Yesterday we went to class Number 2 of PRIDE. Clint and I both felt like this one was much better than last week as far as getting good information. Debbie with Buckner was the leader today and she did a great job (and is such an adorable woman). We covered things such as visitations and how to handle the before and after with the children and we discussed ecomaps.
The biggest topic of the day was sexual abuse. They brought in a current foster mom who for some reason has had several foster children who have been victims of sexual abuse. The stories were sad and frightening. Poor Clint, it honestly freaked him out! He doesn't think that he is strong enough to deal with things like four hour plus tantrums, etc. And right now, that does sound daunting, but I'm up to the challenge. Yesterday just really seemed to further commit to me that I am called to do this. While I may have endured sexual abuse in my life, God knew that I could handle it, overcome it, and come out stronger on the other side. The silver lining is that it was a gift to me...I know, how in the world is sexual abuse a gift?! But it gave me understanding and compassion for these kids. I can relate to their feelings and actions because I experienced many of them as well and these kids can be assured that I won't find them shameful or embarassing.
As the discussion on sexual abuse got started, Clint looked at me and asked if I was okay. And I was! I really have turned all of that over to God and I don't have that pain anymore. However, it did dredge up feelings and memories that I hadn't thought of in awhile. After the issue had been brought to light those many years ago, I was embarassed, ashamed, and angry. I am an internalizer about many things and really just wanted to put all of it in a locked box and throw away the key. I immersed myself in school and my grades only went up. It was my escape. However, over the years, I've been able to release those negative feelings and rather than trying to hide it, I simply just filed it away in a regular box because it was over and I had moved on.
But yesterday had me opening up that box and peering back in. It wasn't a bad thing and was probably good for me to be reminded of the emotions I felt during and after. They talked about how many kids love their perpetrators and don't understand why they've been taken away. They have no idea that the sexual behavior is wrong because it's what they've been taught by an authoritative figure as right. They've been told they are good little boys and girls and make the perps happy. I remember that. When I was little, I loved my grandad and didn't have any ill feelings towards him. He constantly told me I was good. It wasn't until I got older 4th, 5th, 6th grade when my body started changing and I started understanding more that my feelings started to turn. My mom taught us sex education and a young age and I think that was good. She wanted us to get the facts first before kids started gossiping about different things. So that too heightened my awarness that what was going on was NOT right.
And while I knew it wasn't right. My grandad had control and fear over me. I feared no one would believe me over him. I was trapped. My sister however was different. While I was the rule follower, not one to rock the boat, she was full of spunk. My grandad knew this and had to go the extra mile with her to scare her. During the years of abuse, I had no idea he was doing the same to my sister and my sister likewise didn't know about me. Anyway, the stories I've heard from her since then on how he threatened her hurt so bad. He was a military man and sick and twisted. Fortunately, despite those horrible threats, my sister finally confided in a school friend at an after-school program. This friend knew this was not right and went straight to one of the teachers of the program who confided to my mom.
To say my mom was livid would be an understatement. I was in 6th grade at the time and I remember coming home that day and my mom saying, 'We've got to talk!' Usually that was code for 'You're in BIG trouble!' I racked my brain for what I could have possibly done wrong, but was coming up empty. I remember asking, "Am I in trouble?" She said, "No, but I know someone who might be!" When my mom is seriously upset she gets this really deep voice and she had that. I was a little panicked. She then mentioned my grandad and asked if he had touched me in anyway. She said that she would trust me and believe me in no matter what I said. I broke down and told her.
It was out and there was this sense of relief! She believed me! This nightmare is going to be over! But then there was the embarassment of having to talk about it, knowing that others now knew. I was scared, what did this mean now? What was next?
The next part is kind of a blur. My mom wanted to prosecute my grandad. My sister and I had to meet with a therapist and describe with a doll, etc. all of the things he did. Not fun to have to verbalize! Especially to a stranger. My mom also started us in counseling. Again, I just remember NOT wanting to talk about it. Just wanted to move on.
One of the worst things was riding the bus from school one day. My cousin (boy) who was my age only lived a few streets away from me and we rode the same bus (he was a grade ahead though due to his early birthday). He said to me, "You know you're never going to get to see grandmommy again." Crushed! I was crushed! I LOVED my grandmommy! And then I thought...she doesn't believe me! She must hate me! The whole family hates my sister and me! And well, those feelings were true and my dad's side of the family was stripped away from me. So, while I haven't been taken away from my immediate family like a foster child is, I dealt with a lot of the same feelings.
In the end, my grandad got off. Nothing happened to him, which is often the case. So many people thought we made it up. Wow! I just can't even imagine making up that stuff, just saying the words to the therapist was torture. Even now, that I feel like I can move past it. I think I could only share the details of what he did to my husband and that's only if he asks. That part I suppose will always be a scar.
The story doesn't end there though. About four years later, it was discovered that my grandad was having an affair with another woman (lots of stuff would come out about him). My grandparents were getting a divorce. Suddenly, the family felt allowed to believe us. My grandmother wanted to see us! While it was great, it was awkward too. Life with that side of the family just never was the same. Christmas Eve used to be a big gathering at my grandparents house with all of us. My sister and I anticipated it for weeks when we were little! Somehow, we were now supposed to just jump back in. Deep down, the family still didn't really care for my sister or me and they weren't so good about hiding those feelings. My grandmother loved us, but still, it was just different. She's now in a nursing home and doesn't remember us, but I really lost her back in 6th grade, not a couple of years ago. She was the only connection with my dad's side of the family that sort of brought people together. Without her, there is no connection with them. Through the wonders of facebook, one of my cousins did find me and will talk to me. However, we were never close, even growing up (there was quite a bit of age difference between us).
The worst though, our own dad doesn't believe us. While I can get past my other family, my dad not believing me honestly does sting a bit. But my issues with my dad run much more deep than just this and that is something that I am constantly having to remind myself to turn over to God because otherwise, I wouldn't be able to handle it. I know my dad is in a difficult position since it is his father and believing us would mean coming to terms that his own father could do such a thing. However, my sister has called me in hysterics a couple of times when she has been at my dad's house and my grandad was invited over. My dad could at least have the courtesy to not do that.
Anyway, I know all of this is long-winded and certainly not a pleasant subject, but it just felt good to let it out on 'paper'. It's been a long time. And I don't hold anger over my dad's family and I don't blame myself. I know my grandad is the reason that life is the way it is now. And my dad's side of the family has many more issues that make things strained between one another than just this subject. I don't get worked up over it. I do remember when I was attending McMurry and running around the nearby streets for track...my grandad's work was nearby. I didn't fear him seeing me and doing something to me, but I can guarantee to you that I always had a subconsious plan of what to do if I saw him. I knew where the closest house, easiest get-away was. In class, they discussed how some of the kids had certain triggers that would bring them back to the awful incidents. I don't have that. There is something though, my grandad had a very distinct whistle. Every once in awhile I'll hear someone make that whistle and the hairs on my arms will stand up. It's more of a 'nails on the chalkboard' thing than taking me back to trauma though. I do think my sister has more lasting issues with it though and I hate that. She has a girl and she is extremely wary about who can keep her, even family. Plus, she still lives in Abilene and runs the risk of seeing him more.
It's a shame that there are such sick people int his world who would abuse a child in this way. But I'm happy to be one of the 'success' stories who can move on and heal.
