Why I’m Here

I am a 39 year old woman, married with two children — a daughter (I’ll call her DD - dear daughter) who is 17 and a son (I’ll call him DS - dear son) who is 10. I am also a child abuse survivor.

My father molested me as a young girl, and was sexually inappropriate until I was old enough to stay away from him and spoke up on my own behalf (about 15 or so). It’s been difficult to validate the feelings that I have and the struggles I have faced, because my experiences as a child were really not as bad as a lot of other people’s experiences. I wasn’t raped and I wasn’t beaten. My father lost his nerve to touch me in mid-childhood, and from then on it was only verbal inappropriateness. My mother learned of my abuse by reading my journals when I was 19, however, she only made excuses for my father, told me that I must be making things up, and she was very, very angry. My father cried, said it was true, and told me he was very, very sorry.

I have always felt somewhat apologetic for believing that I suffered as a child; when I have tried to reach out for help, often I pull back towards myself when I hear about the horrors that others endured. What I’ve come to realize, though, is that there’s always someone worse off, and that doesn’t make my childhood any less painful. I was a terrified, lonely, heartbroken little girl and even though Missy got me through those years, she is still that same hurt girl inside me and she’s acting out in ways that aren’t conducive to a healthy adult life.

Therapy has helped over the years, but hasn’t gotten me to a place of wholeness and peace yet. Donna was my first therapist — I saw her when I was around 20, for about a year and a half. She was able to help me be more comfortable with my sexuality, and helped me feel like a person worth saving. Mom and Dad actually paid for that therapy, when I told them I needed it but couldn’t afford it. Donna kept me afloat while my first marriage fell apart. I married Mike at age 19 and, when I was pregnant at 20, Mike admitted that he had a “sex addiction” and was using pornography in what he considered to be unhealthy ways. I later discovered he was cheating and he wanted to be divorced, so we divorced. My daughter was 5 months old when he left. I was devastated to find myself divorced at such a young age, and considered myself unlovable.

I settled into a relatively stable life as a single mom. When my daughter was almost 5 years old, I began dating a man (I’ll call him EX – evil ex husband) that I knew casually as an acquaintance. We fell madly in love and married quickly. DD and I moved to California with him, where he was stationed as part of the U.S. Marine Corps. We had a son and moved to South Carolina, then eventually back home when my daughter was 10. When my daughter was 13, I found evidence that my husband had been viewing pornography online that was alarming, as it was of underage girls. He claimed to have stumbled across it and I believed him. A few months later I found that he again was viewing underage pornography, and I asked him to leave immediately, which he did. I spoke to my daughter and she told me that she had never been uncomfortable with her stepdad. She called me a day later, though, when I was on my way home from work, and told me that my husband had touched her once on her breasts, about a year prior. She said she thought I knew.

My heart broke at that moment.

And has never truly healed.

There were child protective services proceedings. Criminal proceedings. Divorce proceedings. And my therapist then was Becky. I found that few really understand what it is like to be the spouse of a child molester. I was most shocked to hear my friends and family treat the incident as if it were nothing. One of my closest friends asked me in the last six months or so if I thought I had over-reacted, now that time has passed and I had some perspective. WHAT? At that moment I decided to distance myself from that friend and not share vulnerable information with her again. But what a complicated, conflicted mess it was that I had created for my family. Becky was my life raft this time, and she helped me to believe I could feel better one day. She helped me to separate, at least a little, my ex-husband’s responsibility in what happened and my responsibility in what happened. I don’t think I will ever forgive myself for choosing to bring that man into my daughter’s life though, and I’m not even willing to try. I can’t imagine a time when I will ever want to make that ok.

Four years later, I am now married (yes, for the third time) to a dear man that I went to high school with, and that I dated once when I was much younger. My daughter was the first one I spoke to when he proposed, and she actually told me that she feels safer with my husband around than when it’s just me and the kids. I’ll refer to him as DH (I’ll call him DH -dear husband). He has been such a blessing in the lives of my children, and in mine as well. I married my husband because I love him and because I found myself unwilling to deny myself the dream that maybe I can do it right.

My father passed away in February 2007, after a year-long battle with cancer. At his funeral, I endured many speeches from people about how wonderful my father was. My only sibling, my younger brother (by 21 months) said “Dad is the best man I’ve ever known.” I found myself feeling more and more marginalized by these types of comments, and more and more anxious when I spent so much time with both of my parents throughout his illness.

So I’m here now. Having anxiety attacks and really struggling. I want to raise my children well so they can avoid my mistakes, and live peaceful lives. I want this marriage to work. I want to be happy. I want to be a worthwhile person. I want to show my daughter that she did the right thing by telling me, and show her that there are good guys in the world. I want my son to grow up as untouched by all of this ugliness as he possibly can.

My current therapist is Debbie. She has given me quite a few different exercises, and I am finding the process excruciatingly slow. It seems more difficult this time around. I wanted to share what my therapist is sharing with me, and the exercises that I am doing, in the hopes that it will help someone else. I’ve read books, poked around online, and most of the resources I find are lacking in a real nittie-grittie-ness that I need. This healing is difficult. Very difficult. And ugly. It’s not politically correct. The things I write aren’t very rational. Mostly I am ashamed of the things that I think and feel, of the way I behave, and how my life has turned out so far. It is my hope that someone else will recognize themselves here and perhaps find comfort in not being alone. I know that I, for one, am tired of feeling alone.

4 comments October 28, 2007