Having a Terrible Time

This post is from Roger Mann.

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Around certain meaningful dates, I’ve experienced times of intense increase in same-sex attraction (SSA) and desires to binge on pornography and masturbation. For me, I finally realized that the fantasies, memories, and desires were deep down my own boy inside wanting to make a different outcome than what actually occurred back then. It was like I was trying to re-write history— my sexual history with my father and others.

It was bad back then. But I didn't understand how bad. It was all new and arousing in ways I’d never dreamed of, but at the same time very unsatisfying. And as I got older and more aware of what kinds of things could have happened, I began to be drawn into fantasy of what might have been had this or that just happened. It fed a porn and masturbation binge time and time again.

Sometimes it led to actually acting out. The thing is, even when I acted out and the situation should have been perfect, there was always something inside me that said, “NO, this is not who you are." And the witness of the truth of that ruined it as it should have.

As I said, it was a terrible time. Finally, I began seeing that it was just my mind desperately wanting a different end—a fantasy relationship with my father. Or later with another my own age. And as I got older, with someone even younger than me. Perhaps it was in an effort to reverse roles to make it end differently that way.

I wanted the love, acceptance, and affirmation that I never got. I got sex from Dad, but nothing more. For the rest of my life I had been willing to trade my body for that. But that's not how one gets that, and that's not who we should look to in order to obtain it.

For me, God is the only one who gives unconditional love with no strings attached and none needed. It took me way too long to learn that, and I left a wake of destruction trying to find it in all the wrong places.

Where Trust Starts

When I felt safe, I was ready to face the pain of the past. But part of that sense of safety stayed at bay until I was able to trust myself—to believe I was worthwhile and trustworthy.

In several blog posts over the years I’ve written about trusting others, and that’s a big issue for most of us. I’ve discovered that trust issues start with ourselves. Until I sensed I was loved, truly loved, I felt worthless and driven to prove my value to myself.

Healing begins as an inside job. Once we’re able to accept ourselves and feel some level of self-compassion and know we’re worthwhile, we can accept the affirmations and care from others.

My wife and others were expressing their feelings of acceptance and affection for years, and yet, deep inside, I felt they were conditional: as long as I met their standards for my behavior, I was all right.

Trust does begin within, but knowing we’re loved by others sets up belief.

Now I know. I’m all right. I am a creation of God and loved by him.

Who I Am and What I Do

In the previous blog I mentioned I began to focus on my childhood only after I felt loved for being who I was.

As a pastor, I felt loved and accepted by most members, but I assumed it was conditional—based on my performance. It might have seemed a safe environment, and perhaps it was. But when I first faced my memories, I asked myself this question: If I didn’t do those good things for members of the congregation, would they still love me?

A few months after I left the ministry to write full time, I finally voiced that question to my wife, Shirley. She laughed. “That’s a distorted viewpoint. You are kind and caring. That’s part of who you are. You may not trust your motives, but people know who you are. You can’t hide yourself indefinitely.”

My big lesson from that was that I had been safe for a long time, but until I accepted that reality, insecurity and uncertainty troubled me.

Who I am and what I do.

That matters most.

Why the Memories and Flashbacks Now? (Part 1 of 3)

A few years ago I read a fascinating master’s thesis about men who faced their childhood abuse in what we call middle age—late 30s to early 50s.

Why then? I don’t know all the reasons, but I’m among those middle-aged types. At age 51, the reality of my childhood broke through—and it was a painful time for me. For days I couldn’t get past flashbacks and vivid memories.

Why did it take me so long to face the ordeal and the pain of those early years? The most satisfying answer I’ve found is that it didn’t happen until I felt safe. I’d been married to a caring woman for nearly 30 years. Although I use the term safe, another way to express it is that I finally understood I was loved for who I was and not for what I said or did.

For most of those years, I had been an ordained minister and heavily involved in others’ lives. On some kind of unconscious level, I believed that if I behaved kindly and warmly, I’d be loved and accepted. That may be true, but it also meant I worked to earn that kind of acceptance.

When I finally grasped that I was loved for who I was without conditions or qualifications, I was ready to face my past.

How about you?

When did you face your abusive past?

I Deserve Compassion

I can now say the words, “I deserve compassion,” but it took me a long time to admit that. For years, I tried to be self-loving and self-forgiving, but a voice in the back of my head whispered, “You know all the wrong things you did. You’ve earned your pain.”

In one sense, of course, none of us merits anything good in life. (That sentence reveals my theological basis of everyone being a sinner.) What I failed to understand is that God loved me and forgave me. Once I truly accepted divine forgiveness, that led me to forgive others and feel compassionate toward others. Why couldn’t I love and befriend Cec the same way?

Although the process I went through is too complex to relate, for me, it came down to this. I didn’t warrant compassion until I saw myself as a beloved child of God. If that was true, I didn’t have to prove anything or do anything to make myself lovable.

I have three children and I love them very much. If I look at their lives, I can easily point to their flaws or take note of the ways they disappointed me. Instead, I knew I loved them and thereby I accept each of them as they are.

The hardest words I recall saying to myself were these: “I am loveable.” Although I said them aloud to myself daily, for almost a month I wanted to add, “because I . . .” and list my good deeds. Or I’d have to fight myself by adding, “But look at . . .”

I know I’m loved and worth loving.

I’m loveable;

I can show myself compassion.

My Name Is Joseph #1

Whenever another man bares his soul and writes about the depths of his pain and his journey into healing, I'm deeply touched. The post that follows along with two others came from the same man.

Thank you, Joseph, for your willingness to open your heart to the rest of us.

Please note that Joseph speaks about the help of a trained counselor. Some of us took different paths toward healing, but we had someone there for us—not always a professional. We didn't do it alone.

     

    --Cec

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My name is Joseph. After being a widower for 2 years, I made an appointment with a counselor.

Living alone in my house with a computer brought all kinds of old lusts and memories that called me to surf the net. I needed help. My secrets went back to when I was five years old and a boy a little bigger than I wanted to play cow, and he had me be the cow. I have a vague memory of his crawling onto my back.

The other secrets began the summer I turned 17. A same-sex event, but for the first time in my life I felt wanted. I never told anyone—not even my wife who loved me unconditionally and would have loved me no matter what I confessed to her. Instead, I built walls.

My wife died in Oct. 2010. In January 2013, I met with the counselor for the first time, determining beforehand that I would trust him and puke it all out. It has been a life-changing experience. I would still be in my prison of the past if I had not talked to a man about what happened to me.

If you think it will help, you’re welcomed to post it under the name Joseph.

Shattering the Silence

"I like the title of your blog—shattering the silence. I wish I had done that earlier." His name is Matt Phillips and he attended a prestigious boarding school for boys. Mark's dorm monitor, two years his senior, befriended the boy. Mark went into detail about the things that happened before the sexual abuse began.

Matt wondered if he was the only boy abused by the dorm monitor. "I didn't ask because I was afraid that if I was the only one, I'd be mocked and picked on by my peers."

Just before his last year in boarding school, two years after the abuser had graduated, Matt told his parents. They were shocked, but they believed him. "I didn't know how much Mom and Dad loved me until then," he said.

Matt shattered the silence, and it was a brave thing to do. I want more men to take such courageous action.

Relationships?

I wonder how many men have written to me about their short-term relationships. They speak of anger, distrust, fear, and other significant issues.

I spoke to a man after a meeting in Grand Rapids. With tears in his eyes, he asked, "Will I ever find someone who loves me no matter what?"

I wish I could have yelled, "Certainly! Yes!"

He's suspicious of people and said it was a big risk for him to talk to me. "But you don't know my name and you'll never see me again, so I guess you're safe."

That's when tears came to my eyes. I understood his inability to trust, although his issue was certainly deeper than the matter of trust. As we talked he told me about his abuse and then hurried on to say that he had been in six relationships in less than two years. "At first, I was sure each one would last. I wanted each one to last—I really did."

"What happened?" I asked.

He shrugged. "They let me down. They betrayed me and told lies about me." He went into detail about his last affair. He wasn't able to acknowledge anything as being his fault. He was always the victim.

I could think of many things to say, and I started with a few suggestions. Occasionally he nodded; a few times he smiled. But whenever I paused, he said, "Yes, that's true, but. . . "

Finally I stopped. I had been speaking about practical things he could do but I realized that my words weren't what he needed. "May I hug you?" I asked.

He nodded and I warmly embraced him and held him for several seconds. "You don't need instructions," I said. "You need to feel loved and cared for, don't you?"

He pulled away, mumbled his thanks, and hurried away.

He was right: I didn't know his name. Most likely I'll never see him again. That evening I put him on my daily prayer list. I didn't have a name but I had a memory of a man with tears in his eyes. I've been praying for him daily for more than four months. I don't intend to stop praying.

I can't do anything for him.

But God can.

And God can use other people in his life. I wish I were able to be one of them.

An Emotional Roller Coaster

(This post comes from Anonymous.)

I'm halfway through reading your book, When a Man You Love Was Abused. After more than 25 years of marriage, my husband left me for his girlfriend.

Last year I met a man and he caught my eye right from the start, and I could say it was love at first sight. We started going out, and I knew there was something different about him.

We have been on an emotional roller coaster ride ever since. I thought there was something wrong with me. My husband hadn't wanted to have sex with me and this new man didn't want any form of intimacy. If I tried to get close to this new man, he pulled away. He showed no emotion and I didn't know if he had feelings for me or not.

I told him over and over that he lived in a shell and that if we were going to keep going out, he needed to tell me why. He finally told me he had been sexually abused as a child. His words shocked me.

I had about 100 reasons going through my mind, but that definitely wasn't one of them. So I went online because I wanted to understand. That's when I found your book.

I have told him, "I believe God wanted us to meet, because he knew we could both help each other heal." I want to stand beside him and help him.

I told him I loved him unconditionally and I asked nothing in return. I said I would help him if he wants me to. Most of all, I wanted him to know that I accept him for who he is.

He bought a copy of the book for himself and says he is ready to heal. I hope he is and I also hope he asks for my help.

In a lot of the ways he acts like the things you have outlined in your book. I just wanted to let you know and to thank you for your book. It's helping me see why he is who he is.

--Anonymous

Love Yourself

I picked up a book a few weeks ago that proposed 75 things men could do to find healing from the pain of childhood abuse. Some of the actions and activities were practical. Some. But not many.

It wasn't that any of the suggestions were wrong; they were just too simplistic. For example, the title of number 17 was "Love Yourself."

I agree that's wonderful and much needed advice. What the author didn't say in the next two pages, however, was how to make self-love happen.

How do I learn to love myself? How does anyone?

Answer: I don't know.

The only answer I know comes from my own experience. Two people loved me without any demands on my behavior. The first was Shirley, my wife, and my friend David was the second.

They loved me and accepted me, even though I felt damaged and in pain. Neither of them insisted I go through a course of self-improvement or change my ways.

They simply loved me. That was the first half of the solution.

The second half was that I felt loved by them.

Once I sensed their irrefutable love, I was able to love that small, injured boy who lived inside me.

So it's true: If you want to be healed, love yourself. But don't tell anyone unless you're first willing to express that unrestricted love.

Didn't Feel Loved

(By Anonymous)

I heard you say that you didn't feel loved and I started to cry. My Dad screamed at me all the time, "I hate you! I wish you'd never been born!" Most days I feel no good and useless.

My wife knows about the man who molested me and she tries to help me. Maybe I'm just slow, but it's taking a long time, but I think I'm going to make it.

My wife tells me every day that she loves me. No one said to me before.

Please don't use my name.