"I Did It!"

(an encore post by Cecil Murphey)

"I did it!" He yelled into the phone. "I did it! I got help!"

I met him nearly twenty years ago when I lived in Louisville, Kentucky. I had talked to him about abuse—which I had just begun to deal with. He didn't say anything then, but something about the way he responded made me think he had probably been victimized.

After I moved back to Atlanta, he called me three or four times a year. He admitted he had been abused but insisted it was too hard to ask for help. "I feel weak and ashamed. Men aren't supposed to feel that way."

"Maybe not," I said, "but we do. And we'll stay weak and confused until we get help." He never wanted to talk much but he'd always say, "You're a friend. You give me hope."

He is in therapy and will soon join a group of other survivors of sexual assault.

"Why did I wait so long?" he asked.

The only answer I could give him—and I think it's true—was this: You weren't ready to be healed.

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.)

Lonely All the Time

(This post comes from John Joseph.)

One of the first books I read in my recovery was Lonely All The Time: Recognizing, Understanding, and Overcoming Sex Addiction, for Addicts and Co-dependents by Gregory Crow, Ralph Earle and Kevin Osborn (Naperville: Bennett Books Ltd. 1989). It was the first book that helped me identify the feeling I carried inside that drove me to unwanted behavior and attractions. For the first time I felt that someone understands me. That feeling gave me just enough hope to carry on. 

Since that time I’ve read many books on abuse, addiction, and recovery. Some were more helpful than others, but my hope of healing has been fueled be each book in one way or the other. Reading on recovery topics is actually called bibliotherapy and is a valid path to our healing. Without a strong desire to be healed and some drive toward digging it out for myself by reading, I know that I wouldn’t be as far along in my journey as I am now. I am thankful for the counselors, psychiatrists, and authors who write on abuse-related topics for our benefit.

The feeling that I am lonely inside is a remnant of the abuse I suffered. The secretive nature of childhood abuse cut me off inside from others who loved me because I carried the secret shame of what was happening to me. It formed my psyche in such a way as to keep a safe distance from people and it actually taught me to reject their love.

As I read I come to a deeper understanding that this feeling lies to me and that I should reject it, opening my mind, heart, and arms to genuine love in my life.

Hope in Despair

(This post comes from John Joseph.)

When it comes to recovering from childhood sexual abuse, hope is essential. Without it, there’s no chance of holding on until things get better.

Hope is an anchor tossed into the future to help us get there. Hope is the soul’s seed that grows the healthy crops of emotional wholeness. We all need hope, especially survivors.

At times, hope seems elusive. As a recovering person, I've gone through many seasons of outright despondency. I can’t count how many times my future seemed so dark and empty that I found myself depleted and discouraged. That's when my addictions can kick in, which leads me deeper into gloom and self-loathing. The vicious cycle of hopelessness, despair, and acting out fuels more vicious cycles.

As a survivor, I tend to turn small problems into catastrophes. The future can be habitually in a state of calamity in my mind, and remembering hope is one of the greatest tools I’ve found to bring me out of it.

Hope rises to the surface of my soul when I take a few moments to meditate on the current good in my life. It settles me down again in a way that nothing else can. My goal is to learn how to live in hope every day.

Special Announcement from Cecil Murphey

Today I learned that the Kindle version of my book When a Man You Love Was Abused is available for $1.99 through Amazon. The special will run through next Wednesday, July 27. If you know someone who loves a man who was abused, or if you know a man who was abused, tell them about this offer.

This Saturday, July 23, in Grand Haven, Michigan, I will be involved in an important seminar to help those who have been abused and those who love people who have been abused.

Main sessions include: I Ought to Be Healed by Now and The Lies We Believe.

Breakout sessions include: When a Man You Love Was Abused, When a Woman You Love Was Abused, and Finding Hope in the Heartache.

For more details on the When Someone You Love Was Abused seminar, click here.

Small (by Gary Roe)

I invited Gary Roe to write several blogs. He also tells his story in my book When a Man You Love Was Abused.

I felt small growing up. I was told I was small. I was treated as if I were small. I was used like I was small. . .like I was nothing. . .like I was less than human.

I still feel small a lot. I feel small when I face conflict. I feel small when I don’t know what to do. I feel small when I sense others trying to take advantage of me. I was taught to feel small, so they could use me more easily.

Slowly, I am learning who I really am. God thought of me. God wanted me. Jesus Christ died and rose for me. He made me in my mother’s womb. He protected my life. He opened my heart to Him. He is preparing a place for me and me for that place. The life I live is a miracle.

I want to live big.

A Second Chance

He signed his email Tim T.

I have a second chance. Maybe I always had it but didn't know. I can now talk about what happened to me, and I have three friends who were also abused. We knew each other for maybe five years before I ever said anything. When I told them, I thought they might stop hanging with me, but they didn't. Ronnie said, "The same thing happened to me." The other two, who are twins, had been abused for years by an uncle.

That's why I have a second chance. I'm with others who know what it's like to hurt and have feelings that we can't talk about to other people.

Ronnie is one of the pastors in a large church. He wants to start a group for people like us.

Hyam's Comment

The post below came as a comment yesterday. It is powerful (and painful) and I felt it deserved to be read more widely and carefully.

I admire Hyam for not giving up. Despite the painful rejections from churches, clergy, and congregations, he has finally found people who accept him.

I've been in that boat. I had a public disclosure done in two small communities in which I lived. I have had people shuffle their kids to the other side of pews when I sat down beside them. I have had deacons shadow me whenever I was in the building.

When my wife (now ex) got a restraining order against me rather than talk about our issues, I had to return to my home province and thought I could find some measure of peace in a church that had known me for several years, and who often referred to me as a son.

I was mistaken, and a few weeks later, the pastor sat me down (at a mall food court) to tell me that I was no longer welcome because his first obligation was his congregation and I wasn't a part of it.

It wasn't the first church or religious organization to turn their back, but it hurt the most.

It took me a few more years to find another church. Even there, we had many meetings in the beginning... they asked me to stop coming for a while, and ironed out a bunch of rules and regulations that were supposedly for the "good of the community". The board discussed me like I wasn't really a person, but more of an issue that had to be "dealt with".

But things have changed. I have grown more humble in the situation, and they have grown more gracious. (it didn't hurt that the head pastor left, and a much more reasonable man took his place). Last Christmas, I was even a soloist in their choir...

Things can change, and some hearts (and some Christians) can learn, with time, to look past who you used to be and learn to see who you are. Don't give up. The body of Christ needs you just as much as it needs anyone else.

Max's Story

(By Max Haskett)

My name is Max R. Haskett. I'm a successful and strongly healed survivor of childhood sexual abuse. I'm 65 years old, having done my surviving through the decades when sexual abuse healing wasn't an open topic. I was—and am— passionate about healing, which led me into the counseling profession as a marriage and family therapist.

I was tenacious about finding solutions and answers to my confusions. I attended every seminar, lecture, and workshop I could find. I read any book that might have a solution. I talked with thousands of people, most of whom were also struggling to heal. I found the 12-step world to be an enormous help, especially the groups called SIA (Survivors of Incest Anonymous) and ACA (Adult Children of Alcoholics). I found Cecil Murphey's book When A Man You Love Was Abused to be especially accurate in describing a male's feelings of being abused. It's excellent.

I offer three specific words to boys and men seeking guidance into their personal healing: hope, safety, and shame-free. Specially trained therapists are quite strongly clear about how to help men and women heal from the pain of sexual abuse. We now have sufficient and adequate answers, solutions, and guidance for healing.

From my perspective, I believe the experience of safety is fundamental to the possibility of telling the pain. To me, offering someone safety is the same thing as offering them God's Grace. To whatever level of felt safety, the person can risk the sharing of their painful truth. The third word I offer is shame-free. When listening to someone share their pain, the spirit of shame-free is the environment needed for healing. Hope exists when someone feels safe and is treated shame-free in response.

Decades of searching have indeed taught us a path to healing. I have great respect for Cec for his leadership in opening the channels of healing to our people that have to heal from their pain. Thank you, Cec.

Fear

(By Gary Roe)

One of the most prevalent internal demons that I struggle with is fear. My fear equals a lack of safety. Most of the time, I simply do not feel safe. There are many nights when I wake up shaking, sweating, and terrified. I have to breathe deeply and pray, asking God to reassure me that it is not happening again.

I am tired of living in fear. I am tired of worrying about everything. If I really track all the things I worry about, I begin to get a sobering picture about where my mind can run off to. Sometimes I just talk to myself out loud, expressing what I am worried or fearful of. Thankfully, I often smile afterward, because it sounds so ridiculous. And sometimes there comes the nagging thought, Yeah, but it happened before, lots of times. And it could happen again.

It is ugly, and I am tired of it. The feelings are real, and I cannot stop them from coming. I must acknowledge them, because they are already there. I do not have to let them rule. At any point, I have a choice: I can cry out to God and trust Him (and ask for the ability to trust Him) or I can choose to continue down the endless road of fear.

I am learning that when I live in fear, I am not fully present to the ones I love. I am living inside my head. Things have become about me and about my survival. And it does feel like survival. I want to break out of that and really love those around me at any given moment.

I'm reminded that on the night before His crucifixion, Jesus told His disciples “Peace I leave with you. My peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled. Do not be afraid" (John 14:27). The goal is not to not be afraid. The goal is, when I find myself in fear, to look to Him and trust Him that, over time, I will experience His peace, His safety.

Adam's Testimony

(By Adam Piatt)

I wish I had kept a diary. As time passes, the memories fade and I forget important things and lose details. But this much is clear: For a long time I knew I was different.

Because of my attraction to men, I acted on those feelings in my early twenties. I began to live as a gay man. I thought I had found freedom, but my lifestyle became a prison. I searched for love and companionship. I didn't find it. Instead my life spiraled out of control. I drank too much; I tried different drugs. Nothing satisfied me. I finally "came out" to family and friends and received mixed reactions. My family reacted with shock, anger, and disgust. Their attitude drove me further into the gay lifestyle. My parents asked me to speak to a minister they knew. With apprehension I agreed. I went to him and said, "I don't want to change. This is the path I feel I should be on."

He talked and quoted a few Bible verses. Finally he said, "There is no hope for you." He said I was to tell my parents that I was a lost cause.

In the parking lot I cried because I believed him. How could God love a lost cause like me?

Time passed and my wounds of rejection healed. I wanted a life-long partner and I settled for a string of relationships. As I learned, not many gay relationships last. They are riddled with deception, lies, and infidelity.

I finally met someone and we stayed together for six years. I had made a promise that I wouldn't leave him. "No matter what, this relationship will last. This is the one."

At my parents' request I started to attend a different church with them. I went a few times and listened to the conservative minister. To my amazement, I kept going back.

I assumed that because I was an ethical person, I would go to heaven. The pastor's sermons forced me to question whether that was true. His messages made me uncertain about myself and about heaven. I faced much inner fighting, many tears, and difficult questions. I wasn't happy and I didn't know what to do. "Why, God, why won't you let me be happy?"

My six-year relationship started to go wrong. My boyfriend and I argued—constantly it seemed. "And I'm going to hell," I told myself.

I kept returning to that church and I listened to the messages—even when I didn't want to hear.

Finally, unable to fight the inner turmoil, I knelt beside my bed and prayed. "God, I am sorry. I have sinned." The tears came. I didn't know I could cry so much and so long. That night I accepted Jesus Christ as my Savior. And I didn't know I could feel such wonderful, freeing relief.

I called my cousin, who had never stopped praying for me. She asked others to pray—people I didn't know. I told my parents next because they also had never given up on God changing me.

Finally, and with great hesitancy, I told my pastor. As I talked, I shed more tears—a lot of tears. I had hesitated because I was afraid he wouldn't want me to return to the church.

He listened and accepted me. He is still my pastor.

Since then, I have made many mistakes. I fall, but through the power of Jesus Christ I get back up.

Keep Going

At a time I was going through a particularly painful period in my own inner healing, I read John Bunyon's classic allegory Pilgrim's Progress. Near the end of book one, the pilgrim, Christian, must cross the river (death) to enter into the celestial city. He's terrified, cries out, and wants to turn back. One of his companions says, "You must go through, or you cannot come into the gate."[1]

Christian's other companion, Hopeful, stays with him and urges him on, telling him that even though it seems as if he might drown, he won't. "Be of good cheer, my brother; I feel the bottom, and it is good,"[2] he says. Because of Hopeful, Christian makes it to the other side safely. When he gets there, he realizes he was not in any real danger, but that fear had made him want to turn back.

I understood. I had been at the place of despair. I hurt. As I daily opened myself to those painful memories of childhood I wanted to give up. I prayed, "God, is it worth the pain?" Some days I didn't feel I could keep going.

That section of Bunyon's book gave me courage to keep going. I felt as if God whispered, "Don't give up. Keep going forward." I stayed with the pain and I discovered, as Bunyon's character did, that it was solid on the bottom and I wouldn't drown.
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[1]London: Thomas Nelson, undated, p.165.
[2] ibid