Coming out of the closet. No, not that one. The other one.
This has been a long time coming. My hands shake as I begin to type. I've thought about how to write this post at least a hundred times, and I've written it in my mind just as many. Deep breath and write from the heart.
I have a group of friends that meet on a monthly basis. There are five of us. We have different backgrounds, different family dynamics, we all look different; we don't have the same religious beliefs or political beliefs, and we don't all live life the same way. But we all deeply care for one another. There's so much support, respect, encouragement, and love among our group. I love this group and learn so much from these women every time we meet.
A few months ago we met over Mexican food. Free chips and salsa consisted of broken taco shells and I've had better salsa, but I assure you the sopapillas made up for that small disappointment. Over dinner, a member of our circle shared with us the coming along of a project she's working on based on her own life. She spoke so candidly of her own sexual assault, and she did so in a way that struck me and caused me to mull over the way in which she shared parts of her story. She talked about these experiences and the topic of sexual abuse without a shred of shame but in a way that didn't separate her experiences from who she was. It was such an example to me, and it is stirred up various thoughts and feelings over the following weeks.
Sexual abuse is such an uncomfortable topic, and one that is often painstakingly spoken of. Despite our culture's standard of wearing your sexuality on your sleeve and the nauseating high occurrence of sexual abuse, we still struggle to talk about this issue without awkward feelings and a tendency to pass over the subject as quickly as possible. The National Center for Victims of Crime reports that 1 in 5 girls and 1 in 20 boys have experienced sexual abuse (2012). Absolutely appalling. Appalling that the statistics are this high (not to mention the cases that go unreported), and appalling that the conversation about sexual abuse continues to be silenced by our own discomfort, shame, or unwillingness to engage.
As my friend spoke of her own experiences, I realized something. Well, it's not so much that I realized something, but more so that something I knew in my mind worked it's way down to my heart. She had nothing to be ashamed of. Her sexual assault had nothing to do with her own choices, but the choices of someone else. That shame, guilt, and feelings of awkwardness belonged to someone else; someone who had perpetuated that wrongdoing. Shame wasn't hers to carry; there was no reason that when she talked about these experiences that she should do so in a way that reflected shame, guilt, embarrassment, or anything else along those lines. Those feelings didn't belong to her, and they shouldn't belong to anyone who has had a similar experience. How she shared her story began to liberate me in a way I hadn't expected.
At the risk of making others uncomfortable or to avoid the risk of being summed up as a victim, I have not been outspoken about my past sexual abuse. Maybe my own discomfort has been the issue or maybe it's how society squirms when someone shares that piece of their story, but at this point in my life I realize that that discomfort, shame, guilt, or awkwardness isn't mine to carry.
I was sexually abused in early elementary school by someone my parents were in a small group with from the first church I remember attending. The abuse came out many years later during a particularly stressful and traumatic time during middle school, and it caused much of my teenage experience to be very sad, isolating, and filled with awkward insecurities. I handled the stress with self destructive behaviors that eventually ended in early college. It has been a long road between that time of my life and where I am now, and I won't bore anyone with the details. I don't really love mulling over the details of between then and now because it takes me back to a place that was painful. I've come so far and don't want to be pulled back. The details of our pain often aren't important, but what it is important is what we choose to do with that pain. Will we allow it to get the best of us? Will we let it consume us or be the obsessive focus of our life? Or will we choose to reach out to others? Will we choose to let those places be healed and encourage others that healing is possible? Will we use our pain as a launching pad to prevent that same pain from touching the lives of anyone else?
Personally, I hate the concept of being a victim of sexual abuse. Maybe it's pride or maybe for me it points to vulnerability or the concept of weakness. I can acknowledge that as a child I was a victim. I had no choice or control and was a victim of the situation. But today, as a 27 year old woman, I'm not a victim. Sexual abuse isn't the focal point of my life. In all fairness, that takes work. It takes work to calm the anxiety within my heart when I think about my daughter stepping out into the word someday- beyond my reach or out of my sight. It takes work to stay engaged with my husband and to be vulnerable on a consistent basis. It takes work to trust people and to not condemn the entire church because of the wrongdoing of one of its members. I have to make conscious and regular choices to keep this area of my life from being the focal point, but it doesn't deserve to be my focus.
I truly believe that when we can let our guard down and are genuine and vulnerable, it can allow someone else the opportunity to choose freedom. When we can express that our life is not perfect and has had challenges, it can communicate to others that they're not alone and that there's hope. When we can use our pain for the purpose of good, hope, encouragement, and prevention of further damage, good wins and evil loses. And I love it when good wins.
I have a group of friends that meet on a monthly basis. There are five of us. We have different backgrounds, different family dynamics, we all look different; we don't have the same religious beliefs or political beliefs, and we don't all live life the same way. But we all deeply care for one another. There's so much support, respect, encouragement, and love among our group. I love this group and learn so much from these women every time we meet.
A few months ago we met over Mexican food. Free chips and salsa consisted of broken taco shells and I've had better salsa, but I assure you the sopapillas made up for that small disappointment. Over dinner, a member of our circle shared with us the coming along of a project she's working on based on her own life. She spoke so candidly of her own sexual assault, and she did so in a way that struck me and caused me to mull over the way in which she shared parts of her story. She talked about these experiences and the topic of sexual abuse without a shred of shame but in a way that didn't separate her experiences from who she was. It was such an example to me, and it is stirred up various thoughts and feelings over the following weeks.
Sexual abuse is such an uncomfortable topic, and one that is often painstakingly spoken of. Despite our culture's standard of wearing your sexuality on your sleeve and the nauseating high occurrence of sexual abuse, we still struggle to talk about this issue without awkward feelings and a tendency to pass over the subject as quickly as possible. The National Center for Victims of Crime reports that 1 in 5 girls and 1 in 20 boys have experienced sexual abuse (2012). Absolutely appalling. Appalling that the statistics are this high (not to mention the cases that go unreported), and appalling that the conversation about sexual abuse continues to be silenced by our own discomfort, shame, or unwillingness to engage.
As my friend spoke of her own experiences, I realized something. Well, it's not so much that I realized something, but more so that something I knew in my mind worked it's way down to my heart. She had nothing to be ashamed of. Her sexual assault had nothing to do with her own choices, but the choices of someone else. That shame, guilt, and feelings of awkwardness belonged to someone else; someone who had perpetuated that wrongdoing. Shame wasn't hers to carry; there was no reason that when she talked about these experiences that she should do so in a way that reflected shame, guilt, embarrassment, or anything else along those lines. Those feelings didn't belong to her, and they shouldn't belong to anyone who has had a similar experience. How she shared her story began to liberate me in a way I hadn't expected.
At the risk of making others uncomfortable or to avoid the risk of being summed up as a victim, I have not been outspoken about my past sexual abuse. Maybe my own discomfort has been the issue or maybe it's how society squirms when someone shares that piece of their story, but at this point in my life I realize that that discomfort, shame, guilt, or awkwardness isn't mine to carry.
I was sexually abused in early elementary school by someone my parents were in a small group with from the first church I remember attending. The abuse came out many years later during a particularly stressful and traumatic time during middle school, and it caused much of my teenage experience to be very sad, isolating, and filled with awkward insecurities. I handled the stress with self destructive behaviors that eventually ended in early college. It has been a long road between that time of my life and where I am now, and I won't bore anyone with the details. I don't really love mulling over the details of between then and now because it takes me back to a place that was painful. I've come so far and don't want to be pulled back. The details of our pain often aren't important, but what it is important is what we choose to do with that pain. Will we allow it to get the best of us? Will we let it consume us or be the obsessive focus of our life? Or will we choose to reach out to others? Will we choose to let those places be healed and encourage others that healing is possible? Will we use our pain as a launching pad to prevent that same pain from touching the lives of anyone else?
Personally, I hate the concept of being a victim of sexual abuse. Maybe it's pride or maybe for me it points to vulnerability or the concept of weakness. I can acknowledge that as a child I was a victim. I had no choice or control and was a victim of the situation. But today, as a 27 year old woman, I'm not a victim. Sexual abuse isn't the focal point of my life. In all fairness, that takes work. It takes work to calm the anxiety within my heart when I think about my daughter stepping out into the word someday- beyond my reach or out of my sight. It takes work to stay engaged with my husband and to be vulnerable on a consistent basis. It takes work to trust people and to not condemn the entire church because of the wrongdoing of one of its members. I have to make conscious and regular choices to keep this area of my life from being the focal point, but it doesn't deserve to be my focus.
I truly believe that when we can let our guard down and are genuine and vulnerable, it can allow someone else the opportunity to choose freedom. When we can express that our life is not perfect and has had challenges, it can communicate to others that they're not alone and that there's hope. When we can use our pain for the purpose of good, hope, encouragement, and prevention of further damage, good wins and evil loses. And I love it when good wins.
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