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).

The Other Survivor

My wife was also a survivor—a survivor of my abusive childhood. She suffered because she loved me and stayed with me while I worked through my pain.

For a long time, I didn’t realize how my childhood had affected her. I was too busy working on Cec.

As one example, when she was deeply hurt, I froze inside. Today I’d say I numbed out as many survivors do during intense emotional moments. I didn’t understand what was happening to me, and my abuse kept me from giving her the comfort I wanted to show her.

I didn’t know when I was angry and couldn’t “feel” that emotion. More than once Shirley cried and I didn’t understand what I had said or done.

For me, the good news is that healing began, and Shirley was there from the beginning. One evening, I pulled her close and apologized. “Until recently I didn’t understand that you have been victimized by what was done to me.”

I’m glad I was able to see that and apologize. That didn’t change the fact of her being a survivor of my childhood molestation and pain, but I was able to affirm my love and appreciation.

Grieving

From Cec: Roger sent me a personal email and, with his permission, I'm posting this. It's probably the saddest story I've read. It's hard for me to realize how much some males suffered.

I am reading your book, Not Quite Healed. So much of it reads like my life. That said, the chapter on grieving really tore me up. As I read it, I realized that I'd never grieved what happened to me and the subsequent effects and their impact on my life.

It wasn't just the molestation. That in itself was bad and went on for decades. It wasn't just the lies I was told, or came to believe, or even those I told myself. It was also the person of my father.

He was a Bible-thumping, legalistic, fire-and-brimstone preacher, teacher, evangelist and pastor—the essence of God incarnate to me. I believed every word he preached. When his words didn't add up in his actions, it caused great confusion in my immature young mind. I felt betrayed not only by him, but by God Himself.

For decades I lived full of contradictions and conflict and in dreaded fear that I would turn out like him. I was a man of two minds and very unstable. Then he had the nerve to die and leave me that way.

And not just die, he had to get himself caught with another child relative. In his fear and despair, he killed my mother in her sleep then took his own life, leaving me a note and the mess to deal with.

In having to deal with everything, I had to keep it together and get things done because everyone else, except my wife, was a basket case. I had no time to grieve. For the next two years, I blamed myself for not saying something sooner, not warning people sooner, not confronting him, and for not saving my mother's life.

Even now I sit here writing this with no emotion. My irritability, anger, rage—all inappropriate to the circumstances I see now as evidence that I have not dealt with this. For years, I didn't understand why I couldn't control my anger. Now I see that I can't go on like this. I need to process all the pain that I have suppressed.

Logic vs. Emotion

(an encore post by Cecil Murphey)

I once mentioned in a keynote at a conference that I had been sexually molested. I didn't dwell on the issue, but said it affected the way I saw life.

Afterward a woman who identified herself as a pastor-therapist said to me, "You didn't do anything to cause the assault. It was your perpetrator's fault."

I tried to tell her that I knew, but she didn't seem to hear me. She talked for another minute or two, but her words and her attitude seemed to say to me, "I've explained the logic of the situation and you're free."

I agreed with her reasoning. I had been a child, and of course I didn't do anything to bring on the molestation. It was the fault of my perpetrators. If acknowledging the truth were all I needed, I would have been free much earlier.

She didn't seem to grasp that my emotions hadn't caught up with my cognitive perceptions. I could make the same statements she made—and I did—but they hadn't set me free. It was a long time before I could feel free.

And, sad to say, some men never feel fault-free.