My story is the schtuff of a gritty, dramatic Lifetime TV special.
It is intense, ugly, and heart-wrenching. It is the exciting story of an underdog.
I am also hoping that it will be a sacredly uplifting and empowering story to those that need to hear it.
I am a survivor of incest.
My father sexually abused my sister and I throughout our entire childhood. The abuse started small and simple. It escalated as we grew. I knew it was wrong. I knew how yucky it made me feel. Yet I was helpless to do anything about it. I inherently knew not to say anything, not to disturb the silent cyclic patterns that be. I was a scared, fragile creature just desperately trying to survive.
We grew up in a seemingly perfect middle-class, religious home. We were very good at "pretending normal." Meanwhile several times a week my sister and I were molested. My mother never knew. I grew up being taught that I was a child of God and that families were not temporary, but forever. I knew that if I ever "told," it would shatter my eternal family forever.
When I was sixteen, I was finally courageous enough to end it. I made my dad promise that he'd leave my sister alone too, or I'd go to the police. I was never molested after that. My sister was not so lucky. By this point, my whole family was being verbally abused and manipulated by my father. The verbal abuse had also escalated through the years. His anger was often directed towards my brothers or my mother.
My father was honorably released from the military, and we moved. With the stress of unemployment, my dad's temper came on more often and more severely. The manipulation was extreme. My mother was desperate to save her eternal family. When I was nineteen, she made individual appointments for us all to talk to our Bishop privately. She pleaded with me to break out of my shy exterior and tell him everything. She had no idea what she was asking of me.
I prayed and prayed and prayed. I didn't want to ruin my family, but I also knew that my dad would never change and never have a chance at heaven if he didn't face his consequences. I talked to my sister. I found out that she had still been abused these past three years despite my dad's promise. In my heart, I already knew, but hearing her words broke me out of my denial. I found my voice! I confided in our Bishop. I told him everything, and thankfully he believed me.
The police came to our home. My Mom was in pure shock. My dad was arrested. He got the best lawyer in town, and was out on bail soon afterward. To my dad's credit, he didn't deny anything. He left us alone. We were never in any physical danger from him.
The legal process took months. I was told that since I was no longer a minor, and since none of the sexual abuse happened in this state, that they could bring no criminal charges against him in my behalf. Instead, I was told I could sue him civilly. But this meant I would have to personally face him in a court of law and run the risk of it becoming a very public matter. No, that was not an option. Also, since my sister and I could come up with no specific dates, events, or times, it was difficult to prove how many "counts" of child abuse to try him with. In the end, he plead to one count of child molestation and became a permanently added figure on the national sexual offenders registry.
My father still didn't want to face the consequences of his actions and tried to kill himself before his sentencing. He miraculously survived. After some mental and physical recuperation in the hospital, he was sentenced to 1 - 15 years in jail. He ended up getting off after ten months for good behavior. His entire time in jail, he was offered work release. He worked outside the county jail almost daily. Then he slept and ate at the jailhouse.
That was what I was offered as justice. That was what my childhood was worth.
I went through two therapists and even joined a group session as well. I was in a dark place. I flunked out of a great university. I didn't care. I was in a deep depression. I didn't eat. I slept all day and was up all night. I wanted to die.
Luckily the story doesn't end there.
I didn't give up. I knew I was worth fighting for. I prayed. I slowly started living again. I found out that not all men have tempers. Many men can control their libido. I found people who loved me and supported me. I gradually put my trust in God.
When I was twenty, I found my husband, or rather he found me. For the first time, I was shown true respect, true love. He was patient with me, so patient. Throughout the next ten years, and several children later, he supported me and strengthened me as I attempted to heal my deep wounds. It was a tough road. There was so many tears, so much anger, so much guilt, more pain then I felt I could endure. I couldn't have done it alone. I sought psychological, emotional, and spiritual guidance from many sources. I especially sought guidance from my savior, Jesus Christ. I knew I couldn't do it without His special help.
Then one day, seemingly out of the blue, the topic of forgiveness came up yet again. I instantly prepared myself to be flooded with the heavy guilt, anger and hopelessness that usually accompanied that topic. It didn't come. I closed my eyes and probed inward. I realized that the weight of the world that I was so used to carrying everywhere--that awful, evil, soul-crunching weight--was completely gone! I tangibly touched my shoulders expecting to feel something still there. Nothing. I felt light as a feather! I turned to my husband sitting across the room, I touched my shoulders again, and smiled the biggest smile of my life. He knew. He was as astonished as I was. Tears again came, but this time they were tears of joy. I was free. I was healed.
Although my life now is generally filled with love and joy, I still have scars and side-effects from my childhood. I still have bad days or even bad weeks. I am far from perfect. I have many weaknesses. I battle a case of minor depression on a daily basis. But even on my roughest days now, I have hope. I know I am loved. I know I was worth saving.
--- -- --- - --- -- --- - --- - --- -- ---
My father was also worth saving. It was a long ten years for him too. A year or so into my marriage, I realized that I still wanted my Dad in my life. We ever so slowly started a careful father-daughter relationship again. I set boundaries. I was careful. I never put myself or my children into the position of any potential abuse. My dad tried to understand. I don't know if he ever really will understand the damage and pain his actions caused me. But he was trying at least.
My Dad was formally ejected (excommunicated) from our church when everything first came out. At first he had no desire to come back. He thought he was too far gone. He thought it was too late for him. He knew how serious his mistakes were. But, he was selling himself short. More importantly, he was selling short Christ's infinitely powerful atonement. Christ's sacrifice wasn't just for innocent victims like me. It was for sinners like my Dad. He finally realized that he was worth saving too. After profound anguish of his own, my father was able to cast his own burden upon the Lord. He experienced his own change of heart and was baptized again as a member of our church.
I've learned that even a life like mine is full of tender mercies and mighty miracles.
It is intense, ugly, and heart-wrenching. It is the exciting story of an underdog.
I am also hoping that it will be a sacredly uplifting and empowering story to those that need to hear it.
I am a survivor of incest.
My father sexually abused my sister and I throughout our entire childhood. The abuse started small and simple. It escalated as we grew. I knew it was wrong. I knew how yucky it made me feel. Yet I was helpless to do anything about it. I inherently knew not to say anything, not to disturb the silent cyclic patterns that be. I was a scared, fragile creature just desperately trying to survive.
We grew up in a seemingly perfect middle-class, religious home. We were very good at "pretending normal." Meanwhile several times a week my sister and I were molested. My mother never knew. I grew up being taught that I was a child of God and that families were not temporary, but forever. I knew that if I ever "told," it would shatter my eternal family forever.
When I was sixteen, I was finally courageous enough to end it. I made my dad promise that he'd leave my sister alone too, or I'd go to the police. I was never molested after that. My sister was not so lucky. By this point, my whole family was being verbally abused and manipulated by my father. The verbal abuse had also escalated through the years. His anger was often directed towards my brothers or my mother.
My father was honorably released from the military, and we moved. With the stress of unemployment, my dad's temper came on more often and more severely. The manipulation was extreme. My mother was desperate to save her eternal family. When I was nineteen, she made individual appointments for us all to talk to our Bishop privately. She pleaded with me to break out of my shy exterior and tell him everything. She had no idea what she was asking of me.
I prayed and prayed and prayed. I didn't want to ruin my family, but I also knew that my dad would never change and never have a chance at heaven if he didn't face his consequences. I talked to my sister. I found out that she had still been abused these past three years despite my dad's promise. In my heart, I already knew, but hearing her words broke me out of my denial. I found my voice! I confided in our Bishop. I told him everything, and thankfully he believed me.
The police came to our home. My Mom was in pure shock. My dad was arrested. He got the best lawyer in town, and was out on bail soon afterward. To my dad's credit, he didn't deny anything. He left us alone. We were never in any physical danger from him.
The legal process took months. I was told that since I was no longer a minor, and since none of the sexual abuse happened in this state, that they could bring no criminal charges against him in my behalf. Instead, I was told I could sue him civilly. But this meant I would have to personally face him in a court of law and run the risk of it becoming a very public matter. No, that was not an option. Also, since my sister and I could come up with no specific dates, events, or times, it was difficult to prove how many "counts" of child abuse to try him with. In the end, he plead to one count of child molestation and became a permanently added figure on the national sexual offenders registry.
My father still didn't want to face the consequences of his actions and tried to kill himself before his sentencing. He miraculously survived. After some mental and physical recuperation in the hospital, he was sentenced to 1 - 15 years in jail. He ended up getting off after ten months for good behavior. His entire time in jail, he was offered work release. He worked outside the county jail almost daily. Then he slept and ate at the jailhouse.
That was what I was offered as justice. That was what my childhood was worth.
I went through two therapists and even joined a group session as well. I was in a dark place. I flunked out of a great university. I didn't care. I was in a deep depression. I didn't eat. I slept all day and was up all night. I wanted to die.
Luckily the story doesn't end there.
I didn't give up. I knew I was worth fighting for. I prayed. I slowly started living again. I found out that not all men have tempers. Many men can control their libido. I found people who loved me and supported me. I gradually put my trust in God.
When I was twenty, I found my husband, or rather he found me. For the first time, I was shown true respect, true love. He was patient with me, so patient. Throughout the next ten years, and several children later, he supported me and strengthened me as I attempted to heal my deep wounds. It was a tough road. There was so many tears, so much anger, so much guilt, more pain then I felt I could endure. I couldn't have done it alone. I sought psychological, emotional, and spiritual guidance from many sources. I especially sought guidance from my savior, Jesus Christ. I knew I couldn't do it without His special help.
Then one day, seemingly out of the blue, the topic of forgiveness came up yet again. I instantly prepared myself to be flooded with the heavy guilt, anger and hopelessness that usually accompanied that topic. It didn't come. I closed my eyes and probed inward. I realized that the weight of the world that I was so used to carrying everywhere--that awful, evil, soul-crunching weight--was completely gone! I tangibly touched my shoulders expecting to feel something still there. Nothing. I felt light as a feather! I turned to my husband sitting across the room, I touched my shoulders again, and smiled the biggest smile of my life. He knew. He was as astonished as I was. Tears again came, but this time they were tears of joy. I was free. I was healed.
Although my life now is generally filled with love and joy, I still have scars and side-effects from my childhood. I still have bad days or even bad weeks. I am far from perfect. I have many weaknesses. I battle a case of minor depression on a daily basis. But even on my roughest days now, I have hope. I know I am loved. I know I was worth saving.
--- -- --- - --- -- --- - --- - --- -- ---
My father was also worth saving. It was a long ten years for him too. A year or so into my marriage, I realized that I still wanted my Dad in my life. We ever so slowly started a careful father-daughter relationship again. I set boundaries. I was careful. I never put myself or my children into the position of any potential abuse. My dad tried to understand. I don't know if he ever really will understand the damage and pain his actions caused me. But he was trying at least.
My Dad was formally ejected (excommunicated) from our church when everything first came out. At first he had no desire to come back. He thought he was too far gone. He thought it was too late for him. He knew how serious his mistakes were. But, he was selling himself short. More importantly, he was selling short Christ's infinitely powerful atonement. Christ's sacrifice wasn't just for innocent victims like me. It was for sinners like my Dad. He finally realized that he was worth saving too. After profound anguish of his own, my father was able to cast his own burden upon the Lord. He experienced his own change of heart and was baptized again as a member of our church.
I've learned that even a life like mine is full of tender mercies and mighty miracles.