A Little Girl's Struggle
I looked out the paned door as I was humming the song, Yearn, that played in the background. I thanked God for my aunt and that she is able to celebrate her birthday today. I saw the trees' images reflecting all along the bank of our pond. The green grass was shimmering from the dew and the bright light of the sun was peeking over the horizon. I was flooded with memories...a little girl staring at pictures of her (my aunt) on the shelf, visits in Jackson, TN, a little silver stick-shift car, a foster mom, a changed a heart, a giver...a ragged pillow with Annie on it. And it was there I was reminded...
I knew this little girl once. She was full of life and energy. Innocent. Her only concerns were dolls, school, and whatever the moment brought. She was confident. Her parents, though divorced, were both supportive and encouraged her to be herself, work hard, and love others. She was carefree-just living life.
However, all that seemed to change one day. She fell asleep playing Super Mario Bros. part II. She was awakened by a touch. She pretended to stay asleep, surely this was a dream? A racing heart. Fear unimaginable. She held tightly to her pillow. A pillow that for years would be her comfort. Her rescue. Her tear catcher. Annie was an orphan who eventually had a rescuer. Who would hers be? When would it ever stop?
The little innocent girl was now plagued with guilt, fear, aloneness...She wore a smile on through upper elementary school, junior high, and high school. While surrounded by others, she was alone. Alone in her battles. At church, she watched the applause as a man was praised for singing and good works... Alone...only she knew the truth, and she was Silent. Scared. Guilty.
She seemed to crave male attention. Her heart would flutter when told she was beautiful or a male in the hallway at school noticed her. Vulnerable. Fragile. Unsure Identity. Where is the rescuer? Would it be him?
Around the age of 12 or 13 she got intertwined in a 3-4 yr relationship that would only add more guilt, internal struggle, and heart ache. But she told. She whispered the truth one night on the phone. For a moment she was strong. She wanted it to stop for good. The phone clicked. A few minutes later it rang again. I called your dad and told him. The words rang in her ears. Her heart pounded. Her mind raced...the stories started blurring...what was she going to say? She saw the headlights hit the driveway. She knew. She fled down the stairs, out the back door and got into the black Dodge that held her precious dad and his friend. There it was...the final end. A dad's revenge. Rage. Red eyes. A gun. Shaking hands. So she did the only thing she knew to do-be the rescuer. She lied. A tale of being startled by someone innocently closing the door. Oh...surely he will believe it and go home peacefully. This can't be happening. Fears of losing her dad to a prison sentence and crushing her mom with the weight of finding out this way were heavy and real.
She went to school the next day with a smile. She walked the hallways of Nettleton High School...chatted with friends, put books in her locker, listened to teachers lecture. She often wondered why none of her teachers could see. She often saw them gathered in the hallway having little "chat" sessions about particular students. The chat sessions led to nothing positive. She had to fight one day as she overheard one those sessions. She wanted to step in the middle of the group and scream at the self-righteous and remind them that they may not have a clue what that student was dealing with. But she complied. Walked out of the door, made eye-contact with two of the teachers and smiled.
My journey of healing...surely you have figured out this is about me. My journey of healing would eventually begin around 11th grade. It began with an in-depth Bible study class at my church and some personal therapy. The Words of Christ pierced my heart as never before. They became more real and alive. I finally found my identity. It wasn't in my circumstance. It wasn't in a relationship with someone. It wasn't someone's opinion about me. It was in Christ, my Creator. My identity was defined and found in Him. The funny thing...when all this started making sense to me in walked this man. Peach shirt, light faded Levi jeans. Long hair with an earring. He walked through the door, stopped by the paneled wall in the small room at church and ran his fingers through his hair. Hmmm...in April, I will have been married to him 18 wonderful years!
Please know this was just a glimpse. I could write a book about the struggles of sexual abuse. I talk about it openly and frequently now. There is absolutely no way I could paint a clear picture or help anyone fully understand in this limited post. But for now, I just want to point out a few things:
1. Victims of abuse sometimes chose to be silent for a reason or many reasons. The emotions and struggles within the victim are complicated and can't be understood by people who have never experienced the entangled web.
2. Those of you who foolishly say, "If it were happening to my child, I would know." You are blinded. Perpetrators of abuse are manipulators. Some are really good at what they do. It crosses all social classes and races.
3. How can a God who loves a people let something like this happen to an innocent little girl who cried out to Him many nights? Again...it would take a book. Dealing with real questions regarding my faith have only sought to strengthen my love and dependance on Christ.
4. There are generally always red-flags to abuse. As an adult I finally told my mom the truth. It was very difficult and she had a pretty hard time hearing it. We have since talked about it and in hindsight she says she can remember things that were red-flags. We talked about them. But in the moment, when trust is abundant, they don't "feel" like red-flags. There is always a rational explanation. Am I advocating that everyone should be distrusting in a relationship? Absolutely not. Again...it would take a book! I am just saying do not ignore red flags. Just be aware.
5. Obviously, I was a shining gem to a perpetrator. I possessed the traits that abusers feed off of. I was also physically/emotionally abused by a step-mother and remember that 3-4 year relationship I mentioned earlier? According to him when he was in a drunken stupor, I was terrible. Would never amount to anything. I told you it would take a book. SO--fast-forward to healing and adult life. If I come across to you as arrogant, overly confident, distant in friendships, overly independent, too focused on the positive...just know that I am not proud of any of those traits. But sometimes when you have to survive, they are what you learn. I was determined NOT to be a victim of my circumstance. It was NOT going to determine who I was/am! I will be a work in progress until the day of my death. Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control are what I sincerely desire to reflect with my life.
6. Today, I am free. Free from shackles of guilt that once imprisoned me. Free to smile and it be real. Freedom that is found in Christ alone--not religion, ceremonies, sacred words, or in buildings.
7. The next time you find yourself (I am guilty too) of giving your opinion about someone's life, their attitude, or their circumstance--please remind yourself that you honestly do not have a clue. Just love others. Love doesn't always mean agree...well--there's another book.
8. I am proud to report that today and for the past several years I have two great step-parents!
9. In hindsight as an adult, yes-I wish I would have told. I still struggle with the nagging question: What if there were more-it wasn't just me? If so, they have been silent as well. So as an adult--I have chosen not to be silent. As many of you know I freely talk about it on occasion and can only hope that my experience can help another.
Have questions? I know when you read a quick account like this, all kinds of questions and emotions come up in your brain. I don't mind talking about it. Talking about it, writing about it...it is all part of the healing process...putting it under the rug--being in the room with me and acting like it does not exist when your mind is racing with questions or thoughts about it--that only reinforces the trend in our society to keep it quiet! I refuse to be a product of my circumstance.
I kneel quietly in front of the paned door. Tears of joy and strength streak my face. I raise my hands and say a pray of thankfulness for freedom and a source of true identity and perfect peace as the Revelation Song plays in the background.
I knew this little girl once. She was full of life and energy. Innocent. Her only concerns were dolls, school, and whatever the moment brought. She was confident. Her parents, though divorced, were both supportive and encouraged her to be herself, work hard, and love others. She was carefree-just living life.
However, all that seemed to change one day. She fell asleep playing Super Mario Bros. part II. She was awakened by a touch. She pretended to stay asleep, surely this was a dream? A racing heart. Fear unimaginable. She held tightly to her pillow. A pillow that for years would be her comfort. Her rescue. Her tear catcher. Annie was an orphan who eventually had a rescuer. Who would hers be? When would it ever stop?
The little innocent girl was now plagued with guilt, fear, aloneness...She wore a smile on through upper elementary school, junior high, and high school. While surrounded by others, she was alone. Alone in her battles. At church, she watched the applause as a man was praised for singing and good works... Alone...only she knew the truth, and she was Silent. Scared. Guilty.
She seemed to crave male attention. Her heart would flutter when told she was beautiful or a male in the hallway at school noticed her. Vulnerable. Fragile. Unsure Identity. Where is the rescuer? Would it be him?
Around the age of 12 or 13 she got intertwined in a 3-4 yr relationship that would only add more guilt, internal struggle, and heart ache. But she told. She whispered the truth one night on the phone. For a moment she was strong. She wanted it to stop for good. The phone clicked. A few minutes later it rang again. I called your dad and told him. The words rang in her ears. Her heart pounded. Her mind raced...the stories started blurring...what was she going to say? She saw the headlights hit the driveway. She knew. She fled down the stairs, out the back door and got into the black Dodge that held her precious dad and his friend. There it was...the final end. A dad's revenge. Rage. Red eyes. A gun. Shaking hands. So she did the only thing she knew to do-be the rescuer. She lied. A tale of being startled by someone innocently closing the door. Oh...surely he will believe it and go home peacefully. This can't be happening. Fears of losing her dad to a prison sentence and crushing her mom with the weight of finding out this way were heavy and real.
She went to school the next day with a smile. She walked the hallways of Nettleton High School...chatted with friends, put books in her locker, listened to teachers lecture. She often wondered why none of her teachers could see. She often saw them gathered in the hallway having little "chat" sessions about particular students. The chat sessions led to nothing positive. She had to fight one day as she overheard one those sessions. She wanted to step in the middle of the group and scream at the self-righteous and remind them that they may not have a clue what that student was dealing with. But she complied. Walked out of the door, made eye-contact with two of the teachers and smiled.
My journey of healing...surely you have figured out this is about me. My journey of healing would eventually begin around 11th grade. It began with an in-depth Bible study class at my church and some personal therapy. The Words of Christ pierced my heart as never before. They became more real and alive. I finally found my identity. It wasn't in my circumstance. It wasn't in a relationship with someone. It wasn't someone's opinion about me. It was in Christ, my Creator. My identity was defined and found in Him. The funny thing...when all this started making sense to me in walked this man. Peach shirt, light faded Levi jeans. Long hair with an earring. He walked through the door, stopped by the paneled wall in the small room at church and ran his fingers through his hair. Hmmm...in April, I will have been married to him 18 wonderful years!
Please know this was just a glimpse. I could write a book about the struggles of sexual abuse. I talk about it openly and frequently now. There is absolutely no way I could paint a clear picture or help anyone fully understand in this limited post. But for now, I just want to point out a few things:
1. Victims of abuse sometimes chose to be silent for a reason or many reasons. The emotions and struggles within the victim are complicated and can't be understood by people who have never experienced the entangled web.
2. Those of you who foolishly say, "If it were happening to my child, I would know." You are blinded. Perpetrators of abuse are manipulators. Some are really good at what they do. It crosses all social classes and races.
3. How can a God who loves a people let something like this happen to an innocent little girl who cried out to Him many nights? Again...it would take a book. Dealing with real questions regarding my faith have only sought to strengthen my love and dependance on Christ.
4. There are generally always red-flags to abuse. As an adult I finally told my mom the truth. It was very difficult and she had a pretty hard time hearing it. We have since talked about it and in hindsight she says she can remember things that were red-flags. We talked about them. But in the moment, when trust is abundant, they don't "feel" like red-flags. There is always a rational explanation. Am I advocating that everyone should be distrusting in a relationship? Absolutely not. Again...it would take a book! I am just saying do not ignore red flags. Just be aware.
5. Obviously, I was a shining gem to a perpetrator. I possessed the traits that abusers feed off of. I was also physically/emotionally abused by a step-mother and remember that 3-4 year relationship I mentioned earlier? According to him when he was in a drunken stupor, I was terrible. Would never amount to anything. I told you it would take a book. SO--fast-forward to healing and adult life. If I come across to you as arrogant, overly confident, distant in friendships, overly independent, too focused on the positive...just know that I am not proud of any of those traits. But sometimes when you have to survive, they are what you learn. I was determined NOT to be a victim of my circumstance. It was NOT going to determine who I was/am! I will be a work in progress until the day of my death. Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control are what I sincerely desire to reflect with my life.
6. Today, I am free. Free from shackles of guilt that once imprisoned me. Free to smile and it be real. Freedom that is found in Christ alone--not religion, ceremonies, sacred words, or in buildings.
7. The next time you find yourself (I am guilty too) of giving your opinion about someone's life, their attitude, or their circumstance--please remind yourself that you honestly do not have a clue. Just love others. Love doesn't always mean agree...well--there's another book.
8. I am proud to report that today and for the past several years I have two great step-parents!
9. In hindsight as an adult, yes-I wish I would have told. I still struggle with the nagging question: What if there were more-it wasn't just me? If so, they have been silent as well. So as an adult--I have chosen not to be silent. As many of you know I freely talk about it on occasion and can only hope that my experience can help another.
Have questions? I know when you read a quick account like this, all kinds of questions and emotions come up in your brain. I don't mind talking about it. Talking about it, writing about it...it is all part of the healing process...putting it under the rug--being in the room with me and acting like it does not exist when your mind is racing with questions or thoughts about it--that only reinforces the trend in our society to keep it quiet! I refuse to be a product of my circumstance.
I kneel quietly in front of the paned door. Tears of joy and strength streak my face. I raise my hands and say a pray of thankfulness for freedom and a source of true identity and perfect peace as the Revelation Song plays in the background.
Live a Meaningful Life!
Comments
Post a Comment