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Sexual Abuse....45 Years Later

One in five girls is sexually abused. I am the one. I know I am not alone. Sexual abuse has messed with me in ways I am just now beginning to understand. Sexual abuse brings with it shame. It brings secrets. It brings questions. Today, it brought tears as I wrote about coming to terms with yet another part of how it has impacted my life. I contemplated keeping this one private. Instead, I am choosing the vulnerability of bringing you along on my journey of becoming the Me I want to be. If it helps just one person, it was worth it.

When I was five years old, my innocence was taken from me when my uncle lifted up my nightgown, laid on top of me and said, “This is what people do when they are in love.”

Needless to say, love scares the hell out of me. In less time than it took Sonny and Cher to entertain their viewers, the way I saw myself as a female was changed for 45 years. It took me years to acknowledge it was sexual abuse. It has taken even longer to identify and accept the ways that one act impacted my relationship with men.  More importantly, my beliefs about Me.

I wasn’t worth better.
he moment he climbed on top of me, the seed of not being worth good things was born. That belief has bore much fruit over the past 45 years. After I had my son and began life as a single mother, I went on welfare so I could go to school and do something more with my life than the McDonald’s management position I was in. The welfare system does a good job making a person believe they are worthless. Food stamps. WIC. Section 8. Aid for Families with Dependent Children (AFDC). I accepted it all so I could reach my goal of graduating. (And I did. With honors.)  For years, I believed my feelings of “I am not worth it” were born during that time. For years I did not acknowledge my uncle laying on top of me as sexual abuse. The more I accept the ramifications that happen as a result of sexual abuse, the more I understand that my feelings of not being worth nice things, a higher salary, being in love, etc. were ripped apart while Sonny and Cher played in the background.

Give a boy/man what he wants and he will like me.
I was a junior in high school when I had my first real boyfriend. He was a senior and had a car. Every day he would pick me up at the bus stop and take me to school. We held hands in the hall. I wore his class ring. We often did things together outside of school. However, I only remember one date. We went swimming at the local indoor pool. I was never big into swimming, but that day I wanted to swim. Instead, I was in the corner of the pool making out with him. There was an older couple in the pool looking at us. I could feel their eyes burning into me. I felt dirty; yet I did not know how to pull away. This feeling and behavior continued for years. I didn’t want to be alone. I wanted to be liked.

Love is dangerous.
I have had no less than five men propose to me in my lifetime, not counting the three when I was teaching in Uganda. I turned down all of them but one. I didn’t allow myself to fully love any of them. Walls only came down for those who could not love me back. And even then, it was only partial. I “loved” on my terms. That way I could protect the essence of Me. Yet, it didn’t protect me. It hurt me further as I had trouble believing in my self-worth. I settled for men who did not treat me as their number one.

Altering my body changes perceptions of me
Boobs
In high school I wore a 36DD and weighed 125 pounds. The sweater I wore in cheerleading was named the Mandie Sweater. For years after I left, the girl with the biggest breasts would get awarded the sweater. At the age of 21, I had a breast reduction. Six pounds of boobs gone just like that. At the time, I saw it as a way to get my back to stop hurting. I know now it was more. Since the time my breasts developed, they attracted males to me. My nickname in high school was Headlights. Boys would find reasons to rub up against me. The list goes on. The day before I got my reduction, I was waiting on a table at Friendly’s. The guy looked at my breasts as he said, “I will have a glass of milk….from you.” (I proceeded to spill said milk all over him. Oops.) After my operation, my breasts were no longer a focal point as often.

Fat
A year and a half ago I ran a marathon. As a result of all the training, I was at the lowest weight since I gave birth to my son 25 years previously. I felt good. I met the challenge of running 26.2 miles in less than five hours. And then I stopped running. The weight began to pile on. Here I am 20 months later. 25 pounds heavier. My armor is back on. I hide under a layer of fat. Back when I was training, I had lots of attention from men. Today, not so much. At least in my mind.
 


I spoke of all of the above in past tense. While it is in the past, I still struggle to overcome the beliefs that I held for the past 45 years. This I know to be true: I AM WORTH IT!
 

Comments

  1. wow--- you are so brave... your honesty causes me to ache from the truth of it all.... and it pushes me closer to facing my own truths... Thank you for always inspiring me

    ReplyDelete
  2. What inner courage and strength it takes to share out in the open about the abuse and how you've survived and worked to grow through it all. I'm sorry you had to go through that ad a child. I too am a survivor like you. For me it started by my grandfather when I was about 10 years old. It alters I'd and changes our perception of safety and boudaries of others. After over 45 years I too still.work on myself and healing. It's. Much better now than ever. It's a longer journey than I could have imagined. Bless you for your open heart and sharing. So many of us felt confused and alone for so long. Now we find support by sharing and reaching towards each other. Thank you! Keep growing and sharing your inspiration.

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