No one in my family
will be happy with what I am about to write. Those who believe my
story and have heard it whispered behind closed doors will wonder
why, now, after 30 years I want to put it out there for the world.
Others, who already tell their lies and gossip about me will believe
this is just another prevarication made up for attention or to
personally hurt them. To the former family, if you don't understand
why I need to speak up and try and share my story with others, I'm
sorry. Its something I need to get out, I need to talk about this as
part of my mental health journey. Whispers and secrets make my story
incomplete and if I ever want to help others I need to be open about
the experiences I have lived. To the latter family members, I have
nothing to say, you will continue to warp reality as you see fit, my
truths won't slow down your tide of hatred.
For me childhood was
a sad and hectic experience, my parents separated and while my father
retained custody he was unable to take care of us. For a number of
years we moved between staying with an aunt or our grandmother. I can
not speak for my sister and brother′s feelings through these years,
but for me they were lonely and esteem crushing. I spent my "home"
time looking out for my siblings, I was respectively 5 and 6 years
older than them and felt it was my job to show them love and
affection. I tried to shield them from the harsh reality of living
with out parents and feeling like a burden to others. School holidays
were a fun time as we would go "out bush" with an aunt,
uncle to stay in a gorgeous bush shack with them and their children.
We lived in hand me
downs and school ports which were old and ratty. Told more than once
how lucky we were that any family member wanted us and how we owed
these people for caring for us. I cooked, cleaned and took care of my
cousins in an attempt to feel useful and pull my weight. I worried
about my siblings, almost obsessed with their well being. At school I
was quiet, shy, and when I did open my mouth something weird would no
doubt come out. I made very few friends, and was the easy target for
name calling and exclusion. By the time I hit prepubescence victim
was all but stamped across my forehead.
I may have been
timid and scared but I was however, also an absolute master at hiding
my feelings, my secret was to eat whenever I felt sad, mad,
frightened, nervous. Because of the tendency to eat my feelings I was
over weight, which gave another blow to my self esteem. My aunt often
went to bingo with our nan or else retired to bed early. I was older
than the other children and allowed to stay up later, my uncle worked
late and would eat dinner after the other children were in bed.
Everything started very innocently, my uncle would ask about my day,
school, friends, I eagerly opened up pleased that someone seemed to
care. He let me raid the pantry for chips and lollies, it was our
secret, my little late night treat.
Eventually he asked
about boyfriends, I didn't have any, he told me I was pretty without
saying it was a shame about my weight, something no one ever did. The
first time I remember feeling uneasy was when I hurt my knee at
school. My uncle insisted on rubbing it to make it feel better, his
hand massaged my knee for a few seconds before starting to move up my
thigh. I muttered that wasn't my knee, my uncle told me the muscles
were all connected. He massaged high up on my thigh but convinced me
it was no where he shouldn't be touching.
His touch had made
me uncomfortable, but like any well groomed, emotionally starved
child I didn't want to upset the one person who was nice to me. I
wasn't even sure if he had done anything really wrong. This seemed to
be the moment everything changed, no not changed, escalated, I don't
know if my uncle knew now I would keep quiet and got bolder or if he
just couldn't resist the pretty but chubby emotionally wounded girl
who was unconfortably wearing her first training bras.
Suddenly I needed to
flash my boobs to get my little late night treat, my uncle would
follow me to the bathroom when I needed to go to the toilet, or need
to come in and get something while I showered. I even once saw him in
the backyard staring up at the window while I showered. Boob flashes
turned into boob feels, I didn't even want the treats anymore but I
took them and I ate them because what else could I do. If I told
anyone would they believe me? It was probably my fault anyway right?
The bathroom door
didn't lock, I was so proud when I worked out a way to open the linen
cupboard to prevent the bathroom door from being opened. This lasted
a couple of weeks till my aunt told me I couldn't keep locking the
door that way as I would ruin the cupboard. I began to make sure I
showered before he got home from work, and even tried going to bed
early. I began to feel a little safer, thinking if I minimised the
alone time with him all was good. Then one night I awoke to my uncle
standing there watching me sleep in the top bunk, "shh go back
to sleep" was all he said.
Now I wasn't even
safe when I went to bed, in a room with his own children or my
siblings in it. I would wake up many nights with him standing over
me, sometimes just watching, sometimes he would run his fingers over
my pubic mound, mostly over my panties, but sometimes inside. I was
up late one night playing computer games, my aunt was home but I
didn't realise she had gone to bed. My uncle came into the lounge
room and approached the chair I was sitting in from behind. I knew
from my peripheral vision something wasn't right but I was too scared
to actually turn and look.
When he was standing
beside me he told me to turn my head and look, I did as I was told
and saw his erect penis, he wanted me to touch it, he forced my hand
onto it then asked if I would put it in my mouth, I said no and got
teary. I'm not sure what broke the spell for him, my tears or the
fear of being caught but he quickly put his penis away apologising
and begging me not to tell his wife. I was so scared I promised not
to tell. This is the worst of what happened to me, I learnt to look
out for myself. Sleep light, the sooner I woke up the sooner he would
stop touching me and go back to his room at night time. Never putting
my hand up for a room with no one else sleeping in even though I was
the oldest. I even encouraged my youngest cousin to share a bed with
me feeling safer when someone else was there with me.
Once while family
was visiting I gathered up enough courage to tell a cousin a little
older than me what was happening. We at the stereo, choosing music I
think, we were alone in the room and I took the chance to open up.
I'm not sure if I thought she would be able to help, but I didn't
want to be alone in knowing this secret anymore. "XXXX shows me
his penis, he asked me to put it in my mouth." Her response was
to laugh and tell me it was no big deal. I felt betrayed, and this
was when I realised I really was all alone in my nightmare.
In time Dad got
himself together and we went back to live with him and his new
girlfriend not long after I started high school. I was relieved to be
living somewhere else, no longer needing to be vigilant when I went
to the toilet or sleep under sheets even when it was too hot to be
covered. I still didn't tell anyone what had happened to me, instead
I started finding ways to skip family events and embraced being the
weird fat girl with low self esteem, you know the one no one wanted
to kiss.
I was unable to
avoid a cousins birthday party, it was one of my uncle's daughters,
in silent protest I turned up late, very late. My uncle dragged me
out onto the front stairs and admonished me for having no family
spirit. I stood there in fear stuttering answers as he told me how
selfish and rotten I was, as soon as possible I ran away to wish my
cousin a happy birthday. After that I attended family events, staying
as physically far away from my uncle as I could.
I was nineteen and
living out of home before I told another person, this time I told my
mother, in a drunken midnight on new years eve phone call. I don't
remember how the subject came up, but I do remember her asking if
anyone had ever touched me inappropriately, so I told her. She told
my father and a few days later (even though they had been divorced
for years) the three of us sat down and talked about it. My father
was furious and close to violence, I however did not want to upset my
grandmother, so we decided to keep it quiet.
While the sexual
abuse I suffered is not as bad as it could have been, it has still
left behind a highly damaged person. It took years for me to view sex
as something attached to love and affection. It took me years to
learn I could say no to men. It took me years to trust being alone
with a man. There were men who I thought were friends who took the
first opportunity to get me in bed, proving once again that men were
not to be trusted. I was hyper vigilant around those of the opposite
sex, I still am, I don't feel safe around men I don't know and I am
often uncomfortable around those I do.
I am scared to sleep
at night, tossing and turning, waking at every noise, I suffer night
terrors, severe anxiety and major depression along with emotional
dysregulation, the first few symptoms are a culmination of a tough
childhood and hectic life. The last one appears in those of us who
have not been shown emotional security and healthy ways to express
ourselves as children. My uncle isn't the only hardship my childhood
or early adult life saw, but he is one of the big ticket items. What
he did is unacceptable, abhorrent and wrong. He has left me with
scars on my soul which I may never be able to completely heal.
My grandmother can
no longer comprehend the world around her so I know my childhood
confession can not upset her. My father has passed but I am sure he
would stand behind me as I finally feel brave enough to tell my
story. I don't know if anyone took the time when I was growing up to
find out why I acted out, I don't know if other adults in my family
knew what was happening (though I truly hope not), and I really don't
know how he lives with himself. Did he ever see me as a person, a
child? Did he care about the damage he was causing? Will everyone run
to his (unnamed) aide? (I expect they will).
Those are all good
questions right? I deserve the answers right? You know which
question I really want answered though, the one that keeps me awake
at night? Well its pretty simple. What exactly made me less worthy of
a happy and safe childhood in his eyes?
I want to help people be
happy, healthy and free from the pressure society places upon them.
This is why I have spent years perfecting my psychic readings to be
more guidance from beyond than fortune telling gimmicks. It is why I
have, and continue to study ways to be a successful life coach,
healer and support to the clients who come to me.
You will have to forgive me
the clunky sports analogy, it is an area in life where I have never
been (and probably never will be), motivated to be an expert. The
word coach makes me think of sports, ignoring pain and tough love.
Many life coaches tell you tough love is needed, so I guess for them
coach is the right word. It just isn't the word for me, for what I
offer my clients.
Now I know you are going to
ask how I know anything is possible, and that is a good question. I
grew up as a victim, never having a voice of my own, believing I was
as worthless as those meant to nurture me said I was. I took this
victimhood into adult life, I was not an active participant, I
allowed things to happen to me (both good and bad) instead of taking
control of my future.
