When Your Mother Abandons You

Walk Your Own Path

I feel abandoned by my mother, because I know she doesn’t want to believe my dad could be capable of sexually abusing me. She sends emails that start with what I see as a courtesy disclaimer, “It’s not that I don’t believe you, but…” and then tells me all the reasons why she thinks I could be mistaken. It tears my heart out, but I try to be understanding. She has been going through a lot since I broke the silence and told her about the memories I’ve begun to recover, and admittedly she’s in the most difficult position of all.

The little child part of me wants nothing more than for my mother to believe that what I’m telling her is true and choose me over my perpetrator. It doesn’t look likely though, so I tell myself that’s just a childish dream that she could ever choose one family member over another, that she’s built a life with this person, that it’s selfish of me to put expectations on her. But it’s like a knife to the heart. I actually find it hard to value my own life if she doesn’t believe me, and thinking about it too much is the one thing that can send me back into that dark suicidal place I was a few months back. In that place I feel half dead, have rotted, half decomposed, and yet I haven’t taken my life. I am still walking around trying to find a way out that doesn’t depend on her or what she does. Just to feel alive again.

I know on an intellectual level that I can choose whatever experience of this that I want. But that little girl is convinced, “If my own mother won’t believe me, won’t choose me, who would?” She takes it to mean she is worthless, that others’ words to the contrary are meaningless gestures of etiquette, rather than heartfelt truths. The whole world becomes cold and fake to her. This is no way to live.

Accepting that my mother has the right to deal with this situation however she wants has been the most difficult emotional challenge I’ve ever had. The truth is her words and actions have no meaning except the meaning I choose to give to them, so the impact on my self worth comes from my beliefs rather than from her. The clincher is that I know this intellectually, but it still feels like abandonment. It still feels like I have been ousted from the tribe, left to fend for myself, like death is after me, already eating through my flesh.

My only choice is to wholeheartedly accept that only I can give my life whatever meaning I choose, and that yes, expectations and wishes for my mother to do this or that are in fact, just childish dreams, based on the false belief that my self worth comes from her. In truth it never has, and it never will. How much longer am I willing to spend trying to barter for these childish dreams? That I don’t know, but I hope it’s not long. There’s a big beautiful world out there waiting for me.

~ “It is very tempting to take the side of the perpetrator. All the perpetrator asks is that the bystander do nothing. He appeals to the universal desire to see, hear, and speak no evil. The victim, on the contrary, asks the bystander to share the burden of pain. The victim demands action, engagement, and remembering.” – Judith Herman, Trauma and Recovery


I Fear I’ve Killed My Father

"I Fear I've Killed My Father"

Have I got anything left to say to you, father? I’ve had so much to say during my life and yet I only spoke most of it aloud to myself in those long nights of sobbing alone and wondering if it was possible to cry out all the tears I have for you. I’ve cried so many tears, and yet tonight there are just as many as there has been before. So what is it I haven’t said?

That I love you.

It’s why it hurts me so much, you see. Because you’re my father and I’ve wanted to believe this whole time that you actually gave a shit about me. I made myself the bad one so you could be good in my eyes. I made myself the reason you were so sick and unhappy. I thought I could influence your life and save you from yourself. And now I fear I could influence your death too. If my mother leaves you, I fear you’ll surely die. And who then will pick up your corpse and honour it? What will become of you?

It took me so many years to finally face this pain you inflicted on me because I thought you were too weak and fragile – and if you die it will show me I was right. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy and love yourself. I can see that was unrealistic. But my heart is breaking for you, for us, for what we could have had if you were capable of making better decisions.

But those years are gone and I’m no longer that child who trusted you. I’m now a weary-eyed woman trying to pick up the pieces of my shattered illusions. You used me like a toy doll for your own amusement. You eyed me up and down and made comments about my body and my breasts and told me I look just like my mother. You never protected me from your creepy friends, but instead you joined in when they harassed me. You took advantage of my trust in you and made my existence a dead plastic servant of your whims. And I still loved you because you were my dad.

Maybe my pain is not for you, but is for a broken dream that there still exists some salvation for us. That somehow I might still learn how much you really love me. But I see now you don’t understand love. Maybe you were never loved in your whole life except by your innocent children who you took advantage of, who you abused in every way possible.

But my heart still breaks for this sad demise of our family. No matter how fucked up things got you are still my family, but you put me in a position where I either have to choose my family or myself, because it seems I can’t have both. I’ve wanted nothing more than for my mother to choose me over you, but if she does, I fear you’ll die. Who will honour your small decrepit corpse if she leaves you? It’s like your tricky revenge on me for “ruining your life” as you put it. You would have rather I suffered until the end of my days too so that you could go on living in denial. I never wanted to ruin anyone’s life, I just wanted what anyone wants, to be loved and be happy.

I wanted you to love me, and if you die, so dies my dream for that love. It’s always just been an illusion anyway. I know that. And I accept that you did the best you could, as horrible as it was. I’m so sorry you spent your whole life running from yourself. I miss those moments as a small child when I had no concept yet that you were capable of such awful things. My daddy, just my wonderful daddy who loves me.


How To Rule The Entire World

"Neural Network"

Don’t ask for permission to be who you are.

Don’t ask for anyone’s approval.

You don’t need to be sexy or nice.

You don’t need to be anything to anyone.

Say what you want to say.

You are not the cause of anyone’s feelings.

Nothing outside of you is the cause of your feelings.

You are worthy of everything you need and want simply because you exist.

You are choosing your state of being at every moment.

The world means whatever you want it to mean.

No one is going to give you anything.

If you want your freedom and happiness, it’s yours for the taking.

~ “Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.” – Viktor E. Frankl


What is the Real Symbolism Behind Nails and Nail Polish?

"Polished Nails"

The saga continues. I was going to wait a few more days or weeks to buy this particular polish colour. I can’t be accumulating nail polish at a rate like this: Eight bottles of OPI in the past two weeks. But I couldn’t stop thinking about how good Live and Let Die looks. More dark polish with glitter bits! I swear I was just going to buy a sandwich and somehow found myself at the mall again.  I didn’t even deliberate or stare at the bottle, I just grabbed it off the rack, and justified buying another dark blue as well since it was on sale. I could get into all the scientific stuff about addictions and brain chemicals, but today I’d rather take a philosophical approach to understand my compulsion. That’s right: symbolism.

The observation of one’s waking life as if it were a dream is a meditation technique based in Tibetan Buddhist philosophy. One observes the symbolism in their waking life just as one would the symbolism of their dreams. Morten Tolboll mentions this symbolic approach to understanding the self in his document Meditation as an Art of Life: A Basic Reader.

Toboll explains that, “So the images in the movement of time are shattered reflections of the great vision of the Universe. They are shadows, dreams, masks, fables, fairy tales, fictions, and they flow in the movement of nature itself – they are, as the Tibetan Buddhism says, relatively valid dreams.”

First of all, it’s interesting to me that the name of the polish I wanted was Live and Let Die. I’ve been in a bit of crisis mode last few days because I fear my father will die because of me. Then I have to remind myself that I am not responsible for him or how he chooses to deal or not deal with his shit. But in hearing that his health is failing there is a magnification of that feeling I’ve always had that I was responsible for him, and it’s a big reason I stayed in blissful denial that he was ever capable of really sexually abusing me. Breaking the silence seems to be making my worst fears manifest – that I could provoke my fragile father’s death with the truth. It’s really testing my clarity on the situation. So, “live and let die” might actually be the very thing I needed to hear. Not exactly a cryptic or vague symbol. In fact, this is so literal I’m not sure it counts as symbolism at all, but what an interesting coincidence.

Nail polish also reminds me of a piece of poetry I wrote as a teenager. “Painting innocence on my nails” was part of a line in that poem. Could this point to an unconscious association with fresh manicures and a return to innocent times? Fresh manicure = fresh innocence? Also, nail polish is also a distinctly feminine accessory that literally leaves one feeling “polished.” I also have a hand washing compulsion, so maybe there’s an unconscious desire to both clean and polish my “dirty” hands?

Well, that’s all I’ve got. Any other guesses at why I’m choosing nail polish for my brain chemical rush rather than other consumer goods?

~ “The quickest way to know a woman is to go shopping with her.” – Marcelene Cox


Dear Men, I’m Sorry I Faked Those Orgasms

"Fake Orgasm"

Dear Men,

If only you knew the lengths I go to to protect you from your own feelings of unworthiness and inadequacy. I know you want so much to be what you think a “real man” is, and I can see your pain and I can feel your fragility when you fail to reach this ridiculous ideal society has put on you. You think you’re fooling me, and I play along because I know my honesty would wound you. If only you knew that I actually accept you just as you are, and that I admire you in those moments you show vulnerability. Vulnerability is not the same as weakness. To me, weakness is when I see you disown your true self in exchange for stereotypical “maleness.” It provokes feelings of pity for you, and I know that pity is the last thing you want. To be vulnerable is to be honest and open, and it is always beautiful and worthy of respect. I know that you’d rather I be honest and have respect for you.

I’m sorry I thought I had to protect you from your feelings. I’m sorry I faked those orgasms to make you feel like the “real man” you wanted to be. I’m sorry I never corrected your false belief that my orgasm comes from you and not from me. I’m sorry I didn’t correct you when you tried to act out a porno you saw on the Internet with me, where the woman was acting and faking her orgasm, and you thought that’s what you had to do to please a woman. I’m sorry I didn’t remind you that porn is fake sex, and is not a good source of information on what I enjoy doing sexually. I know you were just trying to be a “real man,” and I thought you were too fragile to handle the truth. I’m sorry for underestimating you. It’s partly my fault you’re so misinformed. I’m making the commitment today to be more honest with you, and I apologize for assuming you were too weak to handle the truth. I know you’re stronger than that.

Love,

Courtenay


Why Men Rape: Part II

"Father and Child"

This has been a difficult post for me to write. I intended to have it written a couple days ago, but I find myself in repeated resistance. Every time I write a few lines, I invariably find a distraction. This is a subject of immense interest to me in my quest to understand why I was sexually abused by my father, but for the same reason I find it a bit hard to stomach. I hope this is helpful for others on the same quest or for those who are simply trying to understand the question of “Why?”

This post is meant to clarify the reasons why men sexually abuse children. It is a continuation of Part I which discusses drug-assisted rape. The title, “Why Men Rape,” is appropriate when discussing child sexual abuse because rape was part of my experience of being sexually abused as a child, and also because I find it hard to call the involvement of a child in adult sexual activity anything but nonconsensual. The short answer to “why” is… because offenders made the choice to offend, albeit with a compelling feeling to do so. I wish to explore the common pattern for how men come to make that choice.

My main source of information has been a book by Douglas W. Pryor, titled Unspeakable Acts: Why Men Sexually Abuse Children. Pryor conducted a pioneering study of thirty convicted sex offenders, and gathered data on the thoughts, experiences, and behaviours of these men. It is the first in-depth, qualitative, and narrative-based study of its kind.

As was already established in my post on rape culture, the characteristics of the average child molester are virtually indistinguishable from those of the average man. The way they walk, the way they talk, they way they seduce, the way they objectify and sexualize others. However, one factor appears to influence which men choose to sexually abuse children – and that is experiencing sexual abuse in their own childhood but not understanding it as such.

This can mean having fond memories of being sexually abused, and framing that abuse as affectionate and/or erotic rather than traumatic. Offenders who did experience the sexual abuse of their childhood as “unsettling and confusing,” were typically blamed by parents or other nonoffending adults and made to feel responsible for the abuse, or they were simply ignored and given the impression that it wasn’t that big a deal. In any case, the perpetrator was not understood to be an abuser per se, and the victim was given no feedback to suggest that there was anything wrong with what the perpetrator was doing to them, and that is was their fault it was happening.

The larger cultural context of silence and secrecy around taboo subjects like incest and sexual abuse also do nothing to curb the young victim’s blurred sense of acceptable boundaries, sexual respect, and personal physical space with others.

So with their own abuse framed as not having been abuse, these men went forth into the world, and often when they were around children who were the same age as they were when they were abused, they experienced some unexpected sexual feelings arising in them. This was generally precipitated by a cluster of negative life experiences, which occurred in mostly random combinations, although there were only six general themes that those interviewed experienced: feeling trapped, sexual problems and boredom, loss of male authority, engulfment in masturbation and porn, major emotional shocks, and feelings of sexual inadequacy.

The men chose to cope with these challenges by feeling unhappy and disconnecting emotionally, and yet they still strongly desired an outer change in their circumstances. It is my observation that these men feel powerless in their lives and have no sense of being able to change their circumstances, or failing that, to change their own state of being in order to experience their circumstances differently. Many appeared to feel as if they had no choice in the matter of offending and felt that their urges were simply “uncontrollable,” and thus found ways to justify their actions so that they could live with themselves.

The moment of shifting in adulthood from being a nonoffender to an offender was clearly demarcated in the memory of nearly all thirty of the convicted sex offenders. They could pinpoint the specific moment and circumstances in which they made their “shift.” The fact that this is remembered so clearly indeed shows that the men were aware that they were making a choice which would take them across a moral boundary, but they could not deny the strong sexual feelings that arose in them, often for a specific child victim.

And this is the critical point of no return: the transition into offending is completed precisely because these men are able to reframe their sexual feelings for a child as acceptable in order to justify their actions, no doubt a remnant from their warped understanding of their own sexual abuse history. As Pryor notes, “without this interpretive bridge, the crimes reported by the men here would not have occurred.”

After making the shift and choosing to offend, multiple methods of approaching and engaging their victim were tested and locked into if compliance resulted. During their career as an offender, the men often felt guilty about their behaviour, but numbed it with busyness, alcohol, TV, etc., and some even projected their guilt onto the victim, lecturing them about their immorality. In every case they found a way to justify their behaviour, often putting the responsibility on the victim to stop the abuse.

It’s like their whole childhood repeating itself! And situations that bring up their pain will persist until these men heal from the abuse inflicted on them in their own childhood. I view their poignant moment of crossing the moral boundary into being an offender as their psyche trying to show them they have a wound to heal. The issues they have from their own childhood abuse are still with them and are literally reflected perfectly in their own reactions to life’s circumstances. Some men even chose child victims who had specific features that reminded them of their own abusers, such as hair colour. It’s really all just a convoluted effort to heal something.

These men put responsibility on the victim to stop the abuse since they were made to feel responsible for their own abuse. Their feelings of powerlessness, perhaps from not being able to control the abuse in their childhoods, led them to feel unable to change their circumstances, to feel like a passive victim of circumstances. This is really important to get. We all have the power to change our state of being if we don’t like the circumstances we’re in, and thus change the way we feel about the circumstances. Sometimes we can simply just change the circumstances, but not always. Still we’re all ultimately capable and powerful. The only thing standing in the way is negative beliefs. These child molesters had no life experiences to illustrate that they had this power, nothing to show them that they could choose to change their belief that they are a passive victim.

Silence and secrecy are what keeps this twisted little circus rolling, and branding offenders as monsters doesn’t help. The depths of my own anger surrounding this issue make it difficult to say what I’m about to say, but it is indeed the true that these men deserve some compassion from society. It is not to excuse, but simply to understand. In fact, it is in the best interest of child victims that we feel some compassion since the ugly stigmatization with which child molesters are branded can leave an offender feeling even more trapped and unable to reach out for help, which only exacerbates the issue and leads to more offences. This Louis C.K. stand up bit has been called a tasteless joke, but he is indeed on to something with his idea that we take it down a notch when it comes to “kid having sex people” because at least then “you get the kid back.”

~ “Every situation properly perceived, becomes an opportunity to heal.” – A Course In Miracles


Speak No Evil

"Speak No Evil"

Very provocative and honest post. Why indeed to people choose to ignore the horrible reality of rape?

thepreachershusband

I watched a twenty-four year old woman get raped today.

A man knocked her momentarily unconscious.

She came to with cuffed wrists.

He gagged her.

He whipped her.

He spread her.

He jammed his dick into her asshole.

I didn’t do anything.

I suppose I could make the excuse that it was acting.  Hollywood had convincingly “recreated” rape.

I didn’t do anything.

It wasn’t real?

And what of the hundredss of thousands of women being raped right now?

The sex-slaves.

The abused wives.

The ravaged daughters.

Are they real?

Why don’t we speak up, men?

Why are we okay with the rape, the incest, the abuse, the porn, the jokes, the sexism, the objectifications?

You ask me why I would write such a graphic post?

I ask you why you prefer ignore it?

http://www.atg.wa.gov/HumanTrafficking/SexTrafficking.aspx

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