Momfession Monday: I Was Molested

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null-2My life has all the earmarks of a charmed existence. Because of that, many people assume I never had to struggle through or overcome anything. That’s foolish. If I have learned anything so far in this life, it is that we all have struggles. We all have secrets—secrets that inform who we are as wives, mothers, and friends. I’m no exception, and I bet you aren’t either.

Here is my secret:

When I was 11 years old, I was molested by a person I trusted. An older person who—I later learned—was wrestling with age-inappropriate sexual knowledge that had been previously forced upon him. It was then, and is now, my deepest and darkest secret.

As a mom, I’m well aware that what happened to me is every parent’s worst nightmare. I also know, as both a mother and a daughter, that even the best parents can’t protect their children every second of the day. So, although this experience is not something I am willing to talk about openly, I wanted to share my story to give comfort and understanding to those of you who someday may have a child who stands in my shoes.

Where do I start? Most parents, upon learning abuse has occurred, start by reassuring their children that what happened was not their fault. This is a wonderful thing to say. Fortunately, however, I never blamed myself or tortured myself with questions about what I could have done differently. (I was 11, after all.) What I felt was a deep and unexplainable sense of shame. A shame so intense I never talked about it. I didn’t even allow myself to think about it. When a memory resurfaced, I would consciously and forcefully push it away—back into the furthest corner of my mind. Access denied.

If I’m being honest, that’s still how I handle it. Recently, I’ve found my mind trying to go even further—intellectualizing and minimizing the whole episode. Child sexual abuse is so common. My abuser was a victim himself. It was just touching. When I got up the nerve to say stop, he did. All of that is true, and I so appreciate that my brain wants to make everything better. But none of it changes the fact that I was, and am, profoundly affected by what happened.

Sex and sexuality are a huge part of life, and most people experience a sexual awakening in adolescence. What I experienced cannot fairly be described in that manner. My “awakening” was an airhorn blowing into my ear, jolting me out of sleep, and leaving me disoriented as I faced a new day.

Every normal, teenage sexual feeling that I had was tainted with fear—fear that, if I talked about or acted on those feelings, someone would figure out that I knew too much, and my shameful secret would be revealed. So I didn’t. I proceeded through middle school, high school, and a good part of college as a “prude,” suppressing my sexuality along with my painful past. For a fleeting period of time, in a misguided attempt to put the incident behind me, I used alcohol to numb my anxiety, but I quickly discovered being a prude was easier to stomach. All that to say, my first sober (and consensual) sexual encounter did not occur until I was 22 years old—a full decade after my abuse.

Sex was not the only affected aspect of my relationships. People who experience trauma during childhood or adolescence at the hands of a person they trust tend to go one of two ways: Either they lose their sense of appropriate boundaries completely, or they become obsessed with establishing and maintaining boundaries. Both are complicated paths. For people like me—who go the latter direction—and their partners, there is no such thing as a relationship without labels, a friendship with an ex-girlfriend, or an innocent bachelor-party outing. Our relationship is either defined or non-existent. She is either your friend or your ex. That bachelor party is either about spending time with your friends or being inappropriate. Believe me, I know it sounds bad. It’s exhausting, and it’s unfair. But it’s not about trust; it’s about needing firmly-defined boundaries to protect my heart against further disappointment.

At this point, more than two decades have passed, and it’s easier to have perspective about the whole thing. Yes, being molested was the worst thing that has happened to me, but it’s not the worst thing that ever could have happened to me. I have a life. I have a family. I have a husband who loves me and understands how my brain is wired and why. I have children who show me, through their eyes, a world more beautiful and wonderful than I’ve ever known. I have more to be grateful for every single day than some people have in a lifetime.

A wise old greek philosopher once said, “It’s not what happens to you, but how you react to it that matters.” Every single one of us has something in her past that she’d rather forget, and my something is no more or less significant than anyone else’s. What I have learned—and what I would emphasize to anyone who may be struggling—is we are not defined by those experiences.

What happened to me all those years ago is just one of a billion tiny pieces of history that have made me into the person I am. A person I am proud to be. A person who knows that yesterday is gone and tomorrow is up to me.

2 COMMENTS

  1. You are so very brave. Sexual abuse of children is sadly very common and something we need to bring to light. <3 Publishing this in such a public forum allows others to know they're not alone.

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