Hi all,
I hope you have been following J. Eve's story so far. Here is Part 3. Enjoy!
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I
created a checklist of factors that can lessen one’s odds of being messed up in
the aftermath of abuse—I received checks in three. The family believes you.
Check. The abuser admits to it. Check. The abuser apologizes and tries to make
amends. Check. I thought I was fortunate for all those checkmarks that
signified I had family support to heal. These factors were not enough, however,
because they alone couldn’t heal me or the rest of my family, and those checks
had all occurred during one week of communication. After the disclosure, confrontation,
and apology, I was left with the consequences. Recovery is ongoing.
At
first, I wasn’t sure how the abuse had impacted me. My mother’s initial
hysterical reaction made me wonder why I had no tears. Was I really OK? I
wondered whether life would just go on like nothing had happened. For the most
part, it did. Nobody in my family ever brought it up—as if all that needed to
be said had been said, as if the entire reality of what had happened could be
safely sealed into the past without touching our forward-looking lives. Nobody
asked me how I felt or if I wanted to talk about it.
Truthfully,
I wasn’t ready to talk right away. I still didn’t have words or emotions for
what I’d experienced. The memories came back slowly. Asking my abuser questions
about what had happened helped me put the missing pieces back together. Despite
his willingness to answer my questions, however, these exchanges were always
electronic and maintained the culture of family denial. I slid notes under his
door, we emailed from across the house, but when face-to-face, we pretended the
abuse had never happened.
I
learned that not talking about it and wishing it away wouldn’t change the past
or the collateral damage that persisted. I had many close, honest
relationships, but the abuse presented a challenge for me. I didn’t know how to
share my situation with others. It was on my mind and I wanted to talk about
it, but I knew I wasn’t supposed to bring it up within my family, and I didn’t
know how to communicate these intense feelings with my friends. What would they
think of my family? Would they be judgmental? Was this my secret to tell?
I
had clearly received the unspoken memo that my family did not want to talk
about it. They felt guilty that they’d failed to protect their little girl,
ashamed that their perfect family image was forever stained, and they remained
clueless as to how they needed to support me. As unimaginable as it seemed to
bring the abuse up in conversation, I was reminded of it every single day—when
my roommate asked me to take a survey for her class about my first sexual
experiences, when my self-defense teacher talked about child abuse, even
dissociating during sex, which was directly caused by the abuse. There was no
way to tell my family I was hurting and wanted to talk about it, or that it was
affecting my sex life. I followed their lead and didn’t bring it up.
Once
I went away to college in 2008, I found the space I needed to start processing
the abuse. My coursework overlapped with my introspection, and I decided to
write about the disclosure and my family’s reaction for my final English paper.
It was therapeutic to compile my journal entries documenting those tense
moments around the dinner table when everyone in my family was thinking, yet
not speaking, about what had happened, along with my written attempts to
initiate our family’s healing process.
I
sent emails to mend familial relationships and to prevent permanent damage to
our family. I provided lists of resources and books for my parents so they could
process what had happened and give it the attention it deserved. I needed them
to learn how to support me. I wrote back and forth to my brothers. Playing the
role of peacemaker, I reminded them that we wanted to be close siblings.
I
refused to be the reason my family fell apart. I too wanted to maintain and be
a part of the image of a close family. Until recently, I still felt it was my
responsibility to make sure the entire family healed, and I insisted my abuser
return to therapy since he’d only ever attended one or two sessions.
After
documenting my struggle for my class, I figured that simply clicking “attach”
and “send” in an email was a feasible way to share my mixed-up emotions with my
family. Still, I was apologetic as I shared the essay—I felt guilty for sending
information that might upset them. I didn’t want to alarm them or disturb the
fragile equilibrium of our relationships that were contingent upon me being
untroubled by the events of the past. I made sure to tell them everything was
fine.
Each
family member reacted differently. My father maintained his initial attitude,
reminding me that life goes on. My brother said he was glad I was getting in
touch with a wider variety of emotions, as simply forgiving my abuser didn’t
seem healthy. Though I’m certain they learned a lot, my paper didn’t change the
culture of silence between us. In the end, I was the one who benefited from
this exercise. It helped me find my voice and express to my family what I was
dealing with.
I
wonder how I would have coped had I been able to talk openly about my feelings
with my family prior to leaving for college. Maybe I wouldn’t have felt
compelled to share my story with others and seek outside support and
validation. Not getting the support I needed, however, I found a community
where I could express myself. I had a story that needed to be told and a voice
to tell it, so I became an outspoken survivor in spite of my family’s attempt
to silence this shameful family secret—this was and is my story to tell.
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Check in next week for the final chapter in J. Eve's story.
In 2010, Lisa Shultz and Andrea Costantine published the
anthology, Speaking Your Truth: Courageous Stories from
Inspiring Women. Their goal with this
book and its subsequent volumes and spin offs is to provide a beacon of light,
hope, and connection for women as they navigate their lives while overcoming
challenges and difficulties along the way. They had 49 contributing authors in
Volume One who shared their stories of family matters, love and abuse, faith
and spirituality, health and healing, and finding their path."
