It Happened…
I thought what was happening was “normal”, that every little girl has their privates checked to make sure I was “developing.” That was the lie that the little 3 year old girl in me was told for years. I was sexually abused from the ages of 3-12 years old. I don’t have many memories from that age in general. I do remember how the abuse started, how it progressed, and how it would end years later. However, in general, I was a happy, lovable, energetic little girl on the outside. I was involved in dance classes, always talkative, and outgoing. On the inside, I was scared, sad, and always in fear that I would have to go to my abuser’a house to stay the night. My abuser did not live with me, but was a family member. I had an older brother who would go with me to his house, and I would feel safer when he was with me, but even he couldn’t protect me from him.
It Was…
My abuser was my maternal grandfather. It was easy for him to have access to me as we were a “close” family and we often were sent to our grandparent’s house to spend the night, or they would come to our house to babysit for our parents. My grandfather was also a Baptist Deacon of the church, he was looked up to in the community and was called upon by members of the church to pray with families, give eulogies at funerals, and lead bible studies and Sunday school classes. He would tell me that no one would believe me, and that if I told my mom she would leave me, never talk to me again, and I would lose my family. To a small child the threat of their family leaving them was terrifying and enough to keep me quiet for years to come.
It Made Me Feel…
It made me feel disgusting inside; I was a piece of trash born for the pleasure of one person. I was angry at God. All my life I had been taught how much God loves his little children. What was wrong with me that he didn’t love me? As the abuse grew so did my anger and darkness. Why could no one see what was happening to me? I became promiscuous, and equated sex as love. No one could love someone who had been used in such sadistic, horrific ways anyway. I eventually found drugs as my medicine to the pain deep inside. I became a heroin and cocaine user, and found myself in and out of turbulent and abusive relationships. I almost lost everything by my early twenties; my son, my house, my car, my job, and my freedom due to drugs. I didn’t trust men at all, and of course found men that cheated on me, and were physically and mentally abusive.
I Told…
I finally told when I was 13 years old. I told my brother because he was really the only one I trusted. He convinced me that we had to tell my parents so that something legally could be done. My parents believed me, put me in therapy, and went to the authorities. Most of our family on that side didn’t believe me. It was swept under the rug and the secret to be saved so that his name wouldn’t be tarnished. There was an investigation opened, but because of the statue of limitations at the time, and being in a county where he knew high ranking officials, there wasn’t enough physical evidence of the abuse to prosecute according to The State Attorney. So he suffered no legal consequences to his abuse of me. He was made to pay for some of my therapy, but once he decided I should be fixed in a certain amount of time, he quit payments. He also never admitted to all of the abuse, he would only admit to part of it, and was not held to any accountability. To this day, I have family members who have never discussed the abuse with me. I have family members that to this day won’t even admit it happened, and if they do admit it, it was my fault! I should have stopped it way before I did. The sickness continues and his legacy is protected.
I Survived…
I survived through a lot of therapy with a wonderful woman who did a lot of work with me, even when I didn’t want to, and didn’t believe it would help. I had made a lot of mistakes through the years and had to do a lot of work on me and realize I was in control of my future. I realized that by continuing to live a drug addict with no self-esteem was only giving him continued power over my life from the grave. He had passed away when I was 19 years old. What has helped me the most is sharing my story, and empowering others to share theirs. Your voice is your freedom. Your voice is what will put an end to this epidemic. Every time I share my story with others I know that there is a chance that someone who has been silent will talk and find their freedom.
I Dream…
Laws need to be changed! Sentence times need to be tougher and mandatory sentencing with no chance of early release. I would also love to see spouses of abusers who knew the abuse was going on like in my case, also be brought to justice and must register as a sexual predator . My grandmother knew exactly what was happening to me and did nothing but closed the door and walked away from me. I dream of a day where parents are doing more to educate themselves on the warning signs of sexual abuse, and teaching more children body safety. I dream of a day where schools are not staying silent and scared to talk about sexual abuse, but are bringing in speakers to discuss with parents and kids what sexual abuse is, the warning signs, body safety, and how to report it. The more education, and the more awareness the more children we can protect!
I Want…
I want to empower others know that they are not alone and their voice is needed. I want others to know that they can make it through abuse too. I want to be a voice and activist for others who haven’t found their voice yet. I want to go into those schools, and talk to those children, teens, and parents. I want to help educate and help others to heal. I want parents, families, or friends of abused men and women to know that their loved one needs to talk. You don’t have to have the answers, you don’t have to know what to do, sometimes we just need to know others care and hear us. That is more healing than you could ever realize. Ignoring the subject only hurts us. We aren’t an alien, we won’t give you graphic details you don’t want, and we just may need to say we are having a bad day.
This blog post is copyrighted and cannot be republished without the expressed written consent of the author and The Mama Bear Effect.
I’m sorry your grandmother didn’t protect you, she should have and I agree that those who know and enable should face the same or stiffer justice, I can only hope that living with their decisions has already done that.
I don’t trust men either, it’s deep seated and I’ll go as far as crossing the street or not attending events to avoid contact. Your brother though, he sounds like one of the good ones, I’m glad you had him.
Thank you for surviving to tell your story.