I asked about a week ago or so. I said something like this to God. I know there is a whopper in there, and whatever it is, I’m ready to let go, and I’m ready to heal whatever emotional wounds I’ve been too afraid to face.
I remember when I first heard about the Me too movement. I remember the feeling in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t know why, but I felt disgusted. As I’ve had this opportunity to journal month after month here writing this blog, other than mentioning my years in prostitution, I had always wondered when would be the time that I’d be asked to write more about me and sex. It’s funny how hard these past few years have been. Spiritual growing pains that feel like emotional childbirth every few weeks. I had somehow out smarted my self into thinking I knew what all my hidden parts were. The parts of things I’m afraid of that I had buried so deep inside me that I didn’t even know they were somewhere in there still hanging out.
The story of sexual healing started when me and Michael met in person. I quickly realized that I’d never really felt emotionally safe in the arms of man until I met him. What I mean by that is, safe to really be totally transparent with another person. To have a corner in the world where judgement is at least suspended. From the moment I met him, that’s what I felt. Like I could just be me, moment to moment, how ever that looked. He mentioned early on, that he sensed that there was some deep sexual trauma in my early childhood and so little by little, we’ve been healing these sexual wounds of ours as the months have gone by.
The earliest thing I could remember was sitting on my grand-fathers lap, my moms step dad. We called him pop pop Frank. I remember sitting on his lap as he babysat me one night and I waited for my mom to return from the video store. It seemed like she was taking forever and I was afraid suddenly of my grandfather. I remember that something happened between him, but I remember telling my mom and freezing up when it was my turn to speak. She called the cops and I remember instantly feeling afraid. I remember my grandfather standing out front of the apartment saying that he didn’t do anything to me. And my mom seemed so distraught, and confused. In that moment, I just felt like the bad guy by getting him in trouble. I had done something terribly wrong. Nothing came out of the cops being there, and everything went back to normal but with much unspoken tension between my mom and him. I sensed that I had estranged their relationship to some degree by telling what I told. That was the last time I spoke up immediately after something sexually inappropriate through out my life. And my life as a teenager and adult, consisted of at least a dozen of situations that were sexually violating in some way, and I normalized it.
Every time as an adult, I would occasionally flash back to being 4 on my grandfathers lap and everything would become fuzzy. The only thing I could remember was a feeling of complete terror. As I sat in an online meditation, the energies of the 13 or 14 people in the zoom room were sitting in the most beautiful but most intense energy. As I lay there and then flashes of what happened coming up into my vision. As I sat in my pop pops lap, My grandfather was moving my panties aside and touching me. I choked up in fear. I didn’t clam up towards him until he mentioned going into his bedroom.
As I sat there in meditation and cried and cried. I heard, you are carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. What you’re feeling right now is the sexual pain of the world you live in. As I lay back still with my eyes closed, my mom starts to come into my focus. She’s telling me of a story from when she was little, perhaps 10 or 11, maybe younger of her mothers boyfriend. Her mom would let her, her younger sister and her old sister sleep over his house for the weekend. My guess was at some point he was like a father to them. From what I remember of the story, my mom had a similar experience of memory loss. She remembers waking up, and his hand was somewhere near her that was inappropriate. I can’t remember if she said if some of her clothes were off, but even through the blurry memory, she was still carrying it all these years later. It affected her deeply.
Then my memory flashed to maybe 11 years ago or so, my aunt Helen telling me about when her daughter was two she remembers her coming to her to tell her that her dad,(my uncle) had done something sexually inappropriate the way that a small child would say it. Years ago, as my aunt was telling me this, she looked at me with this howling sorrow in her eyes, the way a mom would feel I imagine, if they found out that something had happened in that way to their child. But there was more pain. I remember her feeling that by her speaking up about what happened, she wasn’t believed and it soured her relationship with her sister in-laws for years after, (my mom and my other two aunts.) There were other details that I don’t remember, but I remember how I felt listening to my aunt.
I could see how this theme of quieted sexual abuse had been a theme in our family long before my childhood. As I cried, I cried for my mom, and my aunts, bringing all of my own hidden feelings about all those memories to the surface.
Also, Michael, although very hazy at first, he started to connect with memories from his childhood related to sexual abuse. Perhaps even just as deeply suppressed as my memories if not even deeper. That would be his story to tell one day.
I could see so many spaces, where this unconsciousness sexual abuse scar had affected my life and I hadn’t even realized. I had come to completely not trust men. It was always a matter of time before a friend, a teacher, a hockey coach would make some sort of sexual comment towards me growing up. And, I would say nothing, just internalize that I believed even deeper that men couldn’t be trusted and there were times where I even came to value the attention in my teens. I can see how that hatred led me into the path of prostitution later in my life. It provided me a place where I felt in charge of men rather than them in charge of me. I convinced myself that a relationship with a man based on love simply didn’t exist. I separated my sexual experiences at my job and had no sex life in my personal life at all until nearing towards the end of it, in 2017, when I met Ben.
When it came to raising my three boys, I didn’t want them to feel like something was wrong with sex, or naked body parts or anything like that but I had as a child developed this silliness towards sexuality. In that silliness I didn’t honor the sacredness of sex, and I certainly didn’t pass that along to my kids. They also too developed this overly giddiness about sexual scenes on tv, or giggling naked in their room huddled with each other. I realize that silliness as harmless as it seemed, was my way to cope with the abuse that I had endured as a kid.
I have a long way to when it comes to healing this, or at least right now it feels that way. I still cringe when I hear the word ‘rape’, or ‘victim’ when that word is directed towards me in any way. That’s what I’ve never wanted to see myself as, and that is why I struggled so much with the “me too” movement.
I finish this and realize that when it comes to healing my sexual scars, its just the beginning. I’ve opened up a box of memories from when I was very little of being abused in ways that were unimaginable. More and more each day comes in as to what happened.
As hard as it is, I want every part of me that’s been hiding from myself to come up to the surface. I want to feel whole again. I want to hug my 5 year old self and tell her that it will be okay. It’s taken me a week to write this blog entry and thats never happened before. I’ve felt shakey, nervous, and wanting to distract myself with other things, rather than posting this. I think this blog entry is not the last to be about these shadows from the past. I will keep talking…but I also wont force it.