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!
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
ReplyDeleteWhat 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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