Of all the dynamics within the incestuous relationship, perhaps the most powerful is the threat that keeps the child from telling others what is happening. When someone with tremendous power over a child threatens death if the child tells—or holds out some equally frightening “if/then” scenario—the child believes it will occur. And the threat never leaves, even in adulthood. Some part of the individual goes on believing that catastrophe awaits if the truth is revealed.
The irony at this point is that the bad stuff has already happened. Now the catastrophe is in the not telling.
The irony at this point is that the bad stuff has already happened. Now the catastrophe is in the not telling.
My Story
As the memories started flowing and I pieced them together, the picture was pretty bad. I knew, intellectually, that I needed to share what had happened to me. I needed people who believed me. I had been alone with the pain for so long —it was time to let it out. The only way was to tell.
Since I had built a strong support system, I had safe people to tell. This was very important. Had I told the wrong person at first and had they questioned the truth of what I was saying, it could have set me back for a long time. I usually wrote down what had happened in my journal first. Then I would tell it to someone—either my husband or therapist. Then I would share it with my survivors group.
It’s hard to describe the difference between how I felt inside the 30 seconds before I told versus the 30 seconds after I told. Before, every muscle in my stomach, chest, shoulders, throat and jaw was tied into knots. If I closed my eyes I could see a huge black, bottomless pit that I was about to fall into, never to return. And the child-voice in my head was screaming “No, no, no! Never, ever tell!”
Here’s where that leap of faith comes in. I told anyway. Bravest thing I’ve ever done in my life. And guess what? The world didn’t end. Nobody died. And people believed me. They knew it was true. They could see it on my face. And the tightness in my body dissolved and was replaced by a warmth that flooded me, comforted me. When I speak of the beauty of the healing process, here it is. To break a 30-year-old taboo. To tell. To speak the truth. It’s a beautiful thing. I swear it is.
Since I had built a strong support system, I had safe people to tell. This was very important. Had I told the wrong person at first and had they questioned the truth of what I was saying, it could have set me back for a long time. I usually wrote down what had happened in my journal first. Then I would tell it to someone—either my husband or therapist. Then I would share it with my survivors group.
It’s hard to describe the difference between how I felt inside the 30 seconds before I told versus the 30 seconds after I told. Before, every muscle in my stomach, chest, shoulders, throat and jaw was tied into knots. If I closed my eyes I could see a huge black, bottomless pit that I was about to fall into, never to return. And the child-voice in my head was screaming “No, no, no! Never, ever tell!”
Here’s where that leap of faith comes in. I told anyway. Bravest thing I’ve ever done in my life. And guess what? The world didn’t end. Nobody died. And people believed me. They knew it was true. They could see it on my face. And the tightness in my body dissolved and was replaced by a warmth that flooded me, comforted me. When I speak of the beauty of the healing process, here it is. To break a 30-year-old taboo. To tell. To speak the truth. It’s a beautiful thing. I swear it is.
Our Walk Together - Questions and Answers
What’s so important about telling someone? Isn’t it enough that you know yourself?
As a child, you were most likely alone with this. Those children who were able to tell someone who believed and stopped the perpetrator were rare and fortunate. Most of us had to be alone with it. Some of us suppressed the memory as it happened, yet knew on some level that something was terribly wrong. Others remembered it and lived with the awareness every day. Either way, it’s a terribly lonely existence.
Healing demands that we not be alone with it any longer. This means that people other than we, the survivors, must know what happened. As children, we may not have had anyone with this awareness in our world, but we can have them now. This helps free us from our isolation. It validates our truth.
You told a lot of people. Why not just one or two?
Every time I told, I felt better. Stronger. Empowered. Validated. And, every time, it got easier. I also wanted those close to me to know my story. To understand me better. Telling those in my survivor group was really important, too. They had been through it. They were the ones who could do more than just believe me, they could understand.
When you talk about telling someone who is “safe,” what do you mean?
“Safe” people are those you trust to be respectful of your truth. To take it seriously. To understand how important it is to you. And never to question that you are telling the truth. One of the leftover effects from the sexual abuse dynamic is the fear that we won’t be believed. So, as we venture into telling, we need to tell people who will believe us.
“Safe” people are also those who can hear your truth without having a reaction that is really more about them than anything else. People who have abuse in their past may deny your truth because they are still denying theirs. And they may be rather coarse about it. It’s hard to know in advance who they are. I made the mistake of sharing my truth with one of my best friends. I thought she would be safe because she had always been a very loyal, respectful friend. When I told her about being raped, she made a very crass joke about it. Very crass. Very, very painful. I never spoke of it to her again. I learned she wasn’t safe. Years later she shared that she had always kept the secret of the times her uncle had molested her. Then I knew. I understood her behavior years earlier. She discounted my pain because she was not yet ready to face her own.
As a child, you were most likely alone with this. Those children who were able to tell someone who believed and stopped the perpetrator were rare and fortunate. Most of us had to be alone with it. Some of us suppressed the memory as it happened, yet knew on some level that something was terribly wrong. Others remembered it and lived with the awareness every day. Either way, it’s a terribly lonely existence.
Healing demands that we not be alone with it any longer. This means that people other than we, the survivors, must know what happened. As children, we may not have had anyone with this awareness in our world, but we can have them now. This helps free us from our isolation. It validates our truth.
You told a lot of people. Why not just one or two?
Every time I told, I felt better. Stronger. Empowered. Validated. And, every time, it got easier. I also wanted those close to me to know my story. To understand me better. Telling those in my survivor group was really important, too. They had been through it. They were the ones who could do more than just believe me, they could understand.
When you talk about telling someone who is “safe,” what do you mean?
“Safe” people are those you trust to be respectful of your truth. To take it seriously. To understand how important it is to you. And never to question that you are telling the truth. One of the leftover effects from the sexual abuse dynamic is the fear that we won’t be believed. So, as we venture into telling, we need to tell people who will believe us.
“Safe” people are also those who can hear your truth without having a reaction that is really more about them than anything else. People who have abuse in their past may deny your truth because they are still denying theirs. And they may be rather coarse about it. It’s hard to know in advance who they are. I made the mistake of sharing my truth with one of my best friends. I thought she would be safe because she had always been a very loyal, respectful friend. When I told her about being raped, she made a very crass joke about it. Very crass. Very, very painful. I never spoke of it to her again. I learned she wasn’t safe. Years later she shared that she had always kept the secret of the times her uncle had molested her. Then I knew. I understood her behavior years earlier. She discounted my pain because she was not yet ready to face her own.
Action Steps
Start small. Start by telling yourself—with the promise that you will not tell anyone else until you are ready. Respect your timing on this. (On the other hand, don’t put it off forever. The sooner you are ready to tell, the better your life will feel.)
Get a journal. Write your truth.
When you are ready, pick one person you trust. Make it someone who has proven themselves over time. Set the parameters for the discussion. Tell the person what you want: a listening ear and, no matter what you say, belief that what you tell them is true. You do not want them to question the truth of what you say in any manner. Ask if the person can agree to these conditions in advance.
I know it is asking a lot of anyone to agree ahead of time to believe whatever you tell him or her. That is why these listeners must be chosen with great care. If you don’t have anyone in your life that you can trust to do this, you will be safer sharing your truth with a trained professional like a therapist.
Over time, find others to tell. Tell as many times as you need to. Tell until you feel completely validated. The number of times you need to tell will be individual to you. (As I have said many times, you can’t surpass sexual abuse survivors groups for this. I once read that the only type of person who will be able to listen as much as you will need to talk is another survivor.) It’s ironic that we will eventually talk endlessly about the truths we hid for so long.
Get a journal. Write your truth.
When you are ready, pick one person you trust. Make it someone who has proven themselves over time. Set the parameters for the discussion. Tell the person what you want: a listening ear and, no matter what you say, belief that what you tell them is true. You do not want them to question the truth of what you say in any manner. Ask if the person can agree to these conditions in advance.
I know it is asking a lot of anyone to agree ahead of time to believe whatever you tell him or her. That is why these listeners must be chosen with great care. If you don’t have anyone in your life that you can trust to do this, you will be safer sharing your truth with a trained professional like a therapist.
Over time, find others to tell. Tell as many times as you need to. Tell until you feel completely validated. The number of times you need to tell will be individual to you. (As I have said many times, you can’t surpass sexual abuse survivors groups for this. I once read that the only type of person who will be able to listen as much as you will need to talk is another survivor.) It’s ironic that we will eventually talk endlessly about the truths we hid for so long.
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Copyright 2006 Journey Publishing LLC |
