At family gatherings as a child, I did not lack for cousins to play with as five of us “baby boomer” cousins were born in the same year. My father used to tell the story of a family gathering where all of the cousins were present. One of my same-aged cousins was being a bully and pushing down the other same and similar aged cousins making them cry. According to my father, when the bully got to me and gave a hard shove so that I, too, would fall down and cry, I’d merely grunted and stood my ground. I then proceeded to push him back and watched as he fell to the ground and ran crying to my aunt telling her what I’d done. One bully in my life down, as I’d soon learn, many more to go.
When the sexual predator in my life was caught abusing me, I was punished. I was a young child the first time he’d pursued me. The predator had made me his prey. The adults in my life issued the verdict that I’ve carried in my heart for years, “Guilty as charged.” I felt shame, confusion, and abandonment. Many years later, my abuser became revered in his church for his work in missions and for working with orphans in particular. I left the church. I’ve tried returning to church, any church, but find the struggle of trusting those who clothe themselves with religion, while hiding their dark secrets beneath their robes, feels heavy and ominous.
My abuser came after me again a few years later when I was a pre- teen. That time I fought back as I knew no one was going to defend me against him. I later found out that he had abused others as well. At least one other extended family member had been abused, and there were rumors of more. It surprised and sickened me to know that I was not the only one. Around the time I’d learned that the abuse had never stopped, it was revealed that the abuser was dying. My family of origin and his church embraced him. It felt as though our abuse had never happened, and it felt like being abused all over again. He went from suspected sinner to dying saint.
In my family of origin, truth or facts are seldom spoken or acknowledged. It reminds me of the old television show, Dragnet, where the main character Joe Friday, is said to have stated to the people he was questioning, “Just the facts, ma’am. Just the facts.”
My family prefers things light and fragrant like rain-scented dryer sheets. We were taught to keep the less than pleasant family secrets buried as we waited for them to decompose and be gone from our collective family memory never to be spoken of again.
But the truth of what happened in my life did not stay buried – it did not decompose – and it is never gone.
The truth of my past, like a lost soul, goes wandering from door to door in my brain trying to figure out the conundrum of truth vs lies, good vs evil, abuse vs care, standing up and fighting vs lying down in defeat or compliance to fit in with a family that will not acknowledge truth. While I no longer physically push over bullies in my life, I choose to keep my distance from them. I choose to choose my people carefully. Trust is difficult and a very precious commodity.
In my mind’s eye, I see that brave four or five year old little girl standing in her grandparent’s yard observing the bully’s antics as he’d bullied the others. Most likely she’d have already known, even then, that she’d have to face him on her own and that the adults in her life were not going to rescue her. She’d stood her ground and pushed back. My father said that the bully quit pushing the other children after that. I sensed I had made my father proud because I was not afraid to stand up to the bully and defend myself that day.
Truth be told, most of my life I’ve felt like a soldier fighting wars alone. It has been lonely and at times frightening. I am hopeful that God will provide me with an inner courage to fight the necessary, often recurring battles and bullies in my life.
Side Note: Why the adults in this scenario did not stop the bully in the first place is baffling to me. Perhaps we were part of their entertainment that day. I’m not sure as I’m just relaying, “the facts, ma’am.”
Though she didn’t talk until she was three, Barbara is a lover of words both spoken and written. A rather late bloomer in both learning to speak and in learning to trust her inner voice and in finally feeling comfortable enough to write down her stories, she feels blessed to be making the journey towards healing and wholeness. She’s looking forward to continuing her journey of transferring her thoughts into written form and sharing them with others. She’s thankful to be part of the Red Tent community.
Barbara, your story is so similar to my own. When I became an adult, I pledged that I would speak up whenever I saw abuse, and I have called the police and CPS many times–about others–but not myself. I, too, remember coming to the understanding that I was probably not the only victim. Our pasts are like treasure chests waiting to be dug up and opened for the world to see the preciousness of our survival and strength. Thank you for opening your treasure chest and sharing this precious story.
Madeline, While I’m sad that our stories are so similar, I’m hopeful that you will begin to stand up for yourself and the little girl who was not protected all those years ago. And thank you for being a strong and loud voice for those who need protection and an advocate. Our stories need to be told so that others will know they are not alone.
Barbara! You are such a wonderful human. I am so proud of you for knowing your worth and for sticking up for yourself and fighting back. Your story and growth have made you into someone who I enjoy immensely.
Liz, Your words make my heart happy. Thank you for your kind and your affirming words. I’m listening.
Thank you for speaking your truth, your painful past, the hurts, and the courage…but ultimately finding hope in our Savior💛
Rebecca – Thank you for writing a response to my piece. Yes, we now where our hope lies. In Him. Our stories are not over until He says they are.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
God took me on a journey through every passage way of my heart. Had me open every closed locked hidden door one by one. Hardest thing I’ve ever done, Had never wanted to open those firmly shut doors again. Painful? Yes like ripping open old scars, but His nail scarred hands held me every single step of the way. His intimate presence has never left me since. He’s as tangible to me as anyone, maybe even more so.
Hi Saundra, Thank you for writing a response to my piece. It is hard to confront our past when the wounds are still tender and yet, as you’ve found and as I have found, there is also great freedom in confronting what Satan intended for evil and calling it into the light. Freedom and healing.
Barb, I’m so sorry for all that you’ve gone through but so very proud of you. You did not let those horrible acts consume you instead you’ve become a strong, caring and wonderful wife, mother & friend. I love and trust you without hesitation. ❤️
Hi Monica – Thank you for believing in me. It means a lot.
Barbara, your story hits so close to home. At this stage, I resume particularly with my posture towards church. Thank you for speaking your story. I believe you.
Joanna
Hi Joanna – I’m sorry that our stories are similar. You deserved to be protected, too. As far as the church….I’m not sue what to say other than Jesus tells us that the gates of hell will not prevail against it – so I know He has a plan to bring the church into a better place than what we’ve experienced. I hope you still have faith. That is the most important thing. .
Barbara, I’ve read your piece several times over the past two days, and each time I am struck by a different line of it. I listed each one out on paper as it arose and gripped my attention; however, I’ve decided that since they’re all already printed above, I needn’t do a line-by-line analysis! #mustfleetemptation
I will cite one line in the first paragraph that is still resonating: “I…ran crying to my aunt telling her what I’d done.” WOW. Even then, at such a young age, you were both extremely self-aware AND an assertive truth-teller. I don’t believe either of these characteristics manifest so fully apart from the Spirit of God at work within us. He saw and held you even then.
A theme I keep circling back to again and again and again in your piece is that of FIGHT. As a little girl, you had enough God-given intuition (a “Good God Gut” as a spiritual mentor of mine calls it!) to know wrong when you saw it, and enough spunk to literally push back against it.
Here’s the “catch” of such a spirit when it is born into a (more common than we realize) system that “prefers things light and fragrant like rain-scented dryer sheets”: that system will do ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING to extinguish that spirit, even if it means stomping it to death. It will also see your “fight” and decide that you are more than capable of figuring it out and defending yourself. It will rarely if ever join you in the fight for your protection, much less take over the fight on your behalf. This is heartbreaking…BUT FOR JESUS.
That dysfunctional system didn’t stomp you to death, though. It clearly tried very hard, and maybe it came close, but you have indwelling Resurrection Power, and you are at last using your self-awareness and truth-telling fight for the good of others and the Gospel. This is REDEMPTION. Thank you for bravely and beautifully sharing it with a world that needs to see it!
Hi Lacey, I am struck by how carefully you read my piece and analyzed it. Thank you for your careful and thoughtful response. I do have to let you know that I did not run crying to my aunt, my cousin, whom I pushed back, did. I don’t think I wrote that very clearly in my piece so I can see why that was confusing. You’ve named some themes in my life that are recurring. And yes, “But for Jesus.” Thank you for your kind and affirming words. I feel blessed by them.
Barbara, as a survivor of bullying myself, I’m so proud of you for standing your ground, knowing your value and for having the courage to open up about what happened.
At the same time, my breaks that you had to endure what you went through. It seems that back in those days, the word of a child carried little weight and it’s a shame.
Continue to speak your truth! God bless you!
Cherie