intimidation is used instead of grooming, the survivor has other issues to deal with. I have identified my own feelings of helplessness and of total lack of control. Because I was repeatedly abused by multiple and unconnected perpetrators, I felt like a perpetual victim with a target on his back. There was not even the pretense of kindness or a personal relationship to temper the trauma. The bullies and stepfather wielded cold, calculated, and intentional cruelty. The store clerk took sudden advantage of circumstances impersonally and anonymously. All of the abuse events made me feel like a commodity to be used at their convenience, without regard for my personhood.

I know now that one method of abuse is not necessarily more or less harmful than the other. But when I was learning more about grooming, I actually wished that I had experienced it rather than abuse without grooming like I had. At least I would have had some temporary semblance of relationships and feeling special to someone instead of the isolation, loneliness, and scapegoating that were my lot. I now realize that it would have simply been a different variation of pain.

Anyway, what I am requesting is that you, as a spokesman for the male abuse survivor community, would include more acknowledgments that grooming is not always part of the experience and that many survivors are abruptly abused, without pretext or preamble, under application of physical force or threat or the power of authority or intimidation. I don’t know if there are any statistics available about the percentages of abuse with or without grooming, but I am sure that I am not alone in my experience. I am confident that including my demographic of non-groomed survivors would allow you to speak more effectively to a larger audience.

On Forgiveness

(This post comes from Roger Mann.)

Another abuse survivor wrote, “I have some people . . . from my past who I need to forgive. I have never been ready to and really have never wanted to.”

I struggled with forgiveness as well. Suppressed rage filled me a good part of my adult life. Initially, I believed it was aimed at my father. At times, I also sensed anger toward God. Then I suspected I was angry at my young self for letting it happen.

Later, I realized I was angry at me—an adult who wasn’t handling life well. I made excuses, blamed others for my circumstances, and blamed the abuse for all my mistakes and bad choices. I hated myself for not accepting responsibility.

I’ve learned that what happens to me isn’t as important as how I deal with it. God is developing character in me, and trials and hardship don’t build character; they reveal it. The Holy Spirit uses them to refine me, which usually involves pain. Apparently, I needed a lot of refining.

Understanding that has helped me to forgive. I started with myself, then the boy who was, and finally the father who was never a dad. It was a long and tortuous road but one I needed to travel.

Now, when things get ugly and I get frustrated, I step back and remind myself of why I’m here. Because I’ve been broken and angry, I can reach out to others who are broken and angry. When I recognize myself in others, God works in us both. It’s one of the ways God reveals Himself to me. His love for me, in spite of all that I am and have been, helps mitigate my anger and raises what I call my “stupidity threshold” back to a safe level.

That love followed me through all my flailing and attempts at finding myself. More than anything, it’s enabled me to finally forgive, and has released me from the ghost of my father’s touch. I’m free and at peace (as much as one can be these days) because I’m able to see that love as I look back through those years. It’s a journey, not a destination, and I have always had a faithful—though often unappreciated— companion with me.

Just my thoughts.