Child Abuse - Who Are You?

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WHO ARE YOU?

As an adult, female survivor of childhood sexual abuse, I am often confronted by colleagues in the field of social work and education with the query “How did you turn out so well?” (Of course my immediate gut reaction is that they really don’t know me--I’m as far from “well” as you can get!). But what they really are asking me is, “ What was it like?” They look into my eyes to see the flaws, the signs, the clues for answers that take survivors such as I, the rest of our lives to unlock.

But as a survivor, I am moved to try to answer the question: “What was it like? What does it mean to be a victim of sexual abuse as a little girl?”

Deep breath. Here goes.

To be a victim of childhood sexual abuse is having your own DNA thumbprint of sorrow imbedded on your very soul forever.

To be a victim of childhood sexual abuse is to know the metallic taste of fear, fear that rips through you, tears you open, and makes your heart squeeze in unbearable pain.

Being a victim of childhood sexual abuse means waiting for the light of day--light is the guardian saint of all little children who lay down in the terror of night.

To be a victim of childhood sexual abuse is to become a prober of the truth and to ask God heart-stabbing questions that have no answers. Such as,”Why?”

To be a victim of childhood sexual abuse is to accept the fact that your flesh has been degraded--
But that no one can ever touch your vision--ever!

To be a victim of childhood sexual abuse is to face death head on and emerge--scarred, but alive.

To be a victim of childhood sexual abuse is to be aware of hatred that must be eradicated, pain that must be diffused, and cries that must be soothed for the thousands of voices that were left unheard.

In my own past, when I was being violated, my mind would darken, the shutter would close, and images would go black.

As an adult, with the strength of therapy and the love of special o nes, I have learned to travel past these cerebral memories to the celestial temple of my soul. I see that the darkness can turn to light--the shutter is opening--and I see that the guardian saint of my childhood--the light--has always been there.

Our goal as survivors and as a society is to make certain that the passage to adulthood be free of madness, savage pain, and blinding injustices.

I shall spend the rest of my life responding to those in agony.

It is a commitment I made to God and to myself as a little girl, gripping the bedpost as my abusers destroyed me. “If I get out of this, God, I promise I will help other kids.”

I hear that plea on a daily basis and it is a reminder to me that I am obligated to act, I am compelled to respond.