Shh! Why I Overshare.

The other day I wrote about being sexually abused as a child. And while the outpouring of support from most friends and family were amazing, I couldn't stop thinking about the topic. Not thinking about it in regards to my personal experience (although of course I am but I'm doing better than I was) but thinking about in regards to actually discussing the topic at all. Because it is such a taboo subject. 

Had I said "My mother went back to my abuser" it wouldn't have been nearly as scandalous as "My mother went back to my sexual abuser." And because I suffer from anxiety, I second guess myself forever in regards to everything. Maybe I shouldn't have shared this one. Maybe I should have worded it different. Maybe I should take the post down. But that's the problem with these types of things. People really truly believe we shouldn't talk about it. They ask why I have to "overshare" and talk about my problems with the whole world. People I work with, go to church with, people I know from my childrens schools. Is this really what I want them reading about me and my family? And my honest answer is no. No I don't want everyone in the world to know my business. It's embarrassing. It gives me stress hives. But it's something I feel called to do. Maybe that sounds prideful or pompous, I don't know. But every time I go back and forth about publishing something that I know will rock the boat, I always ask myself; Would this have helped me in any way as a survivor of abuse. And if the answer is 'Yes' or even a soft 'Possibly' then I share. 

I truly feel that because these topics aren't discussed in polite company so to speak, survivors are never able to fully heal. Because the truth is, it shouldn't be embarrassing to me. It shouldn't freak me out. I didn't do anything bad. I had something bad happen to me. And I'm still trying to heal from that almost 30 years later. And part of the reason is because for 30 years, society made me feel that these are secrets best kept to myself. That nobody wanted or needed to hear about this typs of stuff. That it was in the past and I should let it go. I was made to feel quilty for talking about something that was done to me. And that's not okay. Society doesn't get to dictate how a survivor can "politely" heal. 

Healing is gritty and scary and hard. Nobody should ever be made to feel less of a person for not being polite in their process. 

So okay, maybe it makes you feel uncomfortable. Maybe you don't think it's professional. Maybe you think I'm being dramatic. And that's okay. If that's how you feel, I truly understand. Probably more than you yourself understand. But if I can help or comfort just one person, even the tiniest bit by talking about these things, then I will continue to do so. No matter how uncomfortable it makes you or how embarrassed it makes me.

So let me share this last little tidbit on why I talk about the things I do.

Statistically, 1 in 5 girls and 1 in 20 boys are victims of child sexual abuse. 

I have over 300 Facebook friends. And all of my posts on this album are public and can be and have been shared by people with 100's of their own friends. I'll let you do the math on the chances that if you aren't a victim yourself, you know one. 

So yeah. I'm going to keep "oversharing."

Not Today

"My mother went back to my sexual abuser."

Those words have the ability to strike people speechless. And saying those words out loud never fails to make my stomach clench and my heart stutter. 

I was 6 years old the day that the cops showed up at our door and I thought the nightmare was at an end. I was 7 years old the day I came home from my new school 100's of miles away from that house of horror and my nightmare was sitting on our couch. And for about 6 months my little world was once again filled with tummy aches and whispers and downcast eyes. She had promised. "He's not going to do that anymore, you don't have to worry." And she was half right. He didn't do it again. But oh how I worried. So much. Every night. Every day. Every time he looked at me. 

And I didn't just worry about being abused again. Oh no. You see, I was a child who needed to be loved. I was a child who had been conditioned to please. So while I was scared to death that he was going to touch me again, I also worried because I felt so much guilt for all of the "inconvenience" I had created. We had to move to another state. We had to live in a home for single mothers. My mother had to work multiple jobs just to put government issued cheese and peanut butter on our table. She had to leave us all the time with sitters who were not nice. And when he came back, he was sure to let me know how much hassle I had caused him. The arrest. The jail. His reputation. I felt horrible.  I felt embarrassed.  But above all, I felt guilt. Guilt for my mom, him, my brothers. I did this. I caused this. I wasn't the one who told, no I knew better than that. But once those cops showed up I thought it was safe. I knew lies were bad so I told the truth. I showed them and told them where he hurt me. I thought I was doing the right thing! But it didn't matter. Somehow, it didn't matter. He was let go and he got to come back to us. And the new life that we had started far away was once again, focused around him. 

And even at 7, I was old enough to be mad. Even with all of those other feelings, I was seething mad inside. Mad at everyone and everything. Why did he come back? How'd he find us? Who told him? Mom? Why did she tell him? Why did she let him come back? I was too young at the time to understand the psychological reasons for why she did what she did. To understand abused women and the hold their abusers have on them. Too young to understand her demons. At 7, and for the next 20+ years really, all I knew was that I had started to feel safe and happy and my mom took that away. 

My heart had forgiven him long ago. I learned that evil doesn't need a reason. I learned that some people can never be explained and that to try and understand those people would just lead to more pain and heartache. So eventually, after years and years of prayer, I was able to forgive him. Not for him but for me. But apparently, forgiving her was harder than I thought. Because you see, I love my momma. We've spent years building a relationship as adults. I am proud of the woman she has become today. Of the grandma she is to her grandchildren. But the 7 year old deep down inside me has yet to forgive her completely apparently. And I only discovered this when she told me how angry she got the other day over a woman bringing her childs abuser to a ball game that her child was at. The look of anger and disbelief and absolute disgust on my mothers face while telling me this story was exactly the face that people give me when I share that my mother went back to the man who abused me. It is the exact face and reaction that is completely right and normal when someone hears such an absolutely atrocious thing. 

And yet... and yet she did it too. Almost 3 decades ago. And by doing so caused as much, if not more confusion and trauma to that little girl than the actual abuse did. My mother chose the man who hurt me, over me. And that hurts me now more than anything. Even knowing the reasoning. Even knowing why. It still hurts. And it probably always will. But I am choosing to move on as much as I can. I choose to push that aside and remind myself that the mother I have today is not the same mother I had then. I don't know that I will ever fully forgive or trust my mother like I truly want to. But I'll keep trying. Because I am an adult. But I am also an adult who is a survivor of abuse. I am also an adult who suffers from PTSD, depression, and anxiety. 

So when I hear these stories of these little ones whose parents are choosing themselves over their child, be it an abusive partner, a drug, or even their own need to make their ex suffer, I have to fight an internal battle. I have to work through my own demons and pain. I have to forgive all over again. And to be honest, I hate it. I hate being the bigger person. I hate forgiving those who hurt me. I hate being loving and Christ like towards those who are hurting others, especially children. But I must. Because if I don't, the darkness and the demons will win. So I work through it, just as I will this time. Eventually.  But I'm not going to be happy about it. I'm not going to be graceful about it. I'm not going to be kind and loving and worried about saving other people's feelings more than my own. At least not yet. Maybe one day. But today, I need to be selfish. I need to say how I feel. I need to share my pain so that I can heal. And if that is too much for some, then I do apologize. To an extent. But I won't ask your forgiveness. Not today. Today on behalf of that little 7 year old girl inside of me who will always be a part of me, and on behalf of all of the little ones today who are going through their own nightmares, today I want you to feel the guilt. I want those who are choosing themselves over their children, to be ashamed. I want those adults who are more concerned with their own happiness and their own fix, drug or human, than they are their own child's mental and/or physical health, to know that I see you. Your choices are not invisible to the world. I want you to know that the choices you are making today, can and will hurt your children for the rest of their lives. I will pray that your children forgive you one day. And I will pray that God has more mercy on you than you deserve. But again, not today. I just don't have it in me.