“Just when I think it is over, think it is done, I find myself shivering again, in the warmth of the sun.” -Rachael Denhollander
Jesus made Himself little. In doing so, He was never quite understood by even those closest to Him as He walked this earthly pilgrimage. Dining with publicans and sinners? Unheard of. Talking to a filthy Samaritan woman? Horrifying. Holding children on His lap and speaking in parables they could understand? Despicable. Washing His servants’ feet? Humiliating. Laying down His life as a lamb given to slaughter? Pathetic. Small. Insignificant. Yet... beautiful. Do we portray this beauty? The small kind. The kind that is willing to break. The kind that seems meaningless, but in reality, means everything. In order to grow we must bend low, stifling our own speech while readying ourselves to be watered by the words of others. The following is a guest post from an abuse survivor who was brave and kind enough to gift her thoughts to me. I’m asking you to be moved by her voice. To be touched in such a way that the current brought on by her abuse moves the emotions of your own soul to become as unstable water. My prayer is that as we listen to others, we learn more about what it is to be Christ’s hands and feet. That we listen in such a way that causes others to speak.
“A Day in The Life of a Sexual Abuse Survivor” I’m sitting in the front of the local physical therapy office. As much as I know it would undo me, I would still give anything to be coming here for me and not for my 12-year-old daughter. No, nothing major happened to her. She has not been injured. That is not the reason for my unease. Actually, unease is a major understatement. Full blown panic and anxiety is what I’m trying to talk myself down from as I sit here. The chest pains have begun in full force. The breathing is getting harder. So, I’m going to try to write it out. Get the ‘uglies’ out of me. In between each sentence, I look up and put my eyes on my daughter. I’m concentrating very hard on the balance of how to watch her and how to not seem like a crazy lady to everyone else in the room. Twice a week for an hour I have to sit here and work through this panic. I’ve trained myself how to hide from others what I am experiencing inside of me. I don’t want people to see the ugly, dark, debilitating storm that is inside me. Other moms come and drop their daughters off. And leave again. My anxiety level goes up. I try to focus on my breathing so that the tears don’t fall. Because if the tears fall, I’m going to be mad at myself. Why can’t I just be normal. I try to act nonchalant as I watch my daughter everywhere she goes with the therapist. I’ve been told I’m free to leave and come back later to get her. That just makes my fear more intense. Why would they say that? Don’t they want me to stick around? Why don’t they want me here? Do they want to try something? Why do I always think this way?
Ok, she is off the table now. The one-on-one time with the male PT is over. Time for exercises with the tech. One would think I can breathe easier now. But it gets worse. The PT tech is female. Just like my abuser. This is not good. I know all these people think I’m a bit crazy. I am the only one that watches my kid the whole entire time. I want to shout, “I’m not crazy, I promise!” But I feel a little crazy right now. I want to shout to everyone to keep their hands off my daughter. I have to keep talking to myself, telling myself that not everyone is out to hurt young girls. Maybe, just maybe, these people just want to help her. Maybe their touch isn’t a ‘bad’ touch. Maybe. I can’t completely convince myself of that, so I will watch for danger. I’m well aware too, that no matter how much I pay attention, I won’t necessarily be able to see if the therapists do something inappropriate. I know. I know from experience that these things can happen right in front of others and no one catches it. Can’t I just take her home now? She can deal with the back pain. In my head it’s either one or the other…quit therapy and live with the back pain, or risk being sexually abused. There’s no healthy ending.
The hour is up. I give my daughter a high five and say thank you to the therapists-a pleasant smile on my face. See, I am totally normal. I talk to the lady at the front desk about insurance. I have no idea what she is saying to me. All I hear is whooshing in my head. I need to go home. On the way home I know I need to ask my daughter some questions. What did the PT say to you? He asked me if I went to church yesterday, she says. My voice raises, did you tell him what church you go to?? No, mom. Did anyone say or do anything that made you uncomfortable? No mom, why would they, she responds. She gets annoyed with my questions, and I wonder if I will make her paranoid if I always question her. I don’t really know what I’m doing. I just want to keep her safe.
Home again. Exhausted. It will take the rest of the day to recover from the mental, emotional stress my body just went through. I could sleep the rest of the day, but I know that is not the best choice. Stay busy. Do some laundry. Bake some cookies. Do the things that help me feel like my life is ‘normal’. Until Thursday. Her next physical therapy appointment. No matter how prepared I think I am for these situations, I know the panic will be there again on Thursday. I will deal with it all over again then. And I will do my best to hide it from everyone in that office, and from my daughter. She doesn’t need to carry that weight. It’s mine to carry. This is what sexual abuse does. It’s heavy. One doesn’t just “move past it”. One has to carry it and all its effects. It’s lifelong. But it’s not forever for the child of God. There will be a day when I wake up and will no longer have to deal with the debilitating effects of sexual abuse. What a day that will be. Jean Bylsma
(*If you would like to submit a guest post, either anonymous, or by name, feel free to contact me. I would be grateful for the opportunity to hear your experience and share your voice*)
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