As adults in this day and age, we have the power to stop children from being abused, but many still choose to ignore the obvious. Our children are still suffering at the hands of abusers — even now. It can happen anywhere in the world. It can happen next door in your neighborhood.

We have to be open enough to see what’s going on. Our future generation is at stake here, but we can stop it if we act now.

Child abuse or any type of abuse of another human being should be stopped. The fact that it’s still happening is breaking my heart. I wish I had the power to stop every single one, but I can’t. I need your help.

This article is about spotting those little tell-tale signals that immediately scream that something is not right. I can see abuse from just one look.

A child who is subjected to sexual abuse or any kind of abuse will act differently from their peers.

I know, because I was that child.

It doesn’t matter how frequently abuse happens. A developing brain that has been exposed to trauma will have changed. That child will start to act differently.

The child will use coping mechanisms to survive the trauma any way they can. These coping mechanisms might be the body’s response to what is happening or even a direct threat to carry out a certain behavior by an abuser.

The Frozen child

A deeply traumatized child might suddenly become frozen and withdrawn. or become mute and stare into space (catatonic). They may be sitting with their legs drawn up to their chests and rocking back and forth.

This child is in deep despair and feeling helpless. When a child is in this state, it is unable to communicate because the brain is protecting itself by doing a complete psychological shutdown.

I have been in this state many times, and it is terrifying.

Any child suffering from abuse will build up a strong shell around him / her to survive. They may seem disinterested and rude on the outside, but instead they are deeply hurting inside.

The Control child

A child may display behaviors, such as an innate need to control a situation. They will not trust anyone and be suspicious of new situations. They may seem particularly hypervigilant and may come across as not in control of their bodies; for example, they might display changing emotions in quick succession like anger followed by sadness followed by running away, almost like a traffic light changing colors. The same child may react very oddly to certain situations, like laughing if someone is hurt or starting to cry profusely at a bumblebee that is lying dead in the grass. These are all coping mechanisms from trauma.

The Sudden Change in a Child

A professional looking after children will know them and know if a child suddenly changes behavior, which is a red flag that something is not right. If you suspect something, observe that child at play.

Watch how the child holds itself, how it walks and how it behaves around other children. Watch their language. What does it sound like? Would a normal 6-year-old use “those words” or can you hear something odd?

Notice how the child behaves at pick up and drop off times. What is it like with their caregivers? How does it behave after a long weekend or a vacation?

If anything appears “wrong” you must report it. Start a “behavior journal”. This will build up a true picture of the child. Chances are nothing is going on, but would you be willing to take that risk if something happens?

Avoiding Physical Contact

A child might suddenly hate physical contact or being touched at all. They might even recoil if anyone touches them. A young child might feel so scared and threatened that it hides itself away for long periods.

The child could be sitting under a blanket, hide under a bed, table or behind a sofa or roll up into a ball in a corner sucking a thumb, regressing into baby behavior.

A young child might be overly attached to things like a blanket, pillow or a teddy. Having something soft and tactile could be a small relief for a traumatized child.

An older traumatized child may suddenly seek solitude from everyone and play in an odd way. An older child might want to be left alone, shutting everyone out — alone in their bedroom or in the playground.

The Sudden Artist / Creative child

A child might start creating stories and drawings of the abuse or making up characters who act like abusers. The child might use language that they have been exposed to that contains words a child should not know.

A child who is displaying this type of behavior does not have the language to explain what they are experiencing and will use a medium that they know to make sense of it.

The Child Pushing Physical Limits

A child might suddenly start to push itself excessively hard to the point of collapse, and not realize its body limitations. This is called desensitization.

A child might stay out in the cold and rain too long, not realizing frostbite is forming. In summer weather, that same child might get extremely dirty and not care how they look because no one cares for them.

An older child may be starting to break the limits. What happens if?… Climbing really high trees, racing friends on their bikes, hitting things, and hurting others.

Seeking Roughness in People

An older child may start hanging out with friends who are not appropriate and experiment with drugs and alcohol. They might start spending time with other families and staying out as long as possible. Avoiding going home to their abusers at any cost.

The Self-harming Child

A child is seen torturing themselves (self-harming) with sticks or tools (like knives), making their hands bleed, and developing blisters and bruises on purpose.

This is a big, desperate cry for help. This means the child is on the verge of giving up in a downward spiral of hate and shame for itself and not just the abuser.

The Child Actor

A child acting out the abuse itself anywhere is obviously a massive red flag for anyone, but sometimes this could be more subtle and disguised in their normal play. Like abusing dolls, teddies, or pets, even insects or anything that could be restrained and hurt.

Overall Body Indicators

An abused child may seem strangely jittery, tense and may even use rigid robotic movements and hyper alert of their surroundings. This would be particularly apparent during a change in routine.

Head Constant Aches and Stomach Pains

A child suddenly developing chronic headaches or feeling sick is another sign that all is not well. A child might feel threatened and become paranoid by keeping their eyes on a swivel. These children feel desperately unsafe in their normal environment.

Physical Changes

A child suffering sexual abuse may struggle to sit down if they are a girl. They may suffer from chronic vaginal pain when going to the bathroom. This child may avoid going to the bathroom and ignore their bodily signals, and have wet accidents.

Testing Behavior

An abused child may often copy friends’ rough behavior to see the reactions they get from adults. This child may never have been given boundaries and may have to learn what is good and bad behavior.

Another behavior is to become very angry and be rough with toys, animals, or even their peers. These are called temper tantrums.

Rejecting Common Food Types

A child might suddenly start rejecting certain foods that remind them of sexual abuse like cream, custard, mayonnaise and yogurts.

The People Pleaser

A child who is being abused gets very good at reading people around them and deflecting attention away from them. They may try to seek affirmation from adults that they are ok and “been good”. This child is seeking approval of adults.

Fear and Terror

A child might suddenly get terrified of something, which reminds them of their abuser/s. This might seem completely harmless to everyone else.

A child might start incessant crying or become hysterical over nothing or suddenly become upset at the sight of men with beards or someone with glasses.

All these coping mechanisms are called by the professionals as a “Fight / flight / freeze / Fawn” state of being.

It is a survival state.

This is what happens when the brain’s sympathetic nervous system becomes overactive, which makes the body go into a “fight / flight / fawn and freeze” state. The Amygdala part of the brain becomes hyperactive under the conditions of extreme stress like traumatic experiences. The memory gets “stuck in this part of the brain in vivid detail until it is triggered years later.

My name is Lizzy. I’m a trauma survivor, a wife, a mom, a teacher, and an author.

If you like reading my posts, then please follow me.

For more about me: www.elizabethwoodsauthor.com

Support your fellow writer:

https://ko-fi.com/elizabe69245484

Photo Credit: Unsplash

Guest Post Disclaimer: This guest post is for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing shared here, across CPTSDfoundation.org, any CPTSD Foundation website, our associated communities, or our Social Media accounts, is intended to substitute for or supersede the professional advice and direction of your medical or mental health providers. The thoughts and opinions expressed are those of the guest author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the CPTSD Foundation. For further details, please review the following: Terms of Service, Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer

Elizabeth Woods

For more about me: https://www.elizabethwoodsauthor.com

Elizabeth Woods grew up in a world of brutal sex offenders, murderers, and inconceivably neglectful adults. Elizabeth is passionate about spreading awareness of what it is like to survive after trauma. She is the author of several books and has written her memoir, telling her childhood story: The Sex-Offender’s Daughter: A True Story of Survival Against All Odds, available on Amazon Kindle and paperback.

Elizabeth is also the author of “Living with Complex PTSD” and the Cedar’s Port Fiction series: “Saving Joshua”, “Protecting Sarah”, “Guarding Noah” and “Bringing Back Faith,” and “Restoring Hope,” available here: https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B0BCBZQN7L/allbooks?ingress=0&visitId=7e223b5b-1a29-45f0-ad9d-e9c8fdb59e9c&ref_=ap_rdr&ccs_id=931f96e2-c220-4765-acc8-cc99bb95e8bd

www.elizabethwoodsauthor.com/

Afraid To Go To School

At the beginning of third grade, our usually happy and confident son, William, became panic-stricken about going to school. This dramatic
change surprised and confused my husband and me, as William had always been an enthusiastic student.

Suddenly, weekday mornings were excruciating, with William crying and vomiting and begging us to let him stay home. His severe anxiety attacks when it was time to leave the house were bewildering and, frankly, terrifying. When I begged him to tell me what was wrong, he would only reply, “I don’t feel good,” through choked breaths and a river of tears.

William did not feel well, but he was not physically ill. We had no idea what was causing his intense emotional reactions. Our home life was happy and stable. William and his older sister were close. He enjoyed playing football and taking art lessons. We were lucky to have loving grandparents who lived nearby.

Our pediatrician recommended therapy with a child psychologist who diagnosed William with Separation Anxiety Disorder. The
psychologist noted my husband’s and my personal history of anxiety, and while it was never debilitating, he told us it tends to run in families. I was perplexed why our son would develop such extreme anxiety now after loving school for the past four years. Although the idea that William suffered from separation anxiety did not quite ring true, I put my trust in the professional’s opinion.

‘Plan A’ Brings Little Relief

Unfortunately, William’s symptoms grew worse as third grade continued. The school nurse called home once or twice weekly for
me to pick up our distressed child. Notably, the minute William got in the car and we headed home, he became more relaxed. William’s psychologist and the school social worker developed a plan for me to sit outside William’s classroom each morning to help him stay in school. He could take a short break every twenty minutes, but he rarely made it ten. It was not long before William was prescribed the benzodiazepine Ativan to help him get through the school day. Long weekends and vacation breaks brought some relief, but the anxiety attacks always began anew when it was time to return to school.

Despite therapy and medication, William’s self-confidence plummeted. He felt defeated at anything performance-related,
though by all measures, he was a capable child. He froze during tests, even when he studied for hours. William’s lack of confidence
was also evident outside of school. Small setbacks took on outsized importance and seemed like a matter of life and
death. He still had frequent nightmares and panic attacks. The only thing that brought him some solace was drawing on his big sketch pad.

Missed Clues and Misdirected Efforts

Later that year, William told me he was worried that something was wrong with his penis and allowed me to look. I saw nothing physically wrong, but he was so upset that I took him to the pediatrician. His doctor spoke to him privately and concluded his fears were the latest manifestation of his anxiety. William’s psychologist agreed with this opinion, and to our surprise, his comments about his genitalia were put aside.

By this time, I had read enough books on childhood anxiety to fill an entire bookcase. One book said that learning disabilities could
cause anxiety, so we arranged for William to have a psychoeducational evaluation. This assessment led to a diagnosis of Learning Disability, NOS (not otherwise specified). The school gave him extra time on exams and counseling with the school social worker. Things calmed down a bit, but his low self-esteem and tearful mornings persisted.

William continued with private therapy, taking a few months off during calm periods and returning whenever he faced an
overwhelming challenge. Transitions such as moving to middle school and high school were predictably difficult for him. William
responded by over-compensating in all areas of life. He gave everything 150% effort. If studying for a test required three hours,
he devoted ten. He excelled in school and athletics, but his achievements were accompanied by more stress than satisfaction.

Our Worst Fears Hit Home

While William was in college, our local newspaper reported on a civil lawsuit filed by five adult men who alleged sexual abuse by
their former physical education teacher more than twenty years earlier. To my husband’s and my horror, the alleged perpetrator was the same teacher our son had in elementary school. The teacher, now retired, had taken a special interest in our son. I remember William telling us with some pride that the teacher praised him and singled him out to stay after gym class to put away equipment. Now very suspicious, I asked William if the
teacher had ever touched him inappropriately. Although he denied it, I
remained on high alert.

After the newspaper article was published, William hit a rough patch. He quit the golf team sophomore year. During his junior year, he left an internship with no explanation. At a parents’ weekend senior year, I remarked how thin he looked. A roommate joked that William often binge-ate in the middle of the night. I asked William if he was ok, and he said, “Mom, I’m a teenage boy. I eat a lot.”

Meanwhile, several more men alleged sexual abuse by the same elementary school gym teacher. The City and Board of Education settled each lawsuit before going to trial. The teacher was never criminally charged because the statute of limitations had expired. With each new development, I asked our son if he had ever been abused, and he always said no.

After college, William moved back to our hometown to begin his career and continue therapy with his long-time psychologist. Unfortunately, his lack of confidence followed him into the workplace, and he left some coveted jobs because of the pressure. Early one morning, William called me and said, “Mom, I’m not doing well.” It was clear from his voice there was a problem and he asked me for help. When I arrived at his apartment, I found him on all fours, banging his head on the floor and crying, “The pain keeps coming; it won’t go away.” William agreed to go to the emergency room and stated he had secrets he no longer wanted to keep. As he lay on the hospital bed, he disclosed that he had bulimia and suicidal ideation. After several hours, the hospital released him with orders to attend an eating disorder clinic. From my research, I knew there was an association between eating disorders, suicidal ideation, and sexual abuse. I was convinced William was getting ready to reveal that his former teacher had abused him. We just had to wait.

Confronting and Accepting the Awful Truth

Two months later, William finally disclosed to his psychologist that his gym teacher sexually abused him in elementary school. It took nearly twenty years for him to share this terrible secret. Twenty years of anxiety attacks, nightmares, loss of confidence, and an
immeasurable amount of suffering. For many survivors of child sexual abuse, it takes much longer if the disclosure ever comes at
all. Sexually traumatized children are terrified to disclose because they often fear they are somehow complicit or even responsible. They may worry they will not be believed or will somehow get in trouble. Children also have no way of knowing that a system of justice exists, imperfect as it is, to prosecute offenders. As adults, it is our responsibility to safeguard them, recognize the warning signs, and provide healing when they are hurt or abused.

It is not William’s fault his parents, medical doctor, long-time psychologist, and school officials did not recognize what his
behavior was trying to tell us. The fact that our son’s suffering was misunderstood and unnecessarily prolonged is hard for me to accept. I feel a great deal of personal guilt and am angry with the professionals who missed all the signs in plain sight.

It has been a long, painful journey, but I am grateful our son survived this horror and regained a foothold in life. Trauma has a long shadow, but I am proud of William’s resilience. He works hard for his happiness and has developed meaningful relationships. Let us never stop trying to eliminate childhood sexual abuse by paying close attention, believing what children’s behaviors are telling us, and responding effectively when they occur.

Sarah Arnold is a former communications professional who is now a licensed clinical social worker.

Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing in this blog post, nor any content on CPTSDfoundation.org, is a supplement for or supersedes the relationship and direction of your medical or mental health providers. Thoughts, ideas, or opinions expressed by the writer of this guest blog post do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Sarah Arnold

I twirled around, causing the skirt of my best Sunday dress to flair out in a way that delighted my four-year-old sensibilities. It was 1966, and my black patent leather Mary Jane’s made a wonderful clacking sound on the creaky oak floors of the sanctuary. The problem was I was supposed to be sitting in my seat. My father scowled at me from the pulpit. Mrs. Wagoner, a wonderful, kindly old widow, had been tasked with watching me that Sunday morning, but try as she might, she couldn’t convince me to sit down. For some reason I cannot remember, my mother was not in attendance at the service that day. 

I did not want to sit in the hard pews and listen to another one of my father’s long, boring sermons. I wanted to twirl and watch the pleated columns of my skirt float around me like the ballerinas I so admired. Mrs. Wagoner finally enticed me back into the pew with a stick of fragrant fun stripe chewing gum.

After the service, I stood on the stoop of the church in abject shame as, one by one, the congregation filed by, waiting to shake my father’s hand. “Good sermon,” a man said as he looked at me in pity. “Your little girl has a lot of spirit.” The man gave me a weak smile, but I only stared at the ground and tried to disappear behind my father’s black suit. 

As soon as the service had ended, my father had made a beeline straight for me. His familiar look of rage communicated just how much trouble I was in. Grabbing me by the arm, he gritted his teeth and growled into my ear, “You’re getting a whipping when we get home.”

I knew I deserved it. I was bad through and through to the core of my being. I was the most wicked girl that had ever lived. Why did I constantly cause so much trouble everywhere I went? I looked over at my older brother by eighteen months. He was perfect. Able to sit for interminable amounts of time without moving a muscle or saying a word, I could not understand why I could not be like him. Why was it so hard for me to get through the Sunday morning service? Not only had I failed to sit still, I had committed the unpardonable sin. I had made my father look bad, and I had done it in front of the people he most wanted to impress—the church congregation. 

One by one, the congregants filed by until it was poor Mrs. Wagoner’s turn. She tried to defend me as she placed her white-gloved hand into my father’s. “She’s just a little girl,” the old lady clucked. Reaching over, she gently touched my hair. “Don’t be too hard on her.”

Mrs. Wagoner could not imagine what awaited me when we got home. No one in the congregation could. I would get a beating within an inch of my life. I don’t remember ever moving during a church service again after that day. 

To outsiders, we were the perfect family—my father, gregarious and socially adept, covered for my mother’s awkward introversion. Pillars of the community, my father was a bi-vocational pastor and a successful businessman. My mother, an elementary school teacher and avid homemaker, was famous throughout the community for her amazing rose garden and specialty Christmas cakes. But underneath the surface, a boiling rage ran through our household. My father was a monster, and my brother and I were terrified of him. Beatings were dispensed at the slightest infraction. No emotion, expression, or individuality was allowed. He and he alone ruled the household, and he did so literally as an iron-fisted tyrant. 

My mother was just as dangerous. Perhaps more so. Unstable, you never knew what might set her off. Filled with unexpressed anger from my father’s dominance, she took her frustrations out on her children. In addition to physical abuse, my mother perpetrated the most damaging abuse of all. Warped from her own sexual abuse, she, in turn, abused us. Even your body was not your own in our household. She played endless mind games where emotional torture and threats were her favorite tools. Constantly fearing for our lives, my brother and I lived in the shadows, sneaking from room to room, hoping our parents would not notice our existence. Staying out of the way was the only way to survive. The trouble was that I couldn’t figure out how to do that. My brother, however, was stellar at it. No matter how much he tried to protect me, I somehow managed to be in the way. He would look at me with compassion while I took another beating or sidle up to me in sympathy as my mother, fists balled,  screamed at me for some small mistake. 

The abuse seems so clear as I describe it now, but I emerged from that home at the age of eighteen, still thinking we were not only perfect, we were better than other people. My father was the authority on all things. His opinion held special importance because he had more insight than anyone else. My mother couldn’t understand why everyone wasn’t as wonderful as she was and why the accolades she deserved had never come her way. My home might as well have been called a mind-control cult because that’s exactly what it was. It wasn’t until much later, when the wheels came off that I began to see the truth, and that truth would come to me in stages as my mind and emotions were able to handle it.

Middle-Knowledge

Dealing with childhood trauma takes time. When your mind is shattered and your emotions a wasteland, there is a place that trauma survivors live called middle-knowledge.(footnote 1, Grief Counseling and Grief Therapy by William Wordan, pg 44). Middle knowledge means knowing and not knowing at the same time. Underneath the surface, I knew that my parent’s behavior was off, but I put that knowledge away. To fully embrace the truth was too great a threat to my existence. My father and mother and the constructed reality they ran held complete control over my thoughts and actions. To step outside of that system would be to call down the most disastrous consequences possible. Dread and fear are powerful ways to control other people, and my father and mother wielded those tools with exact precision. 

Underneath all these power plays lay the worst threat of all. The threat to withdraw love. Abandonment hung over everything my parents did. If I refused total compliance, I would be shunned, cut off, and thrown out with the dogs. Love was never unconditional, and the carrot of acceptance was like a disappearing vapor that I could never quite grasp. 

My abusers used a two-pronged approach. Do everything you can to undermine the self-confidence of your victim while at the same time convincing them they cannot live without the abuser’s control. 

I lived over half my life before I began to make significant strides toward healing. My twenties, thirties, and forties were spent in survival mode. By the time the suffering was so severe I was forced to address it, I had lost over five decades. So much time had passed. My children were raised, my career path chosen, all the major decisions of life had been made, and I had stumbled through it all with trauma undermining my every thought and decision. It was too late! Too late to be a better parent! Too late to be an encouraging partner! Too late to follow my dreams! Too late to be happy and too late to heal! Or was it?

We took my mother out to eat on one of my last visits with her. She was at the beginning of twenty years of institutionalization that would define the last years of her life. For ten years before that, I had tried to deal with her mental illness expressed through panic, rages, control, manipulation, blame, and coercion. Nothing I did made any difference. She was completely lost. Her life had fallen apart after my father left and divorced her, and though she lived in a beautiful home, she could not manage her money or her life. Inch by inch, the darkness completely took over. The torment of knowing her in the present was just as destructive as her abuse had been in childhood.

My husband, my two college-age sons, and I sat together with my mother in a booth at the restaurant. She had aged a hundred years since I’d last seen her. The wild-eyed hunted look that used to come and go had taken up permanent residence. My children looked at her in fear. She was so odd. Later, on the drive home, my oldest son commented. “That was the closest to meeting Gollum I have ever been in real life.” And indeed, that’s what she had become. A wizened, withered shell of a person existing but not living. I cried all the way home.

The eternal flame of hope that somehow, some way, my family of origin might return to that idyllic perfection I had been brain-washed to believe in finally began to die. My mother was never going to get better. Things were never going to return to the secure delusion I so longed for. She was never going to comprehend the destruction she had wrought in my life, and worst of all, I was never going to be released from the prison of trauma that so pervaded everything because both my parents were still participating in it and in fact would keep participating in it until the day they died.

I felt condemned to repeat the dysfunctional patterns forever. Terrified I would destroy the lives of my children and haunt their adulthood as she had mine, I began to consider what to do. I felt lost, just as lost as my mother had been. I couldn’t control my emotions or anxiety any better than she had. Terror ran my life, and I knew it had already had a major impact on my children. But I wasn’t dead…not yet. My mother had resigned from life. I, at least, was still in the game.

It is never too late to heal from trauma. In fact, it is imperative that you take up arms and heed the call to do so no matter what life stage you are in. You have been given a mission, and you alone are the only one who can fulfill it. Within your grasp is the ability to break the transfer of trauma from one generation to the next. Your choices have a profound influence on the world. Perhaps you think your little life doesn’t matter. I can assure you it does. You have the chance to be a blessing or a curse. To leave behind anger and hatred and give the gift of peace and kindness. It is a gigantic task and one that can feel overwhelming. Where in the world do you begin? You begin where you are. Whether you are eighteen or eighty, if you take one small step toward healing, you will be starting at exactly the right place.

Rebekah Brown

Rebekah Brown, a native of the south, now resides in the Great American West. Surviving a complicated and abusive family system makes her unique writing style insightful as well as uplifting. Rebekah is the proud mother of two and grandmother of four.

***

I recently read an essay by Melissa Febos, “The Heart-Work: Writing About Trauma as a Subversive Act,” from 2017, which was later expanded and now appears as the first chapter, entitled “In Praise of Navel Gazing” in her 2022 collection of essays “Body Work: The Radical Power of Personal Narrative.” I read the original article on my laptop as I ate comfort food at a wooden picnic table near the lake. I had run away for the afternoon, taking time with myself, sorting through some uncomfortable emotions, and feeling raw. As I absorbed her story, tears appeared on the horizon. I was moved both by her compelling arguments about the transformative power of the truth but also by another layer of realization of my own hard stories pulsing in my veins, chanting in the half-darkness, waiting in the wings for their moment in the sun.

***

“This is the way adults love each other.”

“This is a grown-up secret, just between you and me.”

***

I’m seventeen, and I’ve agreed to check into Long Beach Memorial Hospital for a substance abuse treatment program for teens. I see the gray melamine meal tray, complete with a wooden spork and green Jello, in my mind’s eye. I am filling out a questionnaire. “Have you ever been sexually abused?” I mark the yes box. I feel defiant and strong. I am finally telling the truth. Do I understand the true freeing power of honesty at that time? It’s not how I do today, but somewhere in me, I am so tired of keeping secrets. My adult cousin had molested me when I was about 3 or 4.

I hadn’t thought that checkmark all the way through to the avalanche effect it was about to have. I was underage. My parents had to be told. Was it going to have to be reported?

Big surprise, they weren’t surprised. They already knew. Apparently, I had told them when it happened. Why did I still feel so betrayed? What could a young child have possibly told them anyway? Did they know to ask the right questions? Why was nothing ever done? Why did I still feel so unsafe? Why was my dad still buddy-buddy with this man who did what he did to me? Why did I feel like it was my fault?

***

“Men will only ever want one thing from you.”

***

My dad told me this multiple times, starting in junior high school. There was always a “look” and a “tone” that went along with this. I assume he thought he was protecting me. In high school, he told me I looked like a prostitute once and made me change my clothes.

My dad also repeatedly told friends and family the story about the summer I was developing, and he saw me in the rear-view mirror but hadn’t seen my face, just my body, and found himself gawking at me. Internally, I cowered in shame. Why was he proud of this fact? Why did I feel so dirty? What did I do wrong?

***

“If you really knew me and all my secrets, you wouldn’t want me, love me.

You’d run screaming in the other direction.”

***

The point in my life when I finally stood in the face of the truth at last and looked eye to eye with my own alcoholism and destructive patterns, my own Jekyll and Hyde, the wasteland of my tattered soul, was the same timeframe I started writing again. Among other things, writing saved my life and resurrected my sanity. The true transformation took root; my pen and ink were soil and water. With guidance, I began to look with clear eyes at myself and question who and what I was and what the hell was I doing in my life, not to mention asking and answering the questions starting with why. I dismantled secrets, washed clean the lies (including those I told myself of what was and wasn’t ok), and turned the clean laundry back right-side-out. I had lived in an inverted reality and didn’t even know it. The shame rode so deep in me. I couldn’t look you in the eye. I most certainly couldn’t even hold my own gaze in the mirror. I was dead inside. Too many secrets. Too many lies. For far too long.

***

“I had to walk back through my most mystifying choices and excavate events for which I had been numb on the first go-round.” – Melissa Febos

***

As I laid myself bare on the table, ink drained from me like blood. I felt like I was in a detective movie, making one of those link charts of stories and suspects, causes and conditions, trying to unravel an unruly ball of tangled yarn. I spoke of all my personal unspeakables, first on paper, then out loud to another. I told the stories and mistakes. I told how I hid and lied and cheated. I told things I could barely understand the meaning or implication of at the time. I recounted what I experienced, what had been done to me, and how each unhealed trauma had deepened my predisposition for the next, how I had become so broken and bent that I didn’t and couldn’t attract anything else. I had come this far and understood at a deep and visceral level that if nothing changed, nothing would change – that if I didn’t bring absolutely everything into the sunlight, then the simple truth was that I may not be able to move forward. And I already knew what backward looked like. No longer acceptable. Hope only lay ahead, in the unknown, in the light of day.

What happened next appeared gradually, like an acorn transmuting into a sapling, eventually growing into a mighty oak. Or maybe the better analogy is the beautiful lotus flower rising up out of the muck and mud at the bottom of the pond. I no longer have secrets. I may choose to keep something private, but the chains of silence no longer bind me. There is nothing that I have experienced, thought, said, or done that at least one other human being knows about. And there is sheer freedom and joy in this. I no longer feel the need to hide. I meet my own gaze in the mirror, and I know that someday, my stories of transforming my lived experience will help others transform theirs as well. No mud, no lotus.

***

“I say that refusing to write your story can make you into a monster. Or perhaps more accurately, we are already monsters. And to deny the monstrous is to deny its beauty, its meaning, its necessary devastation.”  — Melissa Febos

***

I began to feel grateful for pieces of my story. My escape into alcohol and, later, drugs may have been killing me, but it also medicated me and kept me alive in some ways. The pain that I endured both at the hands of others as well as at my own is a touchstone to growth. I don’t necessarily want to purge my past. Purify, transform, transmute, yes, but my battle scars are well-earned and, at times, even treasured. This is the rich and fertile soil that can help others transform their own.

. ***

“Navel-gazing is not for the faint of heart. The risk of honest self-appraisal requires bravery. To place our flawed selves in the context of this magnificent, broken world is the opposite of narcissism, which is building a self-image that pleases you. For many years, I kept a quote from Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet tacked over my desk: ‘The work of the eyes is done. Go now and do the heart-work on the images imprisoned within you.’ ”  — Melissa Febos

Photo by Suzanne D. Williams on Unsplash

Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing in this blog post, nor any content on CPTSDfoundation.org, is a supplement for or supersedes the relationship and direction of your medical or mental health providers. Thoughts, ideas, or opinions expressed by the writer of this guest blog post do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Adina Lynn LeCompte

Adina Lynn LeCompte is a sixth-generation Californian. After having lived in varying parts of the US and abroad in Florence, Italy, she has come home to roost, splitting her time between the Central Coast and the Foothills of Yosemite. She holds her Bachelors of Arts from UCLA (Language & Linguistics), her Master of Arts from Middlebury College School Abroad / Universita’ di Firenze (Language & Literature), and studied 4 years in the MDiv program at Naropa University in Boulder, Colorado. Over the years, she founded several successful local businesses and worked as an interfaith hospital and hospice chaplain.

Adina is a working writer, an award-winning poet, and is working on her upcoming book “Spilling Ink: Write Your Way Into Healing”. Additionally, she has designed an interactive transformative workshop by the same name that uses writing as a tool for healing from trauma, especially abuse and grief. She is also co-author of several compilations of poetry with her husband, John LeCompte, who is also a writer. (“With These Words, I Thee Wed: Love Poetry” was published in 2023.)

Her most recent exciting endeavor is being a part of the Bay Path Univeristy’s MFA program in Creative Nonfiction, with an emphasis in Narrative Medicine.

writeyourwayintohealing.com

Rape Crisis: England and Wales give the following statistics: Between October 2022 and September 2023: 1 in 4 women (6.54 million in total) have been raped or sexually assaulted;
1 in 6 children have been sexually abused;
1 in 18 men (1.34 million in total) have been raped or sexually abused – as adults.

On the 15th of March 2024, Rape Crisis published the following article: Alarming scale of sexual violence and abuse on mental health wards. It reads: “These investigations have uncovered deeply concerning incidents and safeguarding failures within mental health inpatient settings – almost 4,000 sexual safety ‘incidents’ were reported between January and August 2023, perpetrated by a combination of professionals and fellow patients. We commend the enormous courage and tenacity of the survivors who came forward to speak about their experiences of sexual harassment, rape and sexual abuse, raising awareness of this issue.”

Charlotte Lynch, for LBC, wrote, on January 2024: 139 Met officers reinvestigated for rape and sexual abuse after being allowed to keep their jobs. “They  (The Operation Onyx  Team) checked 1,418 officers and 218 staff for missed investigative opportunities, which resulted in 139 live rape and sexual abuse investigations now being dealt with by the Domestic Abuse and Sexual Offences team.” 

Vikram Dodd, Police and crime correspondent for The Guardian, on Fri 9 Feb 2024: Met officers dissuaded children from making sexual abuse claims, report finds “Other failures listed in the damning official report include blaming children for ‘making poor choices’ Metropolitan police officers tried to put off children from making complaints about alleged sexual abuse and privately blamed young people for crimes suffered, a damning official report has revealed. Most investigations into child exploitation were rated as inadequate by His Majesty’s Inspectorate of Constabulary (HMIC). Of the 244 cases it examined, 43 were graded as good, more than half (121) as inadequate and 80 as needing improvement.”

On the 3rd if September 2023, Ed Thomas – Special Correspondent – published on BBC News: Family courts: Children forced into contact with fathers accused of abuse. It reads: “Dozens of children have been forced into contact with fathers accused of abuse, a study has found. In some cases in the research, revealed for the first time by the BBC, the fathers were convicted paedophiles. In all cases, fathers had used a disputed concept in court known as “parental alienation”. The heartbreaking stories in the article demonstrate the little support found by protective mothers/parents, who are further abused by ex-partners and by the judicial system, separating them from their children and destroying lives instead of protecting them.
On the 17th of April 2024, Sanchia Berg, for BBC News, wrote:  Paedophiles could be stripped of parental rights under a new law

Speaking to BBC News, “Ms Harman said paedophiles who were guilty of that crime in the future would be “automatically deprived” of their parental rights.”  This is long overdue and needs to be implemented as soon as possible.

All these statistics and figures are just the tip of the iceberg. They certainly don’t reflect the profound damages (in mind, body and spirit) rape and sexual abuse/assault have on victims. For the last few years. There have been a few scandals relating to “celebrities” and individuals regarded as “powerful” and “hiding in plain sight.” Harvey Weinstein, Donald Trump, Epstein, Dan Schneider, Jimmy Saville. The list is endless. The same pattern occurs when those public figures are pulled out of the shadows, victims are treated as liars and publicly shamed: “Why did the victims speak sooner?” or “Instead of talking to journalists, why not go to the police?” Victims go to the police, and victims speak out (loud and clear), but they are the ones being relentlessly bullied: “Did you say NO?” – “Did you make it clear you didn’t want to?” “S/he/they are too powerful. Nobody will believe you.” – “It is just the s/he/they are! Let it go.”

Let’s not let the “high profile cases” make us forget all the children and adult victims and survivors in danger of sexual assault on a daily basis, at home, by a parent, a sibling, a family member, the church Priest, or the Scout coach. Perpetrators are everywhere. They are skilled liars and groom everyone around them to hide their dirty secrets, but it is clear that there is always some “rumour” or at least one person notices something but brushes it under the carpet. It isn’t that they are hiding in plain sight, it is that too many people know, but turn a blind eye.

The focus on prevention is missing the mark. Whilst educating children about personal and physical space and boundaries, “No, you can’t touch me there.” – “No, I don’t want to. Stop this” is important; it places the responsibility on the victims to stop the abuse when they, often, are too young to understand what is done to them and too young to defend themselves against an adult. The same goes for adults, especially women; “Don’t go home late and alone. Don’t listen to music when walking. Don’t wear this or that” and, again, the famous: “Make sure you make it clear: No is No” A rapist doesn’t care what a victim does or says.

A reminder: the only person entirely at fault is the abuser.

So, what needs to be done – beyond lovely slogans, #s, and prevention?

Education is needed to break all victims’ shaming and blaming myths.

Victims (big and small, and all genders) need safe places to go to and loving, supportive people around them. They need someone who holds space for all their emotions and experiences. They need to be heard.
They need professionals who do their job properly, defending them and holding the perpetrators to account.
Allies – non-abusive parents and carers – must be included in children’s care and safety plan and supported alongside their children.
Regardless of status, position of “authority”, bank accounts sizes, ALL PEPETRATORS should be arrested and face the consequences of their actions.
Law and legislation need to be changed so that supportive and protective parents can keep their children with them.

There is much to do and to be changed. Oftentimes, it feels hopeless.

Take gentle care of yourselves.

Sylvie

Helpful websites:

WE STAND: “Child sexual abuse affects the whole family. It can fracture family relationships and creates lasting trauma. We Stand takes a unique whole family approach to supporting victims of child sexual abuse and their non-abusing parents, carers, and siblings. We aim to ensure that all families impacted by child sexual abuse are supported to move on positively with their lives.”
Helping Survivors: “Our goal is to help people who have been impacted by sexual assault and abuse get the resources and assistance they need and deserve.”

The Survivors Trust – to find support in your local area

Sylvie Rouhani

Writer – Blogger – Poet – Mental Health and Child Abuse Activist

Deputy Editor and Journalist for Taxpayers Against Poverty

Author of The Blossoming Lotus”

https://www.austinmacauley.com/book/blossoming-lotus

New Website: Breaking The Cycles

https://breakingthecycles.co.uk/

breakingthecycles.co.uk

Trauma-informed principles offer the opportunity to reflect on the symptoms of trauma and how to cope effectively

Trauma-informed principles offer the opportunity to reflect on the symptoms of trauma and how to cope effectively. Levenson (2020) stated that understanding client problems, coping strategies, and strengths allows practitioners to respond with trauma-informed principles to foster resilience and create opportunities for healing. For example, if we choose the principle of ’empowerment,’ survivors who enjoy hiking can reflect on when they felt like they lost a sense of power and how they overcame it, on and off the trail. Understanding resilience in various challenging situations allows survivors to see coping methods that empower individuals to regain control despite the situation they might face. Ultimately, this can reduce anxiety, depression, and fear.

Photo by Blake Verdoorn on Unsplash

The above method is not a one-size-fits-all solution. However, other alternatives for survivors that might be effective include forest bathing. Forest Bathing involves relaxing in the woods, observing the surroundings, and sensory engagement. The intervention is known to reduce stress and anxiety levels. Survivors who experience ruminations from their traumas can benefit from this practice without focusing on the details of the trauma. Another study in 2019 (Moore et al.) showed reduced negative thinking and rumination in sexual survivors in nature, with increased attention to the here and now. An intervention that requires minimal details about the trauma(s) can be just as effective as others that require more involvement.

Sexual assault survivors can benefit from nature, but so can individuals who experience other mental health challenges, such as dissociation, behavioral disorders, learning disorders, and depression. The majority of mental health challenges consist of symptoms found in various disorders that many individuals face today, providing opportunities for improvement in healing. Individuals sometimes lack awareness regarding symptoms and how they can be universally known. However, it is not to say that traditional therapy methods are ineffective. Consulting with a provider or specialist helps understand the best treatment options and empowers the survivor or individual struggling to embody self-determination. This first step towards empowerment allows the individual to recover quickly.

Interventions in nature for sexual assault survivors are endless, depending on the needs of the individual. The main goal is to experience the physical and mental health benefits while healing. No pun intended, but two birds and one stone allow survivors to care for their overall health while practicing resilience. Nature allows individuals an alternative way to heal when traditional methods have been less effective or appealing. Implementing resilience allows others to bounce back from the current and future challenging events an individual who has PTSD may experience.

Photo by Tim Swaan on Unsplash

Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing in this blog post, nor any content on CPTSDfoundation.org, is a supplement for or supersedes the relationship and direction of your medical or mental health providers. Thoughts, ideas, or opinions expressed by the writer of this guest blog post do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Deborah E. Padilla

Deborah E. Padilla, LMSW, PhD(c) is a licensed social worker specializing in nature and adventure therapy, focusing on trauma. She is a Ph.D. Candidate in Social Work, the founder of PATHS WITH HEALING Inc., the podcast HIKING IS MY THERAPY, and a licensed hiking guide. She has extensive experience working with individuals, children, families, and groups in various settings.

www.deborahepadilla.com

This article will discuss healing from sexual abuse, which may trigger some people. Please proceed with caution and respect your nervous system.

I was speaking to a friend of mine, who is a fellow sexual abuse survivor, about the process of coming back into your body as a survivor. I was telling her my experience of coming back into my body after having dissociated from it for over forty years, and she suggested I write about it.

The Gift of Dissociation

It is not unusual for sexual abuse survivors to dissociate from their bodies in order to survive the horrific experience. Dissociation is “the disconnection or separation of something from something else or the state of being disconnected.” In this case, we are talking about creating a distance between our minds and what is happening to our bodies. It is like our brains are saying, “That horrible thing is not happening to me; it is happening to that body,” and we distance ourselves from our body like it doesn’t belong to us.

As someone who experienced sexual abuse for most of my childhood, I see dissociation as a gift from God. There was no other way for me to tolerate or survive all the disturbing emotions triggered by this horrible violation of my person.

I will not get into the feelings of confusion, shame, hurt, or anger a child feels from this selfish act. I want to applaud those who survived these terrible experiences through the adaptive and creative coping skill of dissociation. You, like me, did what you had to do to survive.

Reconnecting the Disconnected

When we choose to enter the healing journey and move beyond just surviving, we start to learn how to “put off” the once-adaptive strategy of dissociation and reclaim the parts of ourselves that were shattered by the abuse.

The body is one of the parts that was shattered. It was severed from being included in who we are and how we see ourselves. It was disowned. Many survivors have a troubling relationship with their bodies that may lead to self-abuse such as cutting, eating disorders, and other forms of self-harm.

Some self-harm may be more socially acceptable than others. I know I am getting ready to step on some toes here, but I am trying to create awareness, so I will push forward. When you push yourself to the point of injury and abuse your body through athletics, you might get a badge of honor for being tough, but you are still abusing your body.

I abused myself for a long time through athletics…and it was acceptable. I beat my body to crap because I hated it. I hated the reminder of what had happened to me. I hated that there were parts of my body that responded to the abuse. I told myself to ignore and override pain…any pain, to the point that the pain center in my brain went dormant.

I have my brain scans from when I first started neurofeedback, and they showed that the pain center in my brain was relatively inactive. When I showered, I would turn the hot water to scalding and not even feel it. When I had a needle biopsy done on my breast, I watched but felt nothing. When I participated in triathlons, I did not feel the pain of the exertion, nor was I able to be in tune with my body to tell when I needed nutrition or hydration or when to change gears on my bike.

When I stepped into this healing journey about five years ago and started to work with my therapist to process my past trauma, I started to have a strange experience: I started to feel my body.

At first, I did not like it. I tried to push away the sensations I was experiencing. I did not want to feel it. My therapist told me this was a sign of healing, so I embraced it. The more I embraced it, the more I felt. Soon, I felt so much that it overwhelmed my brain and nervous system. My brain was not used to processing all those sensations in my body. I had to learn how to get comfortable with being uncomfortable. I had to sit in the discomfort and learn how to practice self-compassion.

I had to untwist my thoughts and stop blaming my body for betraying me. I had to realize that my body was responding the way God designed it to respond to touch. My body didn’t know who was doing the touching.

It took several months for me to come back into my body. I noticed it was like someone turned up the volume on the sensations I was experiencing in my body, and it took time to regulate and normalize.

While in the shower or standing in front of the mirror, I would put my hands on a part of my body and claim it. “This is my stomach,” and I would just hold it there. I shed a lot of tears as the parts of me that were previously disowned were welcomed home once again. This was a process that I did for weeks until I started believing it, and it became part of who I was.

I believe I have fully come back into my body, but that does not mean I still do not have a troubled relationship with it. There are still times when I hate it when I hate what IT looks like…, and I have to remember that IT is part of me, and IT may not be perfect, but IT is mine.

Progress Leads to More Opportunities for Healing

Coming back into my body was the first step in being able to heal sexually, but that is a story for another day.

If you have been on the healing journey and it feels like your body is betraying you, breaking down, getting old, or always in pain, this might be a sign that you are healing and starting to come back into your body.

1. Embrace the discomfort. Remind yourself that this is part of the journey.
2. Claim all your parts.
3. Untangle your self-condemning thoughts.
4. Develop self-compassion.

You are not alone.

I’m here for you. You can find me at www.cyndibennettconsulting.com. Schedule your complimentary discovery call today.

Cyndi Bennett

Believer. Leader. Learner. Advocate. Writer. Speaker. Coach. Mentor. Triathlete. Encourager. Survivor.
 
Most of all, I am a fellow traveler on the rocky road called, Trauma Recovery. My mission is to minimize the effects of trauma for survivors in the workplace.

My name is Elizabeth and I am a survivor of sexual abuse and horrific trauma. My book: The Sex-Offender’s Daughter tells my story and is available on Amazon.com. As a survivor, I have come a long way in my healing and living with Complex PTSD. I still have bad days and get triggered. I am however always focusing my mind forwards and looking to the future instead of remembering the past. It is the only way I know to be happy.

In this post, I want to explore how we as survivors process our “survival guilt” after abuse. I am not a doctor, psychiatrist, or therapist and I merely speak of my own experience and that of my fellow survivors who have gone through their “guilt”. Living through child abuse of any kind is like being tortured because your life, your feelings, and wishes are completely repressed and ignored. Your abuser or like in my case abusers, are in charge of your entire existence. To break free from that life is like breaking the shackles and embracing a new existence. I often say to myself that I started living when I broke free because until then, I had lived completely by someone else’s rules. Until then, I had no free will and I had no identity.

Our world is huge and frightening after a life filled with sexual abuse. An insular and isolated living in an abusive environment suddenly becomes the opposite, and “freedom” can feel overwhelming at first. Adjusting to a normal life takes time and there is so much “new” to adjust to and accept whilst fighting our internal alarm bells as instinct tells us to shy away from people and not feel anything. I can only liken the feeling of adjusting to normal life as if having been released from prison torture.

Learning to live ‘in my own skin’

My start in processing my guilt of having survived my abusers was to learn to live in my own skin. I had to learn to look out for myself first and that was something I had never considered before. I felt so guilty for not pleasing “others” before myself. It made me hesitant and I found it difficult to trust my own feelings and needs. Who was I to need things? Do I deserve this new shampoo? Do I really need these new clothes for the new season? They wouldn’t have let me buy new things as I didn’t deserve them. How many times did I talk myself out of buying things for myself because my head told me he wouldn’t have let me? How many times did I have to force myself to buy the food I wanted to eat and not what they told me I should eat and how much? I always felt guilty if I ate the wrong things or ate too much because, in my head, I was still back there. The abuse carried on in my head and I let it because it was familiar.

Some say that “time is a great healer“. I think this is true because in my experience of healing and starting over, time made me stronger. The guilt of hearing them in my head every time I needed to make a choice, got less and less hold of me. I started to trust my own instincts and ignore everything that had been ingrained in my head as truth. I was a free woman. Free from the shackles of abuse. Free to live my life the way I wanted to. If I wanted a new pair of shoes, I would buy them without guilt. I kept telling myself in a strong voice that I deserved those shoes and no one could tell me otherwise. If I wanted a whole tub of ice cream whilst watching a movie, I told myself that I could. I was in charge of myself and no one else would ever tell me what to do and how to do it. I was free.

Learning to let go

As an abused child, I learned to live with daily threats and punishments. It was normal for me and I knew nothing else. Once those punishments stopped, I still felt them in certain situations. My guilt for living kept me on my toes for some time after I left. I had to mentally pause what I was doing, close my eyes and tell myself that I was free and no one was going to hurt me just because I craved a second piece of toast for breakfast. Like a child, I experimented with different clothes and behaviors to figure out my place in the world. I searched the internet and read tonnes of books to try and understand the world. I could hear their voices “berating” me every step of the way but I carried on ignoring them. I gained some weight as I built muscles after being more active. I exercised most days pushing myself to the limit just to “feel” my heart beating because I was still not sure if I was dreaming months after I left.

I was very stubborn and headstrong growing up. I refused to believe anything I was told until I could prove it to be true from the evidence. My abusers would tell me repeatedly who I should play with and who I shouldn’t because of x, y, and z reasons. Stupid reasons! I had to repeat their lies and threats and promise to obey. This was one of the first rules I broke and it felt great! I had suppressed my feelings about people all my life and once I was free, I could speak to whoever I wanted to. I am a “chatterbox” and totally opposite from what I was like growing up.

In letting go of my guilt from my parents, I began to live my life. I discovered that I could be so much more. I grabbed every opportunity with both hands and lived my life.

Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing in this blog post, nor any content on CPTSDfoundation.org, is a supplement for or supersedes the relationship and direction of your medical or mental health providers. Thoughts, ideas, or opinions expressed by the writer of this guest blog post do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Elizabeth Woods

For more about me: https://www.elizabethwoodsauthor.com

Elizabeth Woods grew up in a world of brutal sex offenders, murderers, and inconceivably neglectful adults. Elizabeth is passionate about spreading awareness of what it is like to survive after trauma. She is the author of several books and has written her memoir, telling her childhood story: The Sex-Offender’s Daughter: A True Story of Survival Against All Odds, available on Amazon Kindle and paperback.

Elizabeth is also the author of “Living with Complex PTSD” and the Cedar’s Port Fiction series: “Saving Joshua”, “Protecting Sarah”, “Guarding Noah” and “Bringing Back Faith,” and “Restoring Hope,” available here: https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B0BCBZQN7L/allbooks?ingress=0&visitId=7e223b5b-1a29-45f0-ad9d-e9c8fdb59e9c&ref_=ap_rdr&ccs_id=931f96e2-c220-4765-acc8-cc99bb95e8bd

www.elizabethwoodsauthor.com/

In the early days of my marriage, we moved to a different state every year for five years because that’s what my husband wanted. In Iowa the second time, I spent most of my time cooking, baking, and cleaning for Tom’s brothers and their friends.

I went along with Tom’s constant sexual demands because I couldn’t handle the abuse and hostility I would have gotten had I said no. At this point, he didn’t hit or assault me. He didn’t need to. The abuse came from his mind and his tongue. The constant put-downs and insults combined with my absolute financial dependence and isolation were enough to keep me quiet.

I felt violated at such a deep and intimate level, I lacked the capacity to even discuss this. I was afraid that if I told the truth about how much I hated our sex life, the world would explode. Or more accurately, Tom would explode. An implicit threat of violence loomed over me and I feared retaliation if I spoke up or sought help. Nobody knew better than I did about the short distance between verbal and physical abuse. Tom didn’t start to hit me until a couple of years after Iowa 2, but I knew the danger signs.

I lacked the ability to talk about it. How could I discuss this thing that made me feel so disgusting and unsafe? It took me decades to be able to use the name rape for what was happening to me. Like other forms of domestic violence, marital rape is about exerting power and control over your partner. And it is also about sex. It was about Tom being so horny that he couldn’t control his behavior and about me being repelled by those behaviors.

“Approximately 10-14% of married women are raped by their husbands in the United States. Approximately one-third of women report having ‘unwanted sex’ with their partner. Historically, most rape statutes read that rape was forced sexual intercourse with a woman, not your wife, thus granting husbands a license to rape. Marital rape was first declared illegal in Nebraska in 1975 but did not become fully illegal in the United States nationwide until 1993 when it was finally declared illegal in Oklahoma and North Carolina. On July 5, 1993, marital rape became a crime in all 50 states, under at least one section of the sexual offense codes.” (Minnesota Coalition Against Sexual Assault. https://mncasa.org/ Accessed February 25, 2023.)

The push for sex comprised the total attention I got from Tom. I finally became so distressed that I called the minister who had married us.

“Madelon, it is good to hear from you,” said the Pastor. I was surprised that he remembered me. He probably remembered the shell-shocked, very young girl who was folded into the family and didn’t really want her. “How are things going?”

“Not well, Pastor. Not well at all. We are renting a horrible old house out in the country. I don’t have any friends. I don’t have anywhere to go, much less the means to travel. I don’t have anything to do but housework. We came back here because Tom’s parents made us, and I just don’t understand it. I feel like second fiddle to Tom’s family. Tom is always with them doing whatever they want him to do. It’s like I don’t exist. Tom’s brothers and their friends are here all the time. They treat me like a servant.”

I didn’t have the words

I did not tell the pastor about the sexual situation. I just couldn’t. I was so ashamed, I didn’t have the words.

The pastor called Tom and requested that he come to his office to speak, and Tom complied. He told me about it when he got home.

“Well, what did the pastor have to say?”

“He said this,” answered Tom: “Now, Tom, remember, you married Madelon. You did not marry your brothers. Or your mother. Or your father. You promised to put your wife above all others. That is what marriage is about.”

“Well, what do you think about the pastor’s advice?”

“I think he’s right. I did make those promises to you.”Tom agreed (Such an agreeable young man!), but none of his behavior ever changed. This would be the first time that Tom lied to a therapist I was seeing. He could be very convincing.

Nothing changed. It was the army of young men and I was in the background.

Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing in this blog post, nor any content on CPTSDfoundation.org, is a supplement for or supersedes the relationship and direction of your medical or mental health providers. Thoughts, ideas, or opinions expressed by the writer of this guest blog post do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Madelon Wise

Gardening grandma riddled with radical biophilia in the nice Midwest. Animism. Permaculture. Social Justice. Beauty. Dogs. Photography. Retired Writer-Editor working to raise awareness of child abuse, child neglect, and CPTSD.

I am writing my memoir.

uttgardhag.wordpress.com/home/blog-posts/

My name is Elizabeth and I am a survivor of sexual abuse. I suffered the worst abuse during my first years if you can call any sexual abuse worse than any other.

I think the fact that I was so young made the pedophiles clamor over me like bees to a honey pot with my so-called father as the dictator. I was loaned out, gang raped, and experimented on like a lab rat. Despite my young age, I remember almost everything that was done to me because it was so traumatic. My young mind couldn’t process it and replaced those images with sheer terror.

I didn’t have the words to explain and I cannot remember their names or all their faces. I remember it as a young child experiencing sex with someone quadruple their size – terrifying! The sexual abuse I suffered for years after with my so-called father was also terrifying but it is those earliest memories of trauma that are the worst.

In this article, I want to share with you how I took my healing into my own hands and over-wrote the most painful trauma memories with my adult understanding of what happened to me. By doing this, I have changed the way those memories are stored in my brain and they do not hurt as much.

I will never forget, nor will I stop hurting but I have found an inner peace within me, which helps when I look forward to the future.

It’s only in recent years that I have had the strength in my own mind to go back into my past and focus on what actually was happening to me. I decided I needed to know. The truth hurt because as an adult, I can now understand how much they hurt me, not just physically but emotionally too. My brain remembered it all in 4D cinema as I went back seeing and feeling it with adult eyes. I reached out to the younger me on a deep level, reassuring my younger self that I understood. I will never forgive them for what they did to me but I have forgiven myself for being there.

I have accepted that there was no way I could have fought my abusers and escaped from it. I have accepted my past and recognized how it has affected me growing up into the adult I am today. After looking at pictures of myself as a young child, I was shocked to see how vulnerable  It has taken years to get to this point but I feel at peace with myself.

Accepting strange child narratives from the past

I recently had a CT scan in the hospital. It made me remember vividly when I had a CT scan as a young girl and how terrified I was. I had a lot of severe vaginal infections and STDs due to the abuse. The evidence was obvious for all to see and yet nobody did. I know now that the doctors needed to do a CT scan to find out if my kidneys were damaged. My thoughts went back to that day. Mother did not explain why I had to go into a machine and the doctors didn’t talk to me because I was so young and directed all their talk to mother. I remember hearing how “I couldn’t understand” so they would speak to my mother and not me. To a child that is one of the most degrading things an adult can say. A child can actually understand a lot more than given credit by adults.

The worst thing an adult can do is ignore the child, talk over it, or worse – lie. All of those happened on that day and it has haunted me for years. Now, I finally have closure as I understand what was happening to me that day and why.

My adult self let the memories of the CT scanner flood my brain as I lay inside it on the gurney and heard it scanning my body. It took about 15 minutes and then a technician injected a dye for a second high-resolution scan. That feeling when the dye enters the veins and runs through the body all the way down to the lower abdomen was something I recognized immediately.

It was the warmth of it, spreading throughout my body and filling me with an odd sensation as my memory floated back to the young me going through the exact same sensation. This time I understood what was done to me. This time, the CT machine, or the spaceship that the young me called it, did not frighten me. I knew I was safe and that the machine was helping me to find a diagnosis. In my childhood, I believed I had been abducted by aliens and brainwashed. My mind made up a story of that dye being some kind of drug and a control chip in my body, making me bad and forcing me to do bad things.

The brain is an incredible organ. It absorbs all information and stores it. Most often we can recall those memories at will and remember happy times. Trauma memories are not like that as they are stored incorrectly in the brain due to the nature of their characteristics.

The individual cannot understand what happened and why because of the horror attached to them. I hope in this article, I have explained how I managed to re-write those traumatic memories and file them away in storage where they do not hurt me as much.

I do hope that you, my survivor friends out there, will be able to do the same and get your peace one day.

My name is Elizabeth and I am a survivor.

Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing in this blog post, nor any content on CPTSDfoundation.org, is a supplement for or supersedes the relationship and direction of your medical or mental health providers. Thoughts, ideas, or opinions expressed by the writer of this guest blog post do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer and Terms of Service.

Elizabeth Woods

For more about me: https://www.elizabethwoodsauthor.com

Elizabeth Woods grew up in a world of brutal sex offenders, murderers, and inconceivably neglectful adults. Elizabeth is passionate about spreading awareness of what it is like to survive after trauma. She is the author of several books and has written her memoir, telling her childhood story: The Sex-Offender’s Daughter: A True Story of Survival Against All Odds, available on Amazon Kindle and paperback.

Elizabeth is also the author of “Living with Complex PTSD” and the Cedar’s Port Fiction series: “Saving Joshua”, “Protecting Sarah”, “Guarding Noah” and “Bringing Back Faith,” and “Restoring Hope,” available here: https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B0BCBZQN7L/allbooks?ingress=0&visitId=7e223b5b-1a29-45f0-ad9d-e9c8fdb59e9c&ref_=ap_rdr&ccs_id=931f96e2-c220-4765-acc8-cc99bb95e8bd

www.elizabethwoodsauthor.com/