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When my memories of sexual abuse first began surfacing, I
experienced a crush of images and a flood of feelings. In my book I described
this time like this:
“Everything and nothing makes sense . . . I don’t know who
I am, or who I have ever been, or if I even want to continue to be . . . I’m
not who I thought I was, except that I’m even more fucked up than I already knew I was.”
Creating
space for a healing heart can be raw and unfamiliar territory. At the time I
was in therapy and a support group for child sex abuse survivors, but I wasn’t
feeling my heart heal in ways that made life any easier. I met with my dad to
discuss my accusations of his sexual abuse with me, but he insisted he didn’t know
what I was talking about. His response helped me learn how painful a
perpetrator’s denial can be and how it can add to a survivor’s doubts about agonizing
memories of abuse that happened years ago.
This, along with how recollections
about abuse often emerge gradually, helps explain why organizations that work
with survivors say that when memories surface, the experience can be more
debilitating than when the abuse actually occurred. Although I struggled during
the period of my memories surfacing and in the years that followed, I also
began developing a resiliency to keep looking closely, not give up, and trust
that eventually I would be able to see and understand what had happened to me.
It takes
practice to make room for a healing heart. After years of not seeing or
communicating with my parents, we made plans to see one another despite the
fact that I hadn’t recanted my accusations nor they their denials. I was slowly
coming to recognize that not one of us might ever come to understand why a
father would have sex with his daughter or why a mother would ignore such
behavior. At this point I wrote:
“I never hated either of my parents, nor have
I ever wished them misery. We get it, or we don’t, or we just get parts of it,
until finally the entire jigsaw puzzle comes together, and we stand in awe at
the intricate picture comprised of a thousand pieces, even if some of the
pieces are missing.”
I was
starting to see the big puzzle picture despite some holes, and found myself accepting
that this might be the way life was going to be. When I beseeched a beloved
therapist how I could ever trust distant and painful memories, especially after
shutting them out for so long, he replied that we might not ever find the
smoking gun, but he could sure see the hole in my head. That could just as
easily been the hole in my heart. Encouraging myself to wake up and open my
heart without feeling afraid of what might show up, and without shutting out my
experiences or shutting down my emotions, were now habits and skills I wanted
to develop.
As my
heart began to make space to heal, joy began slipping into my life more often.
It was as simple as creating opportunities to be outdoors where I could
“. . .
empty myself of all thoughts while following my breath. Valley breezes kiss my
face, a spotted towhee trills just for me from the top of a pinion, and a large
exquisite yellow and black butterfly glides close enough to my face for me to
feel the air move . . . I’m remembering how to live.”
My healing heart could
count on solace in nature.
Becoming aware of how joy can be as much a part of life as
trauma is a wide open window for living life differently.
Times of
feeling my heart expand and heal soon became more frequent and occurred with more
ease. Once while saying goodbye to my dad at the veteran’s home where he lived,
he pulled me close to his wheelchair for a long hug. I wrote about my
experience in this way: “It means something to me when Dad initiates these
hugs. I’m standing, he’s sitting, he doesn’t smell good, the life we’ve shared
is damn confusing, but the feelings between us now, for the most part, are
healthy. I’ve been able to become strong enough, for long enough, to see
compassion emerge.” Developing compassion for my father, more than experiencing
forgiveness, took the squeeze out of my heart. It also allowed me to also grow
self-compassion.
An
example from my life and in my book of experiencing a healing heart that was a
particular relief to me came during an intimate time my spouse and I were
sharing:
“It’s taken decades of me chaotically bumping into memories of sexual
abuse with no control over the timing of when they surface. They still show up.
But I know how to not let those images and feelings interfere with healthy
living, love, and intimacy . . . It’s important for us to give sex an honored
place in our relationship, regardless of our ages, because at last we are in a
place of no secrets and no shame. Making the precious time to be this open and
this vulnerable with one another, in all our nakedness, feels like one of the
most nourishing steps we take to strengthen our love.”
Considering the
challenge of many survivors to later experience healthy love and sex, being
able to have this in my relationship reinforces the value of learning to create
space for a healing heart.
The
heart is a muscle and an organ, critical to staying alive. But why just survive
when we have the opportunity to squeeze and flex it in ways that will help
those of us who are survivors to live more fully as our hearts experience
opportunities for healing spaces in our lives?
Read Part 2: Learning to Listen to Helpful Inner Voices
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