This is written with love for those that have lived this story and those that love the ones that have lived this story. I always recommend reading this with a box of Kleenex handy…but that’s just because I always need them. This is a response to a dear friend with love in my heart.
Choices were made by a little girl – decisions well beyond her years. The choice was to escape violence and sexual abuse. The choice was to not live with incest as her sister had. This is a little girl’s story…and a woman’s.
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Then
Many years ago a little girl was growing up in what seemed to be an average family. Her parents worked and provided a place to live and food to eat. She had siblings to play with, toys and books of her own, and a dog in the yard that gave big sloppy kisses when she came home from school. She had pretty dresses and other clean clothes to wear. The family went to church and Sunday dinners with relatives. The little girl went to school and studied hard and got straight A’s for years. These were well behaved children – always please and thank you, never speaking out of turn, and always quiet around adults.
This little girl’s life was full of hidden pain and fears.
At home, where no one could see, was so much more. Where no one could hear were threats and fears. There was psychological and physical abuse – including sexual abuse. There were beatings for doing things wrong – a slap, a fist, a belt. Verbal threats were constant including threats of death if the little girl ever told anyone. There was sufficient violence that death, on occasion, was what the little girl wanted most. Her mother knew of the violence but not the sexual abuse. The sexual abuse / molesting started at about age 6. There is no reason to go into details. It was an adult with a child.
Her mother was also a victim of the violence if she interfered. During this time – ages of about 5-13 – some of the beatings were for showing and responding to the pain and hurt. When the tears would flow the beatings would escalate. This little girl was told that tears were a sign of weakness. So, in self defense, the tears stopped except when she cried herself to sleep.
After a violent incident that left permanent physical scars, the tears stopped altogether. The heart stopped feeling. The soul of a child had been broken. Walls of self-protection had finally been built high and thick around what was left of the little girl’s being.
This self protection was by aloofness, by silence, and by apparent acceptance of the status quo. To all who met this little girl she appeared composed and well adjusted. She was none of the above. She was beyond hurt and had moved to anger and defiance beneath the surface. Her mind sought ways to avoid home, she looked for someone to tell, for someone to trust with her story – even if it meant her own death.
One fateful day the little girl turned openly defiant at home. She confronted her abuser with her hate and defiance. The beating was bloody – but she did not cry.
That day she told someone and they told the police. They were all appalled at the marks of the violence on this small child. She did not cry when she told the police. She did not talk about the sexual abuse. It was never talked about. That same day her father committed suicide rather than face the police. There was the funeral with all the family present. They bought a new dark dress for the little girl to wear – dark brown with ruffles. Then she sat dry eyed and defiant in the front pew with the rest of the family. Defiant as the relatives whispered behind her about her causing her father’s death.
For the next 4 or 5 years, the young girl grew into a smart and confident young woman. Confident in her ability to survive the ostracism from her family and church. Stronger every time the accusations and whispers returned about her responsibility for her father’s death. Strong enough to survive without any of them. She had decided it was better to be alone or lonely than to be hurt. Sometimes there was anger and rage and defiance against those that accused her. No tears were ever shed.
At age 18 this young woman left home. It was the only way she felt was available to her for change. She joined the Army and the women she met changed her life forever.
Living with dozens of other women 24 hours a day touched her as never before. She met others and they talked late into the night on many occasions. Lots of these women had been through the same things she had and sometimes more. Most of the women did not cry. Each had developed a sense of survival that was stronger than any could possibly realize. Over the next few years more women entered her life. Women that shared their stories and gained strength from the knowledge that they weren’t alone. These were women that gave unconditional love and support knowing that their shared experiences gave them strength.
With all this love and support came an acceptance of the past. It cannot be changed but we can change ourselves. We can accept our defiance and use it to our advantage to fight for others. We can accept our strong and confident selves and pass that confidence on to others. We can love ourselves and learn to give love to others. These women changed the young woman.
One day – the tears returned. These were tears and great wracking sobs that almost tore this young woman apart. The tears returned among these women she called friends. These friends held her as the walls of protection came tumbling down. Friends that stayed but stepped back when she needed time to re-group because they knew the process. Tears make you vulnerable and they are scary. The tears intermixed with anger and rage and defiance. Yet the friends never wavered. And so the healing began for the little girl trapped in a woman’s body. The young woman ultimately sought help from professionals and more tears flowed. Many other things have happened during the intervening years cause the woman pain. Yet the tears have flowed freely as an acknowledgement of the cleansing and healing process.
Today the woman is strong and confident in her ability to stand alone. She is just as confident in her ability to stand with others and give love freely. There is still defiance and rage against those that would hurt others. She is defiant and strident in her defense of victims – against whatever is the source of their pain. Tears flow freely now – for any that hurt or are in pain and, on occasion, for the little girl lost.
Now
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This story is not written in the first person intentionally. Someone else, Diane I think, put forth the idea that “if you don’t like your past then re-write it”. This is the story of the little girl I was but not the woman I am.
This is the story of little girls that I met when they were grown women but not the women they became. Each of us chose to take a path of healing including permanently walking away from people and places that caused our pain. Each of us chose to walk the path to a place beyond being a victim to a place of strength. There are lessons we learned, strengths we gained, and most of all, love that we learned to share. Most of us now speak openly and publicly to help others that walk similar paths. We are here to reach out to help and love others. All those little girls lived in another place and time but each has been brought forward, protected and cared for, by the women that we became.
I give this story to my friend and to friends yet to be made. Let the tears flow freely for all of us as a symbol of strength and healing.
Blessed Be
Originally posted at Village Blue with a different title and with some edits added here
