(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.
Showing posts with label guilt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label guilt. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 27, 2018
Tuesday, September 11, 2018
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)
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.
* * * * *
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.
Tuesday, May 8, 2018
The Two Sides of My Abuser
(This post comes from Mark Cooper.)
* * * * *
We may still deal with that confusion. How do we reconcile our conflicting memories of pain and pleasure?
If we enjoy photographs taken with that person, or if we value a gift they gave us, are we betraying our inner wounded child? If we face the evil they did to us, are we betraying what was good about them?
I’ve had less depression, increased energy, a greater sense of purpose and peace about myself as a man, and more confidence in my relationships as I’ve accepted that my abuser indeed abused me and caused great harm in my life. But then I’d remember the turtle shell he showed me when I was ill, the time he gently held my hand to remove a painful splinter, or the oak plant stand he made for me.
Enjoying the good memories filled me with guilt. If he had been kind to me even once, then how dare I call the other times abuse? Admitting he hurt me caused me to feel as if I were to blame for the pain, just as it did when I was a child.
One day my friend Jason laid a pen on the table in front of me. He said, “The way you’re thinking makes as much sense as saying, ‘There is a pen on the table; therefore, I wasn’t abused.’” He explained what he meant. “Just like this pen has nothing to do with whether you were abused, his doing something good for you has nothing to do with whether you were abused. You were abused because he abused you!”
Now, when I start down my old pathway of thinking, I remind myself that a good memory doesn’t undo the abuse. Neither does the abuse void the good my abuser did. The truth is, my abuser did cause deep pain and damage in my life. He also did good and gave me memories that I still enjoy.
My inner peace grows as I accept that my abuser was capable not only of evil but also of good. I knew both sides of him.
Tuesday, October 24, 2017
Lasting Effects
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 2, 2017
“But It Felt Good” (Part 2 of 2)
We survivors grew up in a convoluted world. Because we were vulnerable, needy kids, our abusers took advantage of us. As a result, we felt guilty over sexual stimulation. Frigidity is usually a female malady, but it applies to males as well (even though we use different terms). Some of them can’t achieve an erection and have other problems associated with normal intercourse.
We’re ashamed that our bodies “betrayed” us and some men never get free. Some become promiscuous, running from one sexual partner to the next. It’s as if they shout, “See, I’m all right and abuse didn’t affect me.”
We respond differently to the horrible experiences of childhood. The often-silent voices come from feeling ashamed of having erotic feelings.
“Of course it felt good!” I wish I could get that message across to every male who was raped. That’s why we have so much pain and guilt today—those selfish perpetrators destroyed the placidity of our childhood. They did the evil deed and we pay the consequences.
My abuse felt good, which is natural and normal. I accept that and I remind myself that I was a normal, needy kid whom someone exploited.
We’re ashamed that our bodies “betrayed” us and some men never get free. Some become promiscuous, running from one sexual partner to the next. It’s as if they shout, “See, I’m all right and abuse didn’t affect me.”
We respond differently to the horrible experiences of childhood. The often-silent voices come from feeling ashamed of having erotic feelings.
“Of course it felt good!” I wish I could get that message across to every male who was raped. That’s why we have so much pain and guilt today—those selfish perpetrators destroyed the placidity of our childhood. They did the evil deed and we pay the consequences.
My abuse felt good, which is natural and normal. I accept that and I remind myself that I was a normal, needy kid whom someone exploited.
Friday, August 12, 2016
Shame, Guilt, and Self-love
(By John Joseph*)
Shame is a universal experience. All of us can recall some moment of deep embarrassment, whether it's the feeling of not getting picked for the team (or being picked last); not getting the promotion we deserved; being caught doing something we shouldn’t do, such as lying or stealing; or something worse. These are the moments that, when recalled even years later, bring a blush to the face.
For most people, shame is a passing emotion. For many of us who’ve survived childhood sexual abuse, however, shame can become a constant state of inner existence. Feeling dirty, unwanted, unloved, and unneeded has left us with a ubiquitous sense that we are flawed internally—a rag to wipe up a mess and nothing more. That kind of shame is something far beyond simple guilt. It's chronic and untenable.
But what can we do about it?
The first thing that has helped me is to realize the difference between guilt and shame. Guilt is a momentary, passing feeling that tells us we did something wrong. In that sense, guilt is a built-in guidance system that helps us to become better human beings. We do something wrong, guilt helps us to realize it; we ask forgiveness of the person wronged (even ourselves), and we move on. Guilt ends. But chronic shame is about who we are, not what we did. Guilt says, "I did wrong;" shame shouts, "I am wrong."
The second thing that has helped me recover from chronic shame is to recognize I have built too much of my identity around that feeling. I have become the shamed person I think I am. Instead of choosing healthy self-love I need to live, too often I’ve lived out the false script of shame that tells me I am a mistake, after all, and the world doesn’t need me.
Each day I must choose self-love over shame.
(*John Joseph is a pseudonym of a pastor. He's a regular contributor to this blog.)
Shame is a universal experience. All of us can recall some moment of deep embarrassment, whether it's the feeling of not getting picked for the team (or being picked last); not getting the promotion we deserved; being caught doing something we shouldn’t do, such as lying or stealing; or something worse. These are the moments that, when recalled even years later, bring a blush to the face.
For most people, shame is a passing emotion. For many of us who’ve survived childhood sexual abuse, however, shame can become a constant state of inner existence. Feeling dirty, unwanted, unloved, and unneeded has left us with a ubiquitous sense that we are flawed internally—a rag to wipe up a mess and nothing more. That kind of shame is something far beyond simple guilt. It's chronic and untenable.
But what can we do about it?
The first thing that has helped me is to realize the difference between guilt and shame. Guilt is a momentary, passing feeling that tells us we did something wrong. In that sense, guilt is a built-in guidance system that helps us to become better human beings. We do something wrong, guilt helps us to realize it; we ask forgiveness of the person wronged (even ourselves), and we move on. Guilt ends. But chronic shame is about who we are, not what we did. Guilt says, "I did wrong;" shame shouts, "I am wrong."
The second thing that has helped me recover from chronic shame is to recognize I have built too much of my identity around that feeling. I have become the shamed person I think I am. Instead of choosing healthy self-love I need to live, too often I’ve lived out the false script of shame that tells me I am a mistake, after all, and the world doesn’t need me.
Each day I must choose self-love over shame.
(*John Joseph is a pseudonym of a pastor. He's a regular contributor to this blog.)
Friday, January 22, 2016
My Responsibility
Responsibility is a strange word. For some, it delineates who we are—the one on whom others can depend. We receive commendations and appreciation. People admire us. "He's as good as his word," they say. That sentence sounds like what people have said about me.
That's not bragging, but only to say that I've grabbed on to words like duty and obligation. If I'm responsible, it implies that I'm worthwhile. Likeable. Loveable.
I never heard anyone call my younger brother Mel responsible. When I visited my hometown, he'd promise to come and see me and not show up. He owed me money and often said, "I haven't forgotten and I'm going to pay you back." Even growing up, he'd say, "I'm going to" as the prelude for some action both of us knew he wouldn't take. I don't recall that he ever did anything he promised.
At times I've wished I could have been more like him. I envisioned him as carefree and indifferent. He was neither. Only during the last months of his life did I realize how guilt-ridden he was.
For me, when I realized something was wrong, especially in the family, I was responsible. I'm sure that's part of the reason I was a pastor for 14 years. By then, I liked others depending on me. When I did something right and members praised me, I felt wonderful. And yes, I felt terrible when I disappointed someone or a member disliked me.
As a man who is healing from abuse, I don't want to be irresponsible, but I want to be accountable for the right things and especially for the right people. As I act on being answerable to Cec, it also means that I don't have to accept the guilt for others' unhappiness.
That's not bragging, but only to say that I've grabbed on to words like duty and obligation. If I'm responsible, it implies that I'm worthwhile. Likeable. Loveable.
I never heard anyone call my younger brother Mel responsible. When I visited my hometown, he'd promise to come and see me and not show up. He owed me money and often said, "I haven't forgotten and I'm going to pay you back." Even growing up, he'd say, "I'm going to" as the prelude for some action both of us knew he wouldn't take. I don't recall that he ever did anything he promised.
At times I've wished I could have been more like him. I envisioned him as carefree and indifferent. He was neither. Only during the last months of his life did I realize how guilt-ridden he was.
For me, when I realized something was wrong, especially in the family, I was responsible. I'm sure that's part of the reason I was a pastor for 14 years. By then, I liked others depending on me. When I did something right and members praised me, I felt wonderful. And yes, I felt terrible when I disappointed someone or a member disliked me.
As a man who is healing from abuse, I don't want to be irresponsible, but I want to be accountable for the right things and especially for the right people. As I act on being answerable to Cec, it also means that I don't have to accept the guilt for others' unhappiness.
I'm responsible for me.
That's a good kind of self-love.
(This post was adapted from Not Quite Healed, written by Cecil Murphey and Gary Roe.)
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.
Friday, July 3, 2015
Guilt
"I feel so guilty," George said.
When I asked him for specifics, he could only mumble, "I don't know . . . it's just this nagging feeling." Finally he said, "If only I had . . ." and he mentioned several things he wished he'd done.
"That kind of thinking is more common than you know." I stared right at him as I added, "You were a kid; you didn't understand and couldn't reason the way you do today. You've had more than thirty years to live with that pain. Don't punish that little boy for being vulnerable."
Apparently shocked by my response, tears filled his eyes. "I—I never thought of it that way. I've been tough on myself because I didn't tell or fight him off—"
"And he's still abusing you today, isn't he? As long as you focus on what you didn't do, he'll keep hurting you."
He nodded.
"George, each time you feel guilty, say these words aloud to yourself: 'I am not guilty. I was a child.'"
When I asked him for specifics, he could only mumble, "I don't know . . . it's just this nagging feeling." Finally he said, "If only I had . . ." and he mentioned several things he wished he'd done.
"That kind of thinking is more common than you know." I stared right at him as I added, "You were a kid; you didn't understand and couldn't reason the way you do today. You've had more than thirty years to live with that pain. Don't punish that little boy for being vulnerable."
Apparently shocked by my response, tears filled his eyes. "I—I never thought of it that way. I've been tough on myself because I didn't tell or fight him off—"
"And he's still abusing you today, isn't he? As long as you focus on what you didn't do, he'll keep hurting you."
He nodded.
"George, each time you feel guilty, say these words aloud to yourself: 'I am not guilty. I was a child.'"
Tuesday, April 21, 2015
Afterward
If we continue to move forward in our healing, eventually we reach a place we never would have expected. We can look back and give thanks for our life. It's not that we're glad we were sexually assaulted. But we realize that as terrible as our childhood trauma was, we're actually better people for having gone through the pain.
First, of course, we have to go through the pain—through the shame, guilt, anger, despair, and a myriad of negative emotions. They are parts of our healing journey and as one wise man said, "The only way out of the pain is through the pain."
Second, if we continue to move forward, we learn to forgive our perpetrators. And as we've said on this blog many times, we do it for ourselves. We do it so we can continue to go forward. And for many of us survivors, forgiving may be the most difficult and painful step for us to take.
Third, we finally are able to examine our lives and rejoice in being who we are. I'll tell it as I perceived it. One day I was able to say to God, "Thank you for all I've gone through." I could say that because I had learned important lessons. I was able to feel compassion and tenderness toward others.
How could I possibly have understood what others go through and reach out to them if I hadn't been abused?
That's why I call this blog entry "afterward." It doesn't mean I'm fully healed, but it means I'm maturing and growing in kindness, sympathy, and mercy. I can identify with other survivors and reach out to them in their pain.
And so can you.
Afterward.
If you're not at afterward, may you reach it soon.
Others need you.
First, of course, we have to go through the pain—through the shame, guilt, anger, despair, and a myriad of negative emotions. They are parts of our healing journey and as one wise man said, "The only way out of the pain is through the pain."
Second, if we continue to move forward, we learn to forgive our perpetrators. And as we've said on this blog many times, we do it for ourselves. We do it so we can continue to go forward. And for many of us survivors, forgiving may be the most difficult and painful step for us to take.
Third, we finally are able to examine our lives and rejoice in being who we are. I'll tell it as I perceived it. One day I was able to say to God, "Thank you for all I've gone through." I could say that because I had learned important lessons. I was able to feel compassion and tenderness toward others.
How could I possibly have understood what others go through and reach out to them if I hadn't been abused?
That's why I call this blog entry "afterward." It doesn't mean I'm fully healed, but it means I'm maturing and growing in kindness, sympathy, and mercy. I can identify with other survivors and reach out to them in their pain.
And so can you.
Afterward.
If you're not at afterward, may you reach it soon.
Others need you.
Friday, April 3, 2015
Childhood Sexual Abuse Is a Crime
Too often, the crime element in sexual assault gets overlooked, ignored, or pushed away. Too often, the victims feel they're guilty for seeking justice. And how many six-year-old boys will insist they were raped when adults tell them, "You have too active an imagination," or "Your cousin couldn't have done something terrible like that."
That throws a heavy burden on the survivors. As bad or possibly worse is when the victims keep silent, which allows the perpetrator to continue the assaults.
I never told anyone about my two perpetrators. Although I was too young to reason it out, my adult voice says, "It wouldn't have done any good."
As one of victims at the trial of Jerry Sandusky said, "Who would believe a kid?"
Or perhaps shame held me back. The old man who molested me hugged me and told me what a good kid I was. "You're special," he said, which were words I yearned to hear, and yet, deep inside I think I knew they were false.
Or maybe I didn't want the abuse to be real. I was so starved for attention and affection, I blamed myself.
What if I had spoken up? What if my parents had believed me? To speculate on that doesn't do any good and my perpetrators are both dead.
And I, the victim, paid for their crimes.
That throws a heavy burden on the survivors. As bad or possibly worse is when the victims keep silent, which allows the perpetrator to continue the assaults.
I never told anyone about my two perpetrators. Although I was too young to reason it out, my adult voice says, "It wouldn't have done any good."
As one of victims at the trial of Jerry Sandusky said, "Who would believe a kid?"
Or perhaps shame held me back. The old man who molested me hugged me and told me what a good kid I was. "You're special," he said, which were words I yearned to hear, and yet, deep inside I think I knew they were false.
Or maybe I didn't want the abuse to be real. I was so starved for attention and affection, I blamed myself.
What if I had spoken up? What if my parents had believed me? To speculate on that doesn't do any good and my perpetrators are both dead.
And I, the victim, paid for their crimes.
Tuesday, January 6, 2015
"You Shouldn't Feel..."
(an encore post from Cecil Murphey)
In conversation with my friend Beth, I mentioned that even though I knew the molestation in childhood wasn't my fault, I still felt shame and guilt over my abuse as if I had failed in some way. "I keep thinking that only if I—"
"You shouldn't feel that way," Beth said.
Before I could respond, she listed my achievements (as if I didn't know them) and told me how much she admired me for the way I had dealt with my painful childhood.
"But still—"
"You don't deserve to feel that way."
Beth was trying to encourage me and I appreciated her concern; however, nothing she said was helpful. She tried to persuade me with logic and tell me how unreasonable it was to feel as I did.
I knew that, but I also knew that emotions don't listen to logic.
Beth could have told me a thousand times not to feel as I did because of what someone did to me. I would have agreed, but nothing would have changed.
What I also hear from well-meaning friends when I speak of my painful feelings is, "Just get over it!"
Easy words, but meaningless and powerless.
Do they think I want to hold on to my painful emotions? Do they believe I want to wallow in self-judgment?
One time when I spoke about the lingering feelings of shame, my late friend Steve Grubman-Black, also a survivor of sexual abuse, said, "Be kind to yourself. Accept those feelings because they're real. When you're able to feel compassion for that innocent child you were, those negative feelings will begin to dissipate."
Steve was right, even though it took at least three more years for me to become aware of the change.
These days whenever I feel a negative, condemning emotion, I remind myself that I can't argue myself out of feeling as I do. But here's something I tell myself, "I accept myself the way I am."
I also remind myself: Emotions don't listen to logic.
"You shouldn't feel that way," Beth said.
Before I could respond, she listed my achievements (as if I didn't know them) and told me how much she admired me for the way I had dealt with my painful childhood.
"But still—"
"You don't deserve to feel that way."
Beth was trying to encourage me and I appreciated her concern; however, nothing she said was helpful. She tried to persuade me with logic and tell me how unreasonable it was to feel as I did.
I knew that, but I also knew that emotions don't listen to logic.
Beth could have told me a thousand times not to feel as I did because of what someone did to me. I would have agreed, but nothing would have changed.
What I also hear from well-meaning friends when I speak of my painful feelings is, "Just get over it!"
Easy words, but meaningless and powerless.
Do they think I want to hold on to my painful emotions? Do they believe I want to wallow in self-judgment?
One time when I spoke about the lingering feelings of shame, my late friend Steve Grubman-Black, also a survivor of sexual abuse, said, "Be kind to yourself. Accept those feelings because they're real. When you're able to feel compassion for that innocent child you were, those negative feelings will begin to dissipate."
Steve was right, even though it took at least three more years for me to become aware of the change.
These days whenever I feel a negative, condemning emotion, I remind myself that I can't argue myself out of feeling as I do. But here's something I tell myself, "I accept myself the way I am."
I also remind myself: Emotions don't listen to logic.
Friday, October 17, 2014
Lasting Effects
(an encore post by Cecil Murphey)
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 24, 2014
When It's Time to Forgive
(an encore post by Cecil Murphey)
One anonymous reader castigated me for pushing people to forgive. I don't push anyone to forgive, but that's how he perceived the tone of the blog.
For those of us who were molested, the time comes during our healing journey when it's exactly the right time to forgive.
Forget about forgiving—until you're ready, until you feel the need to forgive. When that happens, that is the right time to forgive.
Although I can't remember exactly when I forgave my two perpetrators, I know it occurred several months, perhaps a full year, after I began to heal. That day I ran seven or eight times around a small lake in a park. (The circumference was about half a mile.) No one else was in the area, and I yelled at my long-dead abusers. I screamed at them for the pain they had caused me. Just before I started my final loop, I was able to say, "I forgive you." I had spewed out my anger and, to my surprise, it was gone. I was ready to release my pain.
If anyone had pushed me to forgive earlier, I would have gotten angry and felt guilty. Angry because I didn't want to forgive; guilty because I would have felt I should forgive. And I've received the should message several times in my life. For me, forgiving and "letting go of the pain" mean the same thing. When I'm ready to walk away and leave the pain behind, then it's time to forgive.
The important fact is that each of us must determine when it's time. Some of us forgive quickly; others need longer to process through the pain. Regardless, no one has the right to push anyone to forgive.
One anonymous reader castigated me for pushing people to forgive. I don't push anyone to forgive, but that's how he perceived the tone of the blog.
For those of us who were molested, the time comes during our healing journey when it's exactly the right time to forgive.
Forget about forgiving—until you're ready, until you feel the need to forgive. When that happens, that is the right time to forgive.
Although I can't remember exactly when I forgave my two perpetrators, I know it occurred several months, perhaps a full year, after I began to heal. That day I ran seven or eight times around a small lake in a park. (The circumference was about half a mile.) No one else was in the area, and I yelled at my long-dead abusers. I screamed at them for the pain they had caused me. Just before I started my final loop, I was able to say, "I forgive you." I had spewed out my anger and, to my surprise, it was gone. I was ready to release my pain.
If anyone had pushed me to forgive earlier, I would have gotten angry and felt guilty. Angry because I didn't want to forgive; guilty because I would have felt I should forgive. And I've received the should message several times in my life. For me, forgiving and "letting go of the pain" mean the same thing. When I'm ready to walk away and leave the pain behind, then it's time to forgive.
The important fact is that each of us must determine when it's time. Some of us forgive quickly; others need longer to process through the pain. Regardless, no one has the right to push anyone to forgive.
Forgiveness is always a choice.
And it's sad but some people are never able to forgive.
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
Stomach Pain
(an encore post by Cecil Murphey)
It was his secret and Larry said he carried a heavy ball of guilt inside. "The guilt ate at me, and I developed stomach ulcers." He gulped down the liquid medicine for relief, and snacked every two hours to keep food in his stomach.
Several times his doctor tried to find out what caused the problem but he kept saying he didn't know.
"But I did know."
Larry's secret was so deep he didn't want to admit it or talk about it. He was sure that if he did, his symptoms would get worse.
"About eight months ago I spilled my guts," he said. And once Larry began to talk about being sexually abused, the healing began. He still snacks and takes medication, but he hasn't had a serious bout with stomach pain for seven months.
It was his secret and Larry said he carried a heavy ball of guilt inside. "The guilt ate at me, and I developed stomach ulcers." He gulped down the liquid medicine for relief, and snacked every two hours to keep food in his stomach.
Several times his doctor tried to find out what caused the problem but he kept saying he didn't know.
"But I did know."
Larry's secret was so deep he didn't want to admit it or talk about it. He was sure that if he did, his symptoms would get worse.
"About eight months ago I spilled my guts," he said. And once Larry began to talk about being sexually abused, the healing began. He still snacks and takes medication, but he hasn't had a serious bout with stomach pain for seven months.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
"You Don't Need to Feel Ashamed"
(an encore post by Cecil Murphey)
Some statements irritate me. "You don't need to feel guilty," or "You have no reason to feel ashamed" are two of them. I wonder about the people who say those things. How can they speak so glibly?
Of course we need to feel ashamed or guilty—it's a natural reaction to what happened to us. No one explained to us that it was something bad done to us. Consequently, we felt bad. We weren't mature enough to grasp that we were innocent, so shame and guilt invaded our souls.
If I could have disrobed myself of those two emotions, I would have done it long ago. Instead it took me many, many years before I knew the freedom from those enslavements. I don't think I'm unusual.
I'd like to say to those glib-speaking know-it-alls, "Don't tell anyone how he should or shouldn’t feel. That advice helps no one."
But we can say, "I'm sorry you're hurting." As we accept them and express compassion they can slowly free themselves.
But until then, they have valid reasons for feeling ashamed or guilty.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
"What We Didn't Get"
(an encore post by Cecil Murphey)
I wrote an email to a hurting friend, who suffers from the effects of terrible things he's done to others. I'm sorry for his pain, but delighted he's facing himself. It takes courage to look at ourselves and admit that we committed acts we condemn in others. (In fact, condemning others for those very acts is often the way many try to cope with their issues.)
When I faced my childhood physical and sexual abuse, I learned an invaluable lesson. I don't know if I read it, someone told me, or if God whispered it to me, but here's the lesson: What we don't receive in childhood, we spend our lives seeking—usually on an unconscious level.
Like most people I focused on the symptoms—not doing things I knew were wrong. Years ago while visiting an AA meeting, I heard the term "dry alcoholic" and that sums it up for me. Dry alcoholics no longer drink but their behavior doesn't change.
I figured out that "unacceptable behavior" (a nice term to cover compulsive problems) is a painkiller. My dad and brothers killed their pain with beer. The most notorious gossip I've ever known died recently. Many times I've thought that carrying the latest news (true or not) gave her a sense of feeling significant, perhaps even important. The "medicine" each of them took for temporary relief usually worked temporarily.
Because of a loving God who worked in my life through my wife and my best friend, I was able to accept, struggle, and to have those needs fulfilled.
I was a lonely kid who felt different from those around him. When I was 18 months old, a dog attacked me and left terrible scars on my face. Plastic surgery took care of most of the visible scars, but the invisible ones remained for years.
The worst part of my childhood is that I never felt loved. As I ponder some of the things I did which made me feel guilty and ashamed, I now say to myself, "It was my way of searching for what I didn't receive as a child."
I'm probably no different from some of you, so I repeat the sentence that pushed me to face reality: What we don't receive in childhood, we spend our lives seeking—usually on an unconscious level.
I wrote an email to a hurting friend, who suffers from the effects of terrible things he's done to others. I'm sorry for his pain, but delighted he's facing himself. It takes courage to look at ourselves and admit that we committed acts we condemn in others. (In fact, condemning others for those very acts is often the way many try to cope with their issues.)
When I faced my childhood physical and sexual abuse, I learned an invaluable lesson. I don't know if I read it, someone told me, or if God whispered it to me, but here's the lesson: What we don't receive in childhood, we spend our lives seeking—usually on an unconscious level.
Like most people I focused on the symptoms—not doing things I knew were wrong. Years ago while visiting an AA meeting, I heard the term "dry alcoholic" and that sums it up for me. Dry alcoholics no longer drink but their behavior doesn't change.
I figured out that "unacceptable behavior" (a nice term to cover compulsive problems) is a painkiller. My dad and brothers killed their pain with beer. The most notorious gossip I've ever known died recently. Many times I've thought that carrying the latest news (true or not) gave her a sense of feeling significant, perhaps even important. The "medicine" each of them took for temporary relief usually worked temporarily.
Because of a loving God who worked in my life through my wife and my best friend, I was able to accept, struggle, and to have those needs fulfilled.
I was a lonely kid who felt different from those around him. When I was 18 months old, a dog attacked me and left terrible scars on my face. Plastic surgery took care of most of the visible scars, but the invisible ones remained for years.
The worst part of my childhood is that I never felt loved. As I ponder some of the things I did which made me feel guilty and ashamed, I now say to myself, "It was my way of searching for what I didn't receive as a child."
I'm probably no different from some of you, so I repeat the sentence that pushed me to face reality: What we don't receive in childhood, we spend our lives seeking—usually on an unconscious level.
Friday, October 4, 2013
Lasting Effects
(an encore post by Cecil Murphey)
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Raw Hope
(By John Joseph*)
Recovering from childhood sexual trauma requires a lot of courage and raw hope. Not only are we strapped with the excruciating memories of the abuse, we have to endure the stigma and misunderstanding of people around us should they learn of it. On top of all that is the Herculean effort to overcome the crippling side effects of addiction and emotional dysfunction. Recovery isn’t for sissies.
If not for the hope of getting better we would all give up. Hope is the fuel that keeps us going and drags us out of the ditch when we’ve driven off the road. Maybe hope is like a wrecker service we can call on when we need it. Instead of just crying by the side of the road, or worse, camping out there indefinitely, we should keep hope on speed dial and use it as necessary.
One thing that gives me hope is remembering that I am better off today than I was when I started dealing with my abuse. I was in crisis then; I am not now. I had little knowledge of what to do with it then, but much more now. I had no ability to quell the flood of emotions that was like a tsunami of guilt, shame, and fear sweeping me off my feet and swallowing me up, but I’m learning how to swim a little better now. Hope, if nothing, is a day to day choice to believe things are getting better despite how I may feel.
(*John Joseph is a pseudonym of a pastor. He's a regular contributor to this blog.)
Recovering from childhood sexual trauma requires a lot of courage and raw hope. Not only are we strapped with the excruciating memories of the abuse, we have to endure the stigma and misunderstanding of people around us should they learn of it. On top of all that is the Herculean effort to overcome the crippling side effects of addiction and emotional dysfunction. Recovery isn’t for sissies.
If not for the hope of getting better we would all give up. Hope is the fuel that keeps us going and drags us out of the ditch when we’ve driven off the road. Maybe hope is like a wrecker service we can call on when we need it. Instead of just crying by the side of the road, or worse, camping out there indefinitely, we should keep hope on speed dial and use it as necessary.
One thing that gives me hope is remembering that I am better off today than I was when I started dealing with my abuse. I was in crisis then; I am not now. I had little knowledge of what to do with it then, but much more now. I had no ability to quell the flood of emotions that was like a tsunami of guilt, shame, and fear sweeping me off my feet and swallowing me up, but I’m learning how to swim a little better now. Hope, if nothing, is a day to day choice to believe things are getting better despite how I may feel.
(*John Joseph is a pseudonym of a pastor. He's a regular contributor to this blog.)
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