What the hell am I doing, writing about what I've been writing about? I've written about so much of it before and I'm really not sure. I just felt a...compulsion?
Is this an attempt to understand more, to exorcise, to stop having dreams about him, to perhaps feel more comfortable in my being, to peel a few more layers of this onion?
All of the above?
Also, I very much want for people to know what sexual abuse can look like and to be able to better protect their own children, grandchildren, NEIGHBOR children, whatever-children, as Angella suggested in her comment on this morning's post. That was very much in the forefront of my mind when I began to write about the grooming process of the pedophile.
Or at least some pedophiles. Some of course are already firmly in place in the family as fathers, mothers, uncles. Brothers.
I have never heard of a sister who sexually abused a sibling, not personally, but I have no doubt that in the history of the universe it has happened.
I think that perhaps what I really want to do overall is to make peace with myself. My own soul. Turning 63 last week told me for sure and for certain that if there is a time to do this, it is now. I may live another twenty years or I may die tomorrow but whatever time I have left, I would like to do it with a lighter heart, a happier soul.
As much as I do not want to ever be a narcissist, I think that perhaps it is a sin to not be able to enjoy this amazing life and all of the love I have around me as much as possible. Or if not a sin, then at least a big mistake, a big fat waste of time.
And lastly, you cannot believe how many people have e-mailed me or pulled me aside to say...me too.
This happened to me too.
And I want those people to know that they are not alone in any way, shape or fashion and that they are not to blame and any shame they may feel is not theirs to bear.
I have a lot more to say about all of that but now is not the time. Talking about these things is not the scab-ripping/wound-opening thing it used to be years ago when I was going to therapy and to the sexual abuse survivor's group. But I will admit that it does roil the pot a bit.
La-di-dah, as Lynn used to say.
The sun will still rise in the morning and the toilets will still flush, as my social studies teacher in high school used to say.
And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make, said the Beatles.
And so forth.
Though not sexually abused, my biological father did his part in telling me from a young age that I am not important. To never, ever speak my mind or have an opinion. To submit and please him and everyone at great cost to myself. He left me a weakling. Timid. Afraid. Even when I do finally have the guts to stand up for myself or let someone know how i feel my feelings get Trumped (Who would have thought that verb would become president?) As soon as I stand up for myself even a little all the person has to do it show the smallest bit of anger and I retreat. Scared. Powerless. Voiceless. At 46 I have accepted that this is me. Like a woven tapestry, there is no way to pull out the ruined threads. But oh, I want to be heard and not be afraid. I am told it's possible but it would take long term counselling which I don't have access to.ReplyDelete
There are so many types of abuse. And the results are never good. Oh, Birdie! I wish you could find your voice!Delete
And I love your new header!ReplyDelete
I do too! Thank you.Delete
Thank you for writing Mary.ReplyDelete
You are so welcome.Delete
Mary, I discovered this song today, and then read your post...I think it might express how you're trying to heal yourself. I'm also in the midst of letting go of some hard feelings. Some things can break us to our core, and yet there is still a need to let it go so we can heal.ReplyDelete
The Avett Brothers - No Hard Feelings
Well, there sure are a lot of good thoughts in that song. Not sure I'll ever get to that point though.Delete
And it influences your relationships with your siblings too... some who experienced it and some who didn't. How did the doc go or is that tomorrow?ReplyDelete
God, yes. That is the stone-cold truth.Delete
I have no doubt that sharing your story is helpful to people who have been through similarly terrifying experiences.ReplyDelete
I hope so with all of my heart.Delete
Hugs and thank you, Ms. Moon!ReplyDelete
Hugs back, e!Delete
Pot done been roiled! These posts have taken us to places we stuffed in the corner, covered with bleached white sheets, muffled. Keeping my eye out for children , like the goats I saw in Morocco, who snuggle in a weird way up against their man person.The girl child who is reluctant to go feed the horses with Bill, or go fishing with C.ReplyDelete
By talking about it, you are refusing to hold shame for what happened, and showing others who experienced similar that it is not their shame to carry either. Perhaps you will give others the courage to speak about what happened too.ReplyDelete
I hope so. Speaking out leads to speaking up.Delete
I smile every time I come to your site, goggled mermaids and was amazed...ReplyDelete
Angella's comment speaks for me too. Sending love.ReplyDelete
Always sending love back.Delete
I am so grateful for these posts Mary. You are so brave and your bravery shines a bright light into some very dark corners of my childhood.ReplyDelete
I hope in a good way, dear invisigal. I really do.Delete
i really likes your blog and You have shared the whole concept really well. and Very beautifully soulful read! thanks for sharing.ReplyDelete